Page 49 of Secret Weapon

Should I trust Alex?What if all this was some elaborate sting operation?A carefully laid trap just waiting for me to—

Stop.

All the paranoia in the world hadn’t saved General Zacharov, but what had kept Ana alive?Teamwork.And she looked far happier than I felt.Maybe letting someone in wouldn’t be the disaster I’d always assumed?Especially if that person was Alexei.He’d given me his coat.Even in freezing temperatures when he must have been cold himself, he’d given me his coat.

“So I left my former employment in a bit of a hurry…”

Was it weird that I still had my hand on Alex’s knee?Probably.Was I about to move it?No.And since he’d been the one to put it there, I figured he couldn’t have too many objections.

Another chuckle.“You didn’t work out your notice period?”

“We didn’t exactly have an HR department.”

“And then you ended up in Baldwin’s Shore?”

I nodded.“With a gun, a couple of hundred bucks, and the clothes I was standing up in.The first night, I slept in my car, but it wasn’treallymine seeing as I’d stolen it.I’d switched the plates, of course, but I didn’t want to take chances.”

If anyone realised I’d gotten away, it wouldn’t only have been Zacharov hunting me; the whole of the FBI would’ve been on my tail.Probably the Secret Service too, and the police, and the NSA.Nobody liked it when members of Congress ended up in enough pieces to make Humpty Dumpty look like a coffee-break teaser.

“And the next day, I was hungry,” I continued.“So I went to the grocery store, and there was a card on the noticeboard.Live-in help wanted.Duties to include personal care, running errands, helping with mobility, overseeing medication, and providing companionship.Not my dream job, but I was sick of shooting people, and…and…I was hurting.I’d just watched a colleague die.I watched him die, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do except kill the man responsible, but it was too late.”

Alex twined his fingers in mine and squeezed.“Darya, I’m so sorry.”

“Dasha.For fuck’s sake, call me Dasha.”

Then it happened.For the first time since I was thirteen and kneeling over my mother’s body, the tears came.I wasn’t meant to cry.I was Nine.I was the Bad Samaritan.I was a tool, not a person, and Idid not fucking cry.Except today, I did.I took my foot off the gas, and the world went blurry, and Alex steered the car to the side of the road.

“W-w-what the hell is wrong with m-m-me?”

And then I was enveloped in his arms, and all the pain of my entire fucking life was soaking into his shirt.

Shit.

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