Chapter 3 #2
“It’s been twenty-seven years.” Rafe pointed out how long Kozlova had successfully kept himself under the radar. “If he’s been with Najjar for ten, where was he the first seventeen?”
“No idea. The prick could’ve been hiding on some deserted island, for all we know.”
He studied the image a moment longer before handing her back the phone. “Why allow himself to be photographed now?”
“Who knows?” Lena slid the device into her back pocket. “Like you said, it’s been a long time. Maybe he turned fifty and decided we’d finally given up on looking for him. Or maybe he just got sloppy and we got lucky.” Another quick shrug. “Either way, he’s back, and two of my best agents are dead.”
“They were more than just agents, Lena.” Rafe searched her telling gaze. “Caleb and Sabrina were also your friends.”
Even if he hadn’t already known this first-hand, the pain reflected in her hazel stare was clear to see. He watched as she walked back over to the framed image of her fallen comrades.
“We’re supposed to remain detached,” she whispered.
“‘Don’t let anyone get too close, and you’ll barely even notice when they’re gone.
’ That’s what they taught us day one at The Farm,” Lena referenced the well-known CIA training facility.
“Personal connections with our fellow officers and agents were highly discouraged.”
It was the same speech he’d received during those first days training for MI6, so Rafe understood well what she was saying.
“What they don’t tell you is that working with those same agents for two-and-a-half decades makes it a nearly impossible task to achieve.”
“Right?” She huffed out a scoff of a breath. Clearing her throat, Lena slowly turned back toward him. “Back to the reason I’m here.”
“You mean the reason you broke into my home?”
The corners of her lips twitched. “Technically, I didn’t break anything.
I simply bypassed your security, disabled your alarms and cameras, and then picked the lock on your front door without leaving so much as a scratch.
” When he didn’t laugh, she cleared her throat once more before returning to why she was here.
“You’re in danger, Rafe.” Lena’s swallow was audible.
“Actually, according to recent chatter . . . we both are.”
“Kozlova.”
“Yes.” She nodded with a confident stare.
“And like I already said, I have no idea why he’s chosen to wait until now to crawl out of whatever hole he’s been hiding in.
Nor do I understand why, out of all the enemies he’s surely collected over the years, he chose to target the five of us.
But each of our names has been mentioned in recent chatter, as well as Kozlova’s.
Apparently, he’s been in contact with an unknown hitman based here in the States. ”
Adrenaline raced through his veins as he put together what she was saying with what had happened earlier that day.
“Where is this coming from?”
“Roger called me earlier today. Pulled me out of a training exercise at The Point to tell me about Caleb and Sabrina.”
“And he’s certain Kozlova is behind their deaths?”
“As certain as he can be with the intel he’s been given. But come on, Rafe. This is Roger Wilcox we’re talking about. The guy ran the most elite, deep-cover unit in the agency for over twenty years. He wouldn’t have made the call if he wasn’t sure.”
By all accounts, Roger Wilcox was a solid agent at the time, as well as a man of his word. Of course, it had been years since Rafe had spoken with the guy. More than enough time had passed for him to have become corrupt.
I’ll have Shadow look into him, as well as that image on Lena’s phone.
The thought stole the air from his lungs. It had been automatic and without conscious thought. An immediate response that left the blood in his veins turning cold.
His daughter was the one he and his team turned to when it came to uncovering intel no one else was able to find. But now—
You need to tell her what happened.
And that meant sharing his daughter with even more of the world.
Deep down, Rafe had always known this day would eventually come. He’d collected far too many enemies over the years to ever truly believe he could keep Alice’s existence a secret from them all forever.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” He motioned to the small couch positioned on the other side of the room. Without waiting, he started that way. Nerves danced in his belly as Lena followed.
As suggested, she lowered herself onto the couch. Rafe chose to sit in the closest of a pair of high-backed chairs. He pulled in a deep breath before he began.
“I’m not sure how much you know about me or my personal life.” He paused. “I’m assuming you’ve looked into me well before now.”
Her dark brows dipped inward with a hint of confusion. “I was given an official dossier on you shortly before we met.”
