Patriot, M.A. Rothman [reading like a writer TXT] 📗

stood. “That’s exactly what happened before 9/11, Chris. Everyone wanted to be one-hundred-percent sure. Well, damn it, sometimes you can’t be one-hundred-percent sure until after a thing happens, and by then it’s too late.”

“Hey, I’m on your side, here.” Christina lifted her hands as if surrendering. “Go see him—I’m not saying not to. You’ve got more evidence this time. But if he shuts you down, you’re going to need overwhelming evidence to sway him the next time.”

A thought popped into Connor’s head, and he fell back onto his chair and smiled. He scooted toward the computer and pulled up flight schedules.

Christina frowned at him. “Uh-oh. What’s going on in that sneaky little ex-military, screw-the-rules mind of yours? Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going to get some information.”

Chapter Five

Anastasia “Annie” Brown rubbed her face with both hands, keeping her eyes closed, letting the warm water run down her ebony skin. She pulled in a long, deep breath, held it, then blew it out slowly. She opened her eyes and stared back at herself in the dirty mirror, remembering in that moment who she really was. Annie was in control, despite the herculean effort it was taking to resist the urge to kill the man in the next room.

She was only thirty, but her first professional kill had been well over a decade ago. Annie had earned a nickname over the years, and it had become her nom de guerre, her professional name: The Black Widow. It was also a frame of mind that she put herself into when business needed to be done. She’d slice the man’s throat in a second, without giving it a moment’s thought.

But she couldn’t afford to let this gold mine off that easily. If the Black Widow got her way, she would stand there passively, watching as the man’s lifeblood spilled across the generic hotel comforter. And Annie would curse the Black Widow for throwing away such a valuable asset.

It was Annie staring back at her through the mirror, wanting nothing more than to set the Widow free, to allow the monster to do its work. The man deserved no less.

But not tonight.

She did, however, make a promise that, in time, the Widow would return and set the record straight. The smiling, exhausted man, lying naked in the next room… he’d pay the bill he’d racked up. The price of which was steep.

She toweled off her face and slipped back into the main room. Marcus Alvin, a captain in the Montana National Guard, lay on the bed, eyes closed, sleeping peacefully, still tangled in the white sheets. His multicam uniform was tossed over the back of the chair, and his wallet and keys lay forgotten on the floor. It’d been a mad dash to get to the sheets when he’d finally arrived, two hours late. And the man’s grunting and groaning over the subsequent three hours had been almost more than Annie could endure.

On her secret list of people she wanted to kill, the bastard who had invented Viagra was near the top.

Her phone beeped on the dresser, and the screen came on. She padded over and checked the caller ID. What now? she thought.

Holding up the phone, she looked directly into the camera lens, which doubled as a retina scanner. The screen changed from black to white, displaying a ten-digit keypad. She punched in the code, knowing that her fingerprints were being scanned and run against the stored copies in the phone’s memory. After the two-stage verification was passed, the phone unlocked, and Annie swiped to the new message.

FLIGHT 1284 - DULLES - FREDERICK WAGNER

Annie sighed and swiped the message away.

“Something wrong?” Alvin said, propping himself up on his elbows. The sheet slid off his stomach, revealing the excitement he was clearly feeling.

Annie flashed him one of her winning smiles. The smile designed to send any man to his knees with lust. They were so weak. “Not at all.”

Alvin patted the bed next to him. “How about round three?”

The Widow wanted to tell him that he wasn’t nearly as good between the sheets as he imagined he was. But Annie simply laughed. “Aw, honey, I wish I could.” She showed him the phone. “You know how it is. The boss calls…”

Alvin kicked the rest of the sheets off and moved to the edge of the bed.

Annie put a hand out. “No, no, please, stay. Relax. You deserve it after the work you just put in.”

“You liked that, huh?” He grinned, raising an eyebrow.

Stroking your over-inflated ego is so much more fun than stroking your… Annie left the thought unspoken. She moved forward and leaned across the bed, pushing her breasts together with her arms. Alvin scooted forward, eager, but Annie backed away, waggling a finger at him. “Ah ah, not now.”

Alvin stuck out his bottom lip, and Annie laughed. “Got to keep you coming back for more,” she said.

“More?”

She pulled her skin-tight jeans on, wiggling back and forth to get them over her hips. “Of course. Can’t let a catch like you get away that easy.”

The captain settled back down onto the bed. “When can I see you again? How will I get ahold of you?”

She pulled her red T-shirt over her head. “I’ll get ahold of you. Don’t you worry about that.”

She zipped up her black leather jacket as she stepped into the warm summer night. Morning, she corrected herself, checking her watch. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, unlocked it, and dialed the number. It rang twice, connecting as she reached her all-black Ducati Panigale racing motorcycle.

“What’s this all about?” she asked, without giving Rick Thompson, her handler, any time to speak. “I didn’t get everything I needed.”

“You identified the source of the weapons, right?” Thompson’s voice sounded dismissive. She knew he already knew the answer to that question, and she was only slightly annoyed that he’d asked it.

“I mean honestly,” she said, “do you just like hearing the sound of your own voice, or are you just