Sharpshooter (Shadow Agents 3)

“Yeah, well, I think Mr. Mercer would like to know if he has a killer in his midst, don’t you?” He tossed that out deliberately, knowing that Judith wouldn’t be able to ignore those words. “Of course, if you just want to stand back and let an agent die...”

She stood instantly, all five foot nothing of her. Then she pointed at him. “Stay here.” Her high heels clicked as she headed for Mercer’s door. She was inside for—he counted—two minutes, and then she came back and told him, “Go in, he’s waiting for you.”

He didn’t let his grin break free. He was good at controlling his expression. At showing only what he wanted folks to see. People were so easily fooled.

So easily.

He entered the main office and closed the door. He made sure to hesitate as if he were uncertain.

You’re going down, Gunner. His brother had been downstairs, with his hands all over Sydney.

Right in front of me.

“Slade.” Mercer sat behind his big, fancy desk. One of his eyebrows had climbed. “Ms. Rogers told me that you had some information to give me.”

Slade glanced over his shoulder, as if he were trying to make sure that no one could hear him. Then he nodded quickly.

“Have a seat.” Mercer waved his hand toward the chair in front of him.

Slade limped toward the seat, making sure to drag his leg a bit, conscious of Mercer’s assessing gaze as it fell on him.

“You’re looking better.”

“I am better.” He’d been fine all along. That rehab had been a joke. He blew out a hard breath. “I heard about the attacks on Sydney.”

“Did you.” But the words weren’t really a question.

Again, he nodded quickly. “I want to help.” He let his hands tightly curl over the armrests on his chair. “Give me a job to do, give me something.”

Mercer shook his head. “There’s no way you’re going into the field. You have no security clearance any longer—or the training needed—for a job like that.” The man wasn’t pulling punches. “And physically, mentally, you’re far from ready for any mission.”

That’s what you think. But he didn’t let the rage slip out. “Give me a job here. I heard the techs talking—they think someone tried to break into the system. I can watch surveillance video, I can read files, I can do something.”

Mercer just stared back at him. “I thought you were here to talk to me about one of my agents being a threat.”

Slade flinched.

“Do you have intel to provide to me?”

Slade looked down at the floor. “I want to help so I can prove it’s not him.”

Silence.

He forced himself to look up and, sure enough, Mercer was still watching him with that too-assessing gaze. “Give me a name,” Mercer ordered.

“He didn’t leave me to die.” Slade forced the words out in a rush. “I was wrong. It was the drugs talking. He couldn’t have left me to die.”

Mercer leaned forward. “You’re talking about Gunner?”

“Yes.” A rasp. “He didn’t leave me to die, and he didn’t try to hurt Sydney.”

“Why does it sound like you’re attempting to convince yourself of that?”

Slade glanced at the floor, took a deep breath, then looked back up at Mercer. “Because when we were teenagers, there was this...this girl that Gunner liked. Sarah Bell. Sweet little Sarah Bell.” He could still see her in his mind. “She kind of looked like Sydney. Same light blond hair, same green eyes.”

“Why are you telling me this story?” Mercer snapped.

He jerked to attention. “Sarah Bell...she broke up with Gunner. Said he was too rough for her, too wild. Then a week later, Sarah died.”