New York City
11:00 P.M.
Garrett had taken his time getting back to New York. He had justified the time by thinking he needed to clear his head, but in truth, he wasn’t sure how to do that. Getting over a woman like Alexa Marlowe wasn’t intended to be easy.
Riding in the back of a cab, he watched the blur of neon pass his window and barely paid attention to the streets as they went by. Seeing her as a brunette had surprised him. And she’d been fearless going in for Kinkaid, risking her life to save his. Garrett still hadn’t gotten used to wrapping up a mission and having her walk out of his life until the next time. Coming back to New York wasn’t the same, especially knowing she had taken a few days off to help Kinkaid heal.
The taxi pulled to the curb at the private entrance to his building. With a travel bag over his shoulder, Garrett paid the driver and headed inside. Before he got out his keycard to unlock the door, two men stopped him on the street as the cab pulled away.
“Donovan Cross wants to see you.” The man nudged his head toward the curb as a black sedan pulled up. “Now.”
One man stood in front of him, the other was at his back. And a third man emerged from the shadows to join them. From what he could tell, all of the men had weapons. And he knew the look. They were ex-military or covert ops. Cross had sent an invitation he wouldn’t be able to refuse.
“Lead the way, gentlemen.”
Before he got into the vehicle, they searched him for weapons and confiscated a Beretta that he carried in a holster under his suit jacket and the .380 Walther PPK/S that he had strapped to his ankle. Cross’s men were quick and efficient. After they’d tossed his bag in the trunk, they opened the back door of the sedan and got in both sides, leaving him in the middle.
Garrett had let his guard down. Alexa had warned him about Cross. He knew something was off, yet he did nothing about it. He thought he’d have time once he got back to home turf, but that wasn’t going to happen. For Cross to get this aggressive, he had to have a lot of confidence someone was backing his play. Whatever Donovan Cross was up to, Garrett was about to find out—and no one would have his back.
Forty minutes later
Garrett sat on a wooden chair under a harsh light. He hadn’t been blindfolded, and his hands hadn’t been tied. He was merely . . . waiting. He sat center stage in an empty warehouse that must have been near the docks. He smelled the faint odor of fuel that mixed with a heady stench coming off the East River.
The men who had taken him stood in the shadows beyond the light, making it hard for him to see them. Only the echo of their footsteps gave them away. And being good operatives, they hadn’t talked to him.
“I thought you said Cross would be here,” he called out.
When no one answered him, he squinted into the dark, looking for any means of escape, but before he found one, a door creaked open. He saw the shadow of a man in an overcoat eclipse a security light near a side entrance. And he heard the low murmurs of two men talking before one of them walked toward him. When the man came into the light, Garrett recognized him.
“Donovan Cross. I hear you’ve got ambitions and a touch of job envy,” he said.
When he tried to stand, Cross shook his head, and said, “Please . . . sit down.” And to the rest of his men, he yelled an order. “Give us privacy, gentlemen. I can take it from here.”
Without a word, the three men left them alone in the warehouse. The move for privacy really stumped Garrett. He had no idea what Donovan Cross was up to.
“Why all the secrecy? A little melodramatic, even for you. What do you want, Cross?”
“I don’t want anything from you, but I can’t speak for everyone. You’ve made enemies, Garrett. And unfortunately, I’m the messenger.”
“Ever hear of e-mail?”
Cross smiled. “You can’t walk away from this, I’m afraid.”
He looked at his watch and held it up to the light.
“It’s almost time.” Cross looked at Garrett. “For the record, I didn’t want it to come to this, but I don’t see any other way. I’m sorry.”
Minutes later
Donovan Cross walked out of the warehouse just in time. The blast nearly knocked him off his feet. He’d cut it close. A fireball mushroomed into the night sky, and a series of explosions rumbled through the old warehouse, grinding metal and toppling steel as it went.
Garrett Wheeler hadn’t been ready for his exit, but for the sake of the Sentinels, Cross had no other choice. While the building burned and sirens of emergency crews coming to the scene blared in the distance, Cross made a phone call.
“It’s done. You see it?”
He knew the man was watching from a safe distance, a bird’s-eye view.
“Yes, I do. And after you take over Wheeler’s job permanently, you can thank me later.”
The man ended the call, leaving Cross to watch the aftermath of what he had done. Now it was his turn to make his own enemies. And he had no doubt that Alexa Marlowe would top that list.
Somewhere in the Caribbean
Instead of going back to New York after Mexico, Alexa traveled with Jackson to the place he called home. Years ago, he’d bought a small private island in the Caribbean, using the money he had stolen from the cartels over the years. Most of his cash had wound up in the hands of charities, like the missionary school in Haiti run by his good friend, Sister Kate, the woman he’d rescued in Cuba. Kate hadn’t known about his Robin Hood gig either. And as far as Alexa knew, the nun still didn’t.
