Behind Closed Doors (Rochester Trilogy 3.50)

I feel the same urge. I want to empty all of my bullets into him. I’ll do anything to stop him from hurting Marjorie, including gratuitous violence.

But I don’t.

I wait.

I think of the sweet, kind innkeeper running across the sand. Part of saving her is buying time.

I’ve never been more grateful for this fucking job. The one that emptied me of all my hope for a better life and shaped me into a heartless killer. My hands are steady under the hail of bullets. My heart beats normally. I don’t flinch away from the impact of metal on rock.

He needs to be about ten feet closer.

The agent’s movements are rough. Unpracticed. It makes me wonder if he’s been sidelined. It’s clear he hasn’t been in the field recently because a seasoned field agent would have put a bullet in my head on the first shot. There would have been no second. I focus in on him. I’m a seasoned field agent. I won’t need many chances.

I just need the best one.

I count to five, then count again. It should be enough. If this shot goes wild, if I miss and the adrenaline surge gives him enough power to chase her, she’ll have a good head start.

He’s still shooting.

I aim for his chest, let out a breath, and pull the trigger.

It hits. I keep my weapon raised in case he’s wearing body armor.

He’s not. The bullet drops him to the rocks and the water. His gun sinks under a wave. When he doesn’t reach for it, I abandon my cover and go to him.

“Motherfucker,” he says, the end of the word drowning in a gurgle of blood.

I know that voice.

It’s my handler. I never knew his name. I never saw his face. I’d know that voice anywhere. I crouch down next to him. He won’t be alive much longer. “Why?”

A ghostly smile tugs at his lips. “Wanted to finish the job.”

“What job?”

“Killed her dad.” His breathing is labored. I don’t think he feels the rocks underneath him or the water soaking into his clothes. “Wife ran with the kid. Only thing. I never finished.”

The light goes out of his eyes. He came here to complete the one job he never finished. No wonder he’s a stickler for getting things done. He couldn’t do it himself, and now he never will.

Chapter Seventeen

Marjorie

The first helicopter appears in the sky at the same time Sam stands up from the body.

He shot that man dead. My heart went wild when all those bullets were flying. I thought they’d both die. I thought I would watch another man I love die the same way as my father. I press myself harder against the cove, but Sam comes toward me with a calm, sure expression on his face. He beckons to me. Come here.

I go to him. After all the gunfire, I need safety. I need it from him. As soon as I’m in reach, he folds his arms around me and holds me close. He’s warm in the night chill, and I bury my face in his chest. Another helicopter swoops into view overhead. Two more come after. Bright lights shine down on the beach. On the man’s body.

“I need you to listen to me,” he murmurs into my ear, his breath warm on my skin. “The people in the helicopters aren’t going to hurt us.”

“How do you know?”

He shakes his head. “Something was off about the mission. The man I killed—he was my handler. It wasn’t official.”

“The CIA didn’t send you here?”

“Someone higher up might have wanted to know if you had information, but it was personal for him.”

My body trembles harder. Sam runs his palms over my back. “Personal how?”

“It’s over, Marjorie. Nobody else is going to be looking for you.”

He sounds so confident, but how could Sam know? “Are you sure?”

Sam nudges me until I tip my face up to look into his eyes. “That was the man who killed your father. You and your mother were supposed to die along with him, but you escaped. It’s dogged him for the rest of his career. He wanted to finish the job.”

“There were other men.” Panic rises. “They could be looking—”

“No. If there were other agents, this would have happened a long time ago. The rest of them have moved on or retired or been killed. It’s done. You can go back to your life.”

The first helicopter lands on the grass in someone’s back yard. This is going to be news in Eben Cape. A swarm of CIA helicopters invading? Oh, God. The gossip. The rumors. Black uniforms pour out of the helicopter. It makes my head spin and my throat tight. “I don’t like this. What’s going to happen?”

“Nothing. Marjorie. Look at me.” I look into Sam’s dark eyes. “They’re not going to touch you. I’ll make sure of it. Okay?”