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.
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.
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—
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 grace 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 deja 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.
About the Author
Ripped from the headlines, JORDAN DANE’s gritty plots weave a tapestry of vivid settings, intrigue, and dark humor.
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JORDAN DANE
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