Page 35 of The Ghost Assassin

Cringe.

I do not like winkers but good-looking guys like Adams tend to get cocky, and cocky feeds this type of clownish behavior.

“Ask me anything, Agent,” he encourages. His arm is flung over the back of the seat again.

Why do you wink like a creeper almost comes out of my mouth, but I’ve already answered that question myself.

“Tell me about Europe,” I say instead, deciding to go balls to the wall. Not that there was any real decision-making needed. Balls to the wall is kind of my thing.

“You work fast.”

I just look at him, watching his reaction, which is fairly unaffected. The arm doesn’t move. He doesn’t close himself off. He’s not uncomfortable. But then, he’s a practiced master of bullshit, of that I am certain.

“If you mean the rumors that I’m dirty, it was an intentional plant made by a joint CIA/FBI task force focused on the Society. We needed what just happened to happen. For me to be placed in a position where the Society will approach me.”

“You needed Murphy’s job, you mean?”

He laughs and sits up straighter. “No. Murphy was CIA before he was FBI, which was all part of a bigger plan he managed masterfully. He had the Society believing he was working both sides when he despised them.”

It matches my suspicions, but it doesn’t feel quite right. “Really? Why didn’t I know this?”

“He said you couldn’t handle the truth. I told him he was wrong.”

I could bring up Ellis at this point, but I’m not sure I trust either of them enough to dive into those waters. I sniff the air and lift my coffee. “Something smells off.” I manage to sip past the globs of sugar to the sweet cream taste below. Debbie did okay. “Where’d you say you were last night?”

“In Texas,” he says, “working a case, with a team of agents. They’ll vouch for me. And then we can get to solving Murphy’s murder together.”

“Together? I thought Homeland Security was running the case.”

“They are, and you can continue to communicate with Ellis, but you work for me. Also, I don’t know Ellis except in passing, but he seems to be clean as a freshly washed baby’s butt, though I wouldn’t rule out a stink just yet. Be careful with him.”

Okay, so much for keeping Homeland under wraps.

His cellphone rings.

He snakes it from his pocket, and answers. I try the pie, which is actually really freaking good, and listen as he says, “Right. Okay. We’ll be there.” He disconnects. “Looks like you’re going to get some up close and personal time with me, Agent. Washington called. They want us there to talk about the murder.”

“Good luck with that. I’m solving the murder. You can talk to the politicians.”

“They named you, Lilah. We’re both going. They have a chopper waiting on us.” He pulls cash from his wallet and tosses it on the table. “Now.”

This feels like a setup if I’ve ever seen a setup.

Now, I just have to decide how to deal with it.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The way I see things, Murphy’s dead, the government doesn’t trust the Feds and the man who now runs the Feds wants me to get in a chopper with him. Me and mine don’t have a great track record in flying objects. So as Randy from American Idol used to say—yes, my mother loved that show and I watched it with her—that’s a no from me, dog.

“I’ll meet you there,” I say, pulling on my coat again. “Just text me instructions.” I stand up.

He follows me to my feet. “Washington sent a chopper for us,” he repeats.

“I have my own.”

“Because you’re rich,” he comments.

“Is that a problem for you?”

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