Drug cartels made for dangerous victims, but they never reported Kinkaid’s outlandish and resourceful thefts because he was too good to get caught. And Kinkaid definitely knew how to keep a secret.
That’s what he’d been doing before she hooked up with him in Cuba. Back then, Alexa had thought he was only a mercenary who sold his services to the highest bidder, and he’d never told her the truth until he’d brought her to his home and shared his life with her for the first time.
Maybe Kinkaid’s coming clean meant he cared what she thought of him. She hoped she was right about that.
Jackson lived modestly. He had a dock with a boat to get around. And his home was a small place on the beach. He had all the basic amenities, but he didn’t live in a lavish style, considering what he did for a living. But as simple and beautiful as his home was, Kinkaid had secret storage under his floorboards and in walls where he kept his stash of weapons, money, fake IDs, and anything else he’d need to disappear in a hurry.
Some things never changed.
“We should change your dressing and check out your shoulder. How does it feel?” she asked. When he gestured for her to sit next to him in the sand, she did.
“I’m good.” He nodded. “It feels better.”
Kinkaid had been sitting alone on the beach in cutoff jeans, staring out toward the ocean. His long dark hair looked finger combed by the warm sea breeze. And even though his face was still bruised, the sun had colored his skin to a rich brown, masking the torture he had endured in Mexico. When Jackson had gotten up that morning, he had gone off alone without saying a word. After Alexa had awakened to an empty bed, she’d gone searching for him, to find out why.
“You’re awfully quiet this morning,” she said. Forcing a faint smile, she braced for the worst. “You want to talk about anything?”
When he didn’t answer right away, she replayed every moment she’d spent with him, alone on his island. The days they’d spent together, while he healed, had been quiet, peaceful ones, filled with the sounds of lapping waves, exotic birds flitting from branch to branch in the lush green canopy overhead, and moonlit walks on the beach.
The first time they’d made love, it had been filled with urgent need that they both shared. Flashes of that memory would always be with her. And she remembered crying when it was over. The rush of emotion had overwhelmed her. Her being together with him, finally and completely, had been the culmination of years of her intense, one-sided attraction.
And last night they had made love on a blanket under the stars. Even though a bottle of chilled white wine had played a part in their loss of inhibition, the moon shining down on their bare skin had been magic. Jackson had undressed her. And his strong hands and warm mouth had stirred a passion she’d never felt before.
She never felt closer to him than she had last night, and she’d been certain that he felt the same, until this morning, after she’d awakened alone.
“There’s something I want you to do with me,” he told her. “You may not want to. And I’ll understand if you can’t . . .”
Before he finished, she let him off the hook and stroked his windswept hair. He’d become her addiction, and she couldn’t resist touching him.
“What is it?” she asked.
He swallowed hard as he stared at the ocean, but eventually he turned toward her, giving her his full attention with his intense green eyes.
“I have the ashes of my wife and child here on the island with me. I’ve kept them here. And I haven’t been able to let them go.” When his words caught in his throat, and his eyes filled with tears, he reached for her hands and held them in his. “But I think with you here, I can do that now. Will you . . . help me?”
Alexa had no words. She pulled him into her arms with tears of her own rolling down her cheeks. She knew how hard it would be for him to finally let go. And since she’d never been the type who wore rose-colored glasses, she also knew Jackson Kinkaid was far from whole.
But he’d asked her to help him deal with his grief. And that had to count for something.
Alexa woke up the next morning, listening to the sounds of Kinkaid’s heart beating in the quiet. It was a sound she could get used to. Feeling his warm bare skin next to hers was addictive.
She ran a finger through the curly hairs of his chest. And when she saw his strong hands lying across his stomach, she remembered how gentle they had been when he spread the ashes of his wife and child in the ocean at dusk last night. The ebb and flow of the salt water at their bare feet had reflected the brilliant orange of the sunset. That memory would stay with her forever. He said his good-byes, as he spoke aloud to them, making her a part of his ceremony. And when it was over, she felt as if she’d lost her family, too.
They didn’t make love last night. Without saying a word, they held each other and listened to the waves edging the shore until it lulled them both to sleep.
By morning, she could have stayed in bed forever, but when her cell phone rang, she felt compelled to answer it. Being with Kinkaid felt like she’d dropped off the planet. That was a good thing. She’d never felt so relaxed, but when her phone rang, she had to answer it.
“Hello.”
“Alexa, it’s me.”
