He’d picked up the bottle on his drive here from Lover’s Beach where he’d left her.
Erica had screamed and his world had crumbled. Why had he let Cam talk him into taking another step down the path that he knew led to nowhere? Because I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
He grabbed the liquor bottle. Killing came easy to him. He was damn good at it. Some at the Agency even said the best. It had been years since he’d bought whiskey. The last time he’d considered drinking after a mission had been four years ago. He hadn’t, but instead returned to Destiny to try to get his head on straight. It had worked for a while. Now his head wasn’t on straight and the bottle was calling to him.
He set it back down on the nightstand—its contents undisturbed—next to his sunglasses. Even though the only light in the dark room was coming through the cheap mini blinds, he put the shades on.
Where to go from here?
Not back to Destiny. He would only fuck up the good thing that was happening between Cam and Erica. TBK had been the best job of his life, though his old boss at the Agency had called it a high-class security guard detail after he’d taken the position two years ago. He’d never minded the ridicule, glad to be back home, close to his brother. But he could not go back. Ever. He’d made Erica scream. That sound continued to echo in his ears.
His gut twisted into a knot. He left the bed and went to the bathroom, which had the only glass in the room. He leaned against the sink and looked at his reflection, dimly lit from the outside light. He saw a monster staring back at him, holding an empty glass instead of a gun. Still, the man in the mirror was a killer.
There was only one thing he could do now, though he’d been running from it for four years. One person who had never given up on him, wanting him to return to the life he’d left.
He walked back to the bed and pulled his cell out of his jacket. Staring at the whiskey bottle, he punched in a number at the Agency with his thumb. It was time to accept the truth.
He brought death. Erica was life itself. He was no good for her.
“Strange, is that you?” his old boss asked.
“Yes, Black.” Dylan set the glass down by the unopened bottle. “It’s me.”
* * * *
Erica stood behind Matt, staring at his monitor. Cam was behind Sean, who was typing on his keyboard. She was so anxious. They hadn’t found anything that pointed to where Dylan might be, so her worry continued to expand inside her.
“He’s good,” Matt said. “Always was.”
“What do you mean?” she asked him.
“When an agent of Dylan’s caliber doesn’t want to be found, they can’t be found no matter how hard you look.”
“Don’t tell her that,” Cam barked. “She’s already a bundle of nerves.”
“Not a single hit on his credit cards,” Sean said.
“What about his cell?” she asked them. “Anything?”
Matt shook his head. “Dylan is likely using a burner phone.”
She had no idea what that was, but did know that it meant they were right back where they started. This search was going nowhere.
Her heart clanged in her chest like a warning bell. She still was picturing Dylan inside a trunk, bound and gagged as she’d been. She hoped he’d vanished from Destiny of his own accord, like the Texans were suggesting, even if that meant he’d been the one to run away when she’d freaked out at the beach.
This is all my fault.
“I’ve got an idea,” Sean said. “It’s time to call in the big guns.”
Matt turned to him. “Black?”
“Yep. He’s got the resources that can really step up our search.” Sean brought out his cell. “Besides, he’s fond of Dylan. You remember.”
“How could I forget?” Matt nodded. “Dylan was the best at the Agency. Everyone knew that.”
“Does Black work at the CIA?” Cam asked.
“Yep, though I’m sure that’s not his real name,” Matt answered.