Glitter and Gunfire/Bulletproof (Shadow Agents 4)

“But when Genevieve is back, when we have this SOB in custody, then it will be time for you to do the right thing and walk away from Cassidy.”

The right thing.

For her.

For him?

“Are we clear, Agent?” There was no weakness in Mercer’s voice then. It made Cale wonder if there ever had been. Had it just been an act?

Cassidy must have gotten her acting talent somewhere. But unlike Cassidy, Mercer didn’t give away any tells when he lied. The man was an expert at deception.

“Oh, I think you’re being pretty damn clear,” Cale told him. And now it was his turn to be clear. Cale stalked toward the big mahogany desk.

One of Mercer’s brows rose.

Cale wrapped his hands around the edge of the desk and leaned toward Mercer. “I’m not you.”

Mercer blinked.

“So don’t tell me that I am. Don’t tell me what will happen to me or to Cassidy.” He kept his voice level with an effort. “You’re my boss—I get that. But I’m starting to think that coming on board with the EOD was a mistake.”

“Are you, now?”

“Being a free agent worked a whole lot better for me. There was a lot less B.S. to deal with.” Like a father who should have been there for his daughter. He stared at Mercer—glared at him—then said once more, “I’m not you.” Then he turned and walked away.

Because, really, what else was there to say?

* * *

MERCER DIDN’T MOVE as Cale Lane stalked from the room. The agent did have a lot of rage inside him, but Cale was pretty good at containing that rage.

If he hadn’t been so good at that containment, Mercer figured the guy would have taken a swing or two at his jaw.

The door closed behind Cale.

Mercer opened his desk drawer, carefully moved the papers and pulled out the old black-and-white photo that he kept hidden there.

A photo of Marguerite, holding Cassidy when his daughter had been barely a year old.

I deserved those hits.

The past was gone, and no matter how much he wished that he could change things, there was no going back for him.

Things would be different for Cassidy. He’d make sure of it. No matter how many strings he had to pull.

And no matter who he had to hurt.

He put the photograph back in place. The edges were rough. From all the years he’d held that precious memory.

Back then, Cassidy’s eyes had lit with love when she looked at him.

When had she stopped looking at him that way?

At her mother’s grave...

At the grave site, Cassidy’s beautiful gaze had held an accusation. She’d known her mother’s death was his fault.

They’d both known it.