Behind Closed Doors (Rochester Trilogy 3.50)

He turns away and leaves. I listen to his footsteps on the stairs. My chest pounds, but I don’t have time for a broken heart. Not tonight.

All I have time for is survival.

Chapter Fourteen

Sam

Marjorie wanted a minute, and I’ll be damned if I don’t give it to her. This place is her home. She should have a chance to say goodbye before whatever comes next. I throw on some clothes and go out to where Marjorie’s car is parked out front.

This way, I’ll know if she tries to leave.

Out in the brisk wind, I flip through the contacts on my phone. This kind of call is even rarer than the batshit one I had with my handler. I never thought I’d need to make it. Not on this job.

I dial the number.

Ellen picks up on the second ring. “Who’s this?”

The greeting’s a cover. She sounds like she’s just answering a random phone call, but this is her work line. This will be the phone the agency uses to get in contact. It’s risky as fuck for me to call it, but I don’t have another number, and I need information. There’s a serious lack of it on this run. Somebody’s hiding something. Multiple people, probably. Up and down the chain of command.

“I just wanted to talk.”

Ellen’s a lady I’ve worked with before. No idea what her real name is. I’ve never asked, and she’s never offered. Ellen is the one she goes by with me. What I know about her is that she’s good at her job. She’s strong and smart and ruthless. All the things I used to be. All the things that have been broken down by Marjorie Dunn.

“Can’t sleep?”

Another code. She wants to know if someone else from the CIA has already shown up. “Just restless. I’ve been doing some thinking lately.”

She might not tell me anything, even if she does know. I’m also taking the chance that she won’t call my handler and report this conversation to him the second we hang up. Hell, she could already be doing it. This phone in one hand. Sending him an email with another. But I have to try. I can’t have the sweet little innkeeper looking at me like I stomped on her heart. She can feel that way, but she has to be alive to feel it.

Damn it, I don’t want her to feel that about me. I want her to care about me the way I care about her.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Work’s not going how I thought it would. I’m worried I’m going to get a bad annual review.”

“Yeah—about that. Somebody from the team already asked me to take over your responsibilities for you. One of the higher-ups. I think you know him.”

The handler. Yes. I fucking know him. I’ve never met the man in person, but I know his voice. And I know that how he sounded earlier was off. “Of course I know him. We’re in regular contact.”

“He wasn’t himself. I guess he’s got an agent who refused to fall in line. Guy couldn’t pull off the latest assignment like he always does.”

“Did you take the job?”

If Ellen agrees, then she’s already in Eben Cape. She could be on the other side of the inn right now. I listen harder to the sounds on the line. The wind in the trees obscures everything. I lean against Marjorie’s car and scan the property. There’s no sign of Ellen, but that doesn’t mean she’s not here.

“No. I wouldn’t do that to a colleague. I don’t like stepping on people’s toes like that.”

“You’ve always been one of the good ones.”

“So have you,” she says cautiously. “You’re loyal, and people know that. That’s why this thing seems suspicious as all hell. Did you turn?”

“The documentation was bad,” I answer, choosing every word carefully. Her question is the most dangerous one of all. If I give her the idea that I’ve gone rogue, she’d be within her rights to report it. She’s required to report it. “I requested a review.”

“Sent up some red flags.”

“That’s not good.” There’s only one silver lining, and that’s Ellen’s loyalty. She didn’t take the job from the handler. It’s enough trust for me to go on. The bad news is that he’ll have somebody else on the job. Somebody less loyal to their fellow agents. Whoever the hell was willing. “Fuck.”

“I came to the same conclusion. You’re fucked. Whoever you are, whoever you’re with, you’re fucked.” The identity I’m using doesn’t matter to me, but Marjorie does. “You’re going to have to disappear. Become somebody else.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible.”

“They have lots of resources.”

I could survive on my own for a while. Walk off the job right now and blend into the shadows. Cross the border into another country. Marjorie could leave, too. If she left alone, then she’d have a chance…