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They’re all at the dining table when I step out of the hallway. Four pairs of eyes meet mine like a silent jury, and I look at each one of them.
“Told you she was going to try to run,” William says, glancing at the shoes on my feet. “But at least now we know she likes being chased.”
“Do I ever.” I wink at him without reservation, and a sly smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. I don’t give a damn what Yorkthinks or feels at this point, and I move my attention to him, noting the fresh blood stain on his shoulder. “Now what?”
He sets his gun on the table and spins it, his eyes shifting from me to William briefly. “Now, you come with us and do what you’re told.”
“Un-fucking-likely,” I snort.
“You’re a blacklist, Tripoli,” August says, confirming that they all know. “We can’t let you leave. We can’t let you out into the world. You’re too valuable.”
Once you consider my memory and my line of work . . . it’s a short leap to make.
“I’m of no value to you, because I won’t give you or your government a thing.” I shake my head. “I might have . . . honestly, I really might have cooperated, but not now.”
“We don’t want your list,” Carter says, not meeting my eyes. “But we have to make sure no one else gets it either . . . We’re all on it now, after all.”
It's true. I know the true identities and code names of every agent I’ve worked with. Of course I investigated them right down to their home address and next of kin. That’s not all. I’ve worked with more than just agents. My blacklist includes confidential informants, too, and dignitaries that I suspect are moles.
The need to know is exhausting. If only it were as simple as finding out what my OCD wanted me to learn, and then letting it go and moving on . . . but no, my brain makes sure I never forget any of it.
And I’m not an idiot.
My head isn’t the only place the blacklist lives.
The sound of a gun cocking out of sight makes my hand twitch, and then my gun is out and pushed to August’s temple.
“So you think killing me is the solution?” I look at them all again, and then say to August, “You must be getting sick of me pointing loaded guns at your head.”
He clears his throat. “A little.”
“Put your hands on the table, all of you.” When they don’t move, I push the barrel firmly against his skull. “Do it.”
“I thought you got all her guns,” August says with frustration to no one in particular.
Slowly, their hands come to rest on the tabletop, the hidden gun coming up in Carter’s grip, which surprises me.
“Killing me won’t protect any of you.” I strike August across the head with the gun, and he slumps sideways as I retrain it on Carter and snatch York’s gun off the table in front of him. Slowly, I move around to Carter and take his, too, tossing them out into the hallway. “I’m a living list, but I’m careful. I have a hard copy. If I die, the list goes live, and trust me, I’m not publishing it inTheWashington Times. It’s going right to the dark web as a free-for-all.”
“The text messages,” York says calmly. “If you don’t send a message at regular intervals, whoever is receiving them assumes you’re dead.”
“Yes.” I nod. “And the confirmation code changes based on parameters I’ve devised, so you can’t kill me and text your own codes in my stead.”
“Clever.” William leans back, lacing his fingers behind his head.
My eyes trail down his chest briefly. “Give me back my fucking passport.”
“Eh,” William says with a shrug, and I turn the gun on him. “What if we want to make you a deal?”
“What if I tell you I’ll selectively release justyourinformation if you don’t give me my fucking passport back?”
“Feisty.” York grins, running his hand over his buzzed hair a few times. “We need you.”
“No, you want me, and only because you can’t kill me.”
“That may or may not be true,” William cuts in. “But either way, we have a deal for you.”
“I’d be happy to discuss terms once we have an ocean between us.”
