Terminal Vendetta (A Diana Weick Thriller Book 3), Cate Clarke [best books to read .TXT] 📗

things that had been following her for so long would never cease, and the package seemed to be another indication that those worries were her intuition speaking up once again.

She could sit and stir in her thoughts for hours if she wasn’t careful. Something she’d been doing a lot of lately. Without the action of her SEAL life, her life without Kushkin and the Readers, there was way too much time and space to think. Retiring didn’t mean she’d never set foot on the field or hold a gun in her hands again. But to Diana it meant that she didn’t have to be the first one to do so. It was the passing of the torch, the silenced pistol, the sniper rifle. Diana would step off this rocky boat and onto the docks of guidance instead, leaving the sailors on board to decide on their next direction—Amber, Axtell, Wesley. She trusted them all with her life. She trusted them with her job.

Forever a green face. Always a soldier. Always focused.

But she was learning to ask for help, learning to step back and allow the interference of the brave men and women around her. She could step back into the shadows, a ghost whispering advice; a leader guiding her students like Ratanake had been to her. Perhaps, she could be a catalyst of change to more tortured souls like Taras Kushkin, find some light in the shadows that she spent so much time in.

Time would tell—determined by choice.

But for now, Diana would do her best here, training and working with the young soldiers, helping Laird cut back on the weed and taking him out for lunch. And in the background, as necessary, keeping her eyes on her enemies, biding her time like a spider in the dark corner of a room, watching from its web until the hunger hit once again. No antidote for her bite. No resolve to her violence. Only her, pure and unadulterated as venom. The best of the best, waiting for someone to beat her.

The End

Epilogue

Idris Amber

London, England

It was odd sitting in Voss’s chair, squeaking along the desk that he’d so many times sat on the other side of. There hadn’t been much discussion on his appointment to the vice-chief position. Not that Idris would have turned it down. Never. This was something he’d worked for his entire life and career.

He turned in the empty office. It still smelled of bleach and cleaner even after months of sanitization, even after rebuilding the bathroom and the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the Thames.

Reina was a good assistant, albeit a little naive. He needed and wanted her to have just a bit more of a backbone. If she did, perhaps Rex and Wesley wouldn’t have been held captive for so long by Voss, only a hop and a skip away from her office.

After all those weeks of international travel and constant missions, it was nice to have a bit of office time. And it was office time without any of the Readers to intrude and invade. That was one of the first things that Idris had done as vice-chief—tested the loyalties of every staff member with a lie detector test and security checks that he’d run himself. He couldn’t have any more moles, any more liabilities. Idris was responsible for it now. It was clear that Chief Harlow didn’t give a damn what went down at MI6. Even while he was in the office or in meetings, that man was always checked out, thinking about the next bird to stick his dick in.

He got up from the desk, pushing his hair back and moving to the hall to see Reina off for the day. Apparently this was something Voss had never done, said good morning or goodbye, so the first time that Idris had popped his head into her office to do so, Reina had nearly fallen off her chair.

“Plans this weekend?” Idris asked as he leaned in the doorway. Reina looked up from the computer, dyed pink hair falling over her shoulder and acrylic nails tapping against her mouse.

“No, sir,” she squeaked. “Yourself?”

“Not really,” he replied. “Maybe a call with Diana, we’ll see.”

“You still chat quite often?”

Idris shrugged. “It’s difficult being this far apart, but we make do.”

“Is it too forward of me to ask if you two are exclusive?” Reina stood up from her desk, reaching for her white raincoat that was hanging on the back of the door.

He let out a small laugh.

“It’s a bit too forward,” he noted.

A flash of red reached across Reina’s cheeks.

“Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean—”

He lifted his hand, and she pulled in her lips, brushing her hair behind her ear. It really wasn’t too forward. It was just a conversation that Idris and Diana had never had themselves. Sure, they had a lot in common. They certainly worked well together, and they were attracted to each other. But they were both uncertain if it would ever go beyond that. Diana wanted to retire and settle down. Idris was just getting started.

“I’ll see you on Monday, Reina,” Idris said, nodding at her as he pushed himself out of the doorway. “Have a nice weekend.”

As he headed back down the hall, he heard Reina muttering to herself behind him, clearly still embarrassed by the question she’d asked. The elevator dinged. The doors slid open. She went down and left him alone, once again. That was something that many failed to mention about executive positions—how lonely they were. Though he very much blamed Voss entirely for the choices she’d made, he understood a bit more now why she had done what she did to Diana and her family. The quiet of the office was thick and cruel some days.

He re-opened the door with a swipe of his keycard.

In the few minutes that he’d been gone, from Voss’s chair to Reina’s office, someone had been here. Not on the inside of the room but the outside, a message painted all the way across