“Which included?”
“The usual.” Lena settled herself back. With one elbow resting on the arm of the couch, she used her free hand to take a quick sip of her beer.
“From what I can remember, there was a copy of your service record from MI6. A criminal background check, which of course, was clean. And . . .” Her features intensified as she presumably worked to fully recall.
“I think there may have been a copy of your medical clearance record, too? Why?”
Are you sure you can trust her?
Rafe thought back to the recent events that had unexpectedly brought Lena back into his world. She and a team of CIA spies had been working to bring down an international sex trafficking ring.
Officially, the CIA didn’t operate on U.S. soil. But unofficially—
“I need to know I can trust you, Lena.” He watched her closely. “Fully.”
A flash of something akin to hurt raced past her gaze. “I hate that you even felt the need to ask me that, but I also understand. You have my word. You can trust me.”
It would have to be enough.
“I had a wife.” He worked a hard swallow. “Like you, she was CIA. We were both a couple of cocky kids when we met. It was a joint training exercise between your agency and MI6.”
“Married.” She blinked. “Wow. Okay, so what happened?”
“We fell in love. It was truly love at first sight for us both. A whirlwind courtship made all the more complicated by our respective jobs. But we loved each other and vowed to make it work. And we did.” He smiled at those earlier, happier memories. “For a while, at least.”
“What happened, Rafe?” Lena quietly asked him again.
“Eleven months before the op in Syria began, a man broke into our home and shot my wife while she was sleeping.”
Her soft gasp filled the air. “Oh, Rafe. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. It was a long time ago.”
“It doesn’t matter how much time has passed.” She shook her head slowly. “Losing someone you love stays with you. Always.”
He took a swig of beer, giving his lips a quick lick before speaking again. “I’m assuming you’re up to date on the story about Michael Stanton?”
“Are you kidding?” Lena scoffed. “That whole thing is still the talk of the office. And why wouldn’t it be?
The guy’s a former CIA agent-turned-United States Senator who’s now serving a life sentence for murdering his former CIA partner, plus a bunch of other stuff I can’t remember.
Not to mention the slew of dirty agents he gave up to keep from being put on Death Row. ”
“Do you remember the name of his CIA partner? The one he admitted to killing?”
She looked to the side, visibly attempting to recall that specific detail. “It was Andrea, right? Or wait, no. It was Amanda.” A second later, her widening gaze swung back up to his. “The woman Stanton killed was a CIA agent named Amanda Owens. I never even—was she your—
“Wife?” He nodded. “Yes.”
“Holy shit.” Lena fell against the couch’s back cushion. “I never . . . there was no mention of a wife anywhere in the file I was given on you back then.”
“Very few people knew we were married. And those who did only knew me as her insurance-selling husband.” He gave one shoulder a shrug.
“Given who we each worked for, it wasn’t hard keeping our personal life under wraps.
Those who did know were the ones we trusted the most . . . including her partner.”
“Of course, you trusted Stanton. He was Amanda’s partner. He should have been the one person she could trust on the job.”
“And yet, he’s the reason she’s dead.”
“I’m sorry, Rafe.” Lena rose to her feet and walked to where he sat. Squatting down before him, she put a hand over his, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Truly, I am.”
Rafe set his bottle down onto the small accent table to his right before reaching over and covering the back of her hand with his palm. “Thank you, Lena. I appreciate that, but there’s more.”
When she slid her hand free, he let her go despite the sudden urge to hold on tight.
“Tell me.” She stood as tall as her five-four frame would allow.
“Amanda and I had a daughter.” He paused, staring deep into her curious gaze. “Alice was six when Stanton broke into our home and—”
“He didn’t.”
“No.” Rafe quickly put her mind at ease. “He didn’t hurt her, but . . . someone did.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was shot earlier this afternoon while we were standing in front of my office building.”
Lena’s pretty eyes grew wide with shock. “What? I-Is she—”
“She’s still in the hospital, but is expected to make a full recovery, thank God.”
Genuine empathy shone brightly within her hazel gaze. “Did you catch the shooter?”