She recognized Jessie’s voice. She wasn’t used to having a partner as aloof as Jessie was. So for her to call out of the blue, it took Alexa by surprise.
“You still on your trip?” Alexa kept her voice low as she left the bedroom, trying not to wake Jackson. She slipped into a light robe and went outside to walk the beach.
“No, I’m heading back now. Harper says hello.”
Alexa grinned. “I knew he had something to do with your great escape. You get things taken care of? Is everything okay?”
With a strange silence on the phone, Alexa waited for Jessie to answer.
“Yeah, I guess. But I’ve got something to tell you.”
“Oh?”
“I made a decision, and it feels right.”
“What did you decide, Jess?”
Alexa braced herself. She had no idea what Jessie would say.
“I decided to move back to Chicago. Seth asked me to move in with him, and I’m gonna do it.”
“That’s . . . great, I think. You still gonna be my partner?”
“Yeah, sure. Of course.” Jessie cleared her throat. “Who’s gonna watch your ass if it’s not me?”
“Good point.” Alexa grinned. “Well, I’m happy for you.”
“What do you think Garrett will say? Both of you recruited me. And I think he wanted me to like New York more than I did. What can I say? I’m a Midwest girl.”
Alexa hated to think about Jessie moving back to Chicago just as they were becoming closer as partners, but she heard the joy in her voice and knew she was doing the right thing.
“You leave Garrett to me. I got you into this. And I’m glad you’re still my partner. When will you get back to New York?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll call you. We’ve got catching up to do.”
“Uh, I won’t be there. I took a personal trip of my own, but I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” Before Jessie ended the call, she said, “Hey, Alexa? I just wanted you to know that I’m happy you recruited me. Working a real job for Garrett and having Seth in my life, I feel like I’ve turned a corner, you know?”
Alexa knew about turning corners. “Yeah, I do. And I’m glad you’re happy, Jessie. See you soon.”
As she walked along the shore, Alexa turned toward Jackson’s house, feeling the ocean breeze on her face. Hearing Jessie sounding so happy had been contagious. When her phone rang again, so soon after her partner’s call, she had a grin on her face when she answered.
“What did you forget now, partner?”
She heard a soft sniffle on the phone, and a woman came on the line, “Honey, is that you, Alexa?”
She recognized the voice of Tanya Spencer.
“Yeah, Tanya, it’s me. What’s up?”
“I’ve got some bad news, baby girl. And this time, it’s for real.” From the sounds of it, Tanya was crying. And it took a lot to make that woman break down. “You’ve got to come home, honey. I can’t do this without you.”
“Talk to me, Tanya. Tell me what happened.”
New York City
Upper East Side
The next night
Garrett’s memorial service was in three days, but Alexa had come back early to help Tanya with the arrangements. Because of the severity of the explosion, his body had never been found. They’d only found enough DNA to make ID, but that was all they had.
Alexa thought about the lie Donovan Cross had once told her about Garrett being dead. Had Donovan Cross been predicting an outcome he would have something to do with, or had his lie been a coincidental guess? In the covert world she lived in, coincidences were always suspicious. And that left her raging against the man who had taken Garrett’s job—and most probably, his life.
Jackson had come back to New York with her. He was sleeping in her bed, still weak from his ordeal. But when she couldn’t sleep, she got up and slipped on a robe before she crept into her living room to pour a shot of single-malt scotch. Sitting in the dark, she drank and lost count of how many she’d had as she stared out her window to the park across the street.
She couldn’t get her head wrapped around Garrett being dead. His smile, his face, his eyes were still fresh in her memory. How could his death be real? And yet this time she felt it was.
When her glass was empty, she went to refill it, but a shadow under her threshold caught her eye. And when she heard a soft swish and saw something slide under her front door, she went for her gun.
Armed, she kept the light off and reached for the door handle. Before she opened it, she listened for any sounds coming from the hallway. When she didn’t hear anything, she flung open the door and aimed her weapon.
No one was in the hall, but someone had definitely been there.
She stepped back inside to find an envelope on her floor. After she flipped the dead bolt, she picked up the note, using her robe to hold it, not wanting to contaminate any evidence if it came to that. She dropped the note on her kitchen counter and used the end of a pencil to open it.
When she recognized the handwriting, she gasped and stared at the message, having trouble breathing. When she finally collapsed onto her sofa, she held the note in trembling fingers, careful to preserve the paper as much as she could.
From what she saw, the message was from Garrett.
Alexa—
I couldn’t leave without telling you what happened. I’m alive, Alexa. I didn’t die in that blast, no matter what proof they come up with.
I don’t know what role Cross played in this but know that he had a choice. He could’ve killed me, the way he was probably ordered to do. But if you say anything about getting this letter from me, or that I’m still alive, they will hunt me down and go after Cross, too.
There’s still a lot I don’t understand. And I don’t fully appreciate what Cross did, but maybe that will come in time. Thanks to Donovan Cross, I have a chance to make a new life for myself if I want it.
Don’t make the same mistake Jackson did, by clinging to the past. Make a future that’s worth holding on to. You always deserved better than I could ever give you.
Know that I will always love you, Alexa. Always.
Garrett
When she’d finished reading, she felt the cool trail of tears on her cheeks. She hadn’t realized she’d been crying. Garrett was alive? How was that possible? Her emotions ran the gamut from intense anger to relief that he might be all right—“might” being the operative word. She had no way to be sure.
It was comforting to believe Garrett had actually written the message, but she didn’t trust Donovan Cross. The personal script in Garrett’s handwriting, and delivered to her door in cryptic fashion, had been a nice touch. The words sounded like him, especially the personal part about Kinkaid, but she had no way of knowing for sure. Paranoia was a hazard of the job.
And not knowing the truth, one way or the other, hurt just as much as thinking he was dead.
Given the covert life she had made with the Sentinels—recruited by Garrett Wheeler himself—the truth was hard to recognize, even when it came in the form of a handwritten note from a man she would never forget.
Sentinels’ Headquarters
Next morning
Alexa held her head high as she walked down the corridor to Garrett’s . . . to Donovan Cross’s office. She braced for the flood of emotion she knew she’d feel. Imagining someone else behind Garrett’s desk would be a shock, especially now that she’d have to accept that Garrett was really gone from her life.
She’d wanted to believe that he hadn’t died in that dock explosion. And the pain of her grief had been tempered by the hope that the message from him had been real, but she didn’t want to play the part of a fool—Donovan Cross’s fool.
If Garrett had a second chance at a normal life—knowing that returning to his covert world would be dangerous for him and the people he loved—would he take it? If he was alive, would he want his old life back, the one that had been stolen from him? Garrett had always been a fighter. She couldn’t see him severing ties to a life he’d worked hard to build, not willingly.
The way she saw it, Donovan Cross and the men behind him had orchestrated a clever coup to eliminate Garrett. And the coup de grâce to put her out of her misery over his sudden departure had been that message. Maybe they thought it would shut her up and quell any curiosity she would have over what had happened to Garrett.
Alexa knew she had a choice to walk away and give up the life or stay put and keep an eye on Cross. With her partner Jessie so happy, the decision she’d made to stick hadn’t been difficult. Someone had to watch Jessie’s back, especially with the double-dealing Donovan Cross at the helm. If Alexa believed what was in Garrett’s note, Cross might have saved his life, but the man was also working for the faction within the Sentinels that had ordered a hit on him.
How could she trust someone who played both ends to his advantage without a semblance of guilt or bad conscience?
She barged into his office to see Cross was on the phone, dressed in a sharp pin-striped navy suit with red power tie, looking impressively dapper. When he saw her, he ended the call in a hurry.
From the look on his face, Donovan Cross had been waiting for her.
“Ah, Marlowe. It’s good to see you. How was Mexico?” The man didn’t smile. He wanted her to know that nothing had escaped him. “Please . . . sit.”
“Aren’t you going to tell me how sorry you are about Garrett?” Alexa ignored his invitation to make herself comfortable. She’d never feel comfortable with this man.
“Yes, of course. That goes without saying,” Cross said. A corner of his lip curved into a faint show of smugness. “Sorry for your loss.”
“I’m having a serious déjà vu moment, hearing you say that. If this whole spy game thing falls through, you could always make a living as a gypsy, telling fortunes.” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Your ability is uncanny. When you first told me about Garrett dying, had that been a prediction . . . or a promise?”
“Neither, but I doubt you’ll believe me.”
“Now you’re a mind reader. Truly amazing.” She raised her chin and locked her gaze on the man behind the desk, Garrett’s desk. “If I find out you had anything to do with what happened to him, there won’t be a place you can hide.”
Alexa didn’t wait for his clever comeback. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She’d delivered the message she’d come to say. And she’d had her fill of smug.
“Are you quitting, Marlowe?” he asked, calling after her. “Because if you are, that would be a pity. I was really hoping we could work together.”
“Quitting? Not hardly.” She glared at him over her shoulder as she left. “Over your dead body. And I mean that.”
Walking out of Cross’s office, Alexa had a sly smile on her face. The word “quit” wasn’t in her vocabulary—not today. She had no idea what Cross’s agenda was, but she had every intention of finding out.
She’d do it for Garrett.