Defenseless (Salvation, #5)(5)
“Your father would be—”
“Don’t even say it, Tom. You don’t get to talk about him.”
“I want you to take a few weeks off.”
My jaw would drop if I weren’t trained so well. “I’m sorry, I thought I heard you say weeks.”
He stands, pushing the papers on the desk so they align. “I did.”
I leap out of my chair. “I can’t. You can’t be serious. I’m one of the best you have. You can’t let Al Mazir get weeks ahead of me.”
“You’re off his case. You need to take some time to get your head on straight. The operation went on too long. I should have taken you off when you got back with the hostage you found.” Tom strides out of the office, leaving me stunned.
He’s been my supervisor for five years, and I’ve never once been removed from a case. I know everything there is to know about Mazir. No one in this office could pick up where I left off. I have deep-seated contacts. This is a mistake. It has to be.
I rush after him but stop short.
“Hey, Charlie.” Vanessa stands before me, twisting her hands. I wish people would use the training we went through. I read her body language and the little nuances tell me she’s nervous.
“What can I do for you?” I look past her to see if Tom is at his desk. If he refuses to listen, I’ll go above his head.
She places her hand on my arm to bring my attention back to her. “I just wanted to say I’m really sorry about your dad. I know it’s been a while, but we haven’t had a chance to talk since it all happened.”
“Thanks.”
I don’t do small talk or fake empathy. My father was the most brilliant mind that ever worked for the CIA. He was an asset to this country, a patriot through and through. He gave his time, love, and devotion to this agency. Then he was brutally murdered and left for dead at the hands of Al Mazir. There’s no one in the entire world who wants Mazir more than I do.
“I know you still have a few more things to do with the debrief, but I’d like to go over the case file and really pick your brain.”
“Why?”
“Oh.” She shifts again. “Didn’t Tom tell you? I’m the new op on the case.”
I close my eyes and count to five to calm myself.
He wouldn’t.
He couldn’t.
Would he?
He did. Motherf*cker . . . he did.
I need a vacation.
I look back at Vanessa, who now appears as if she’s gloating. “I can’t talk now. I need to just think, okay?”
She nods. “Sure thing.” Her smile grows before she walks off in the other direction.
Tom isn’t at his desk, my co-workers refuse to make eye contact, and my mind won’t stop spinning. None of this makes any sense. I’ve seen people do way worse than not gather one small piece of information and still be left on the case. Even though this “small” thing is really a large gaping hole, but that’s beside the point. I’ve invested so much time. I know the area, the locals, the entire backstory, and with the help of the ground operative there, I’m so close to figuring out where Mazir is. My asset has been guiding me, which has allowed me to monitor Mazir’s movements. The only thing I can think of is this is either personal or the agency doesn’t want me to uncover something.
Director Asher and I are going to have a meeting. There’s no way in hell I’ll just go quietly into the dark. My gut tells me there’s way more to this than meets the eye.
The phone rings at my desk.
“Hello,” I say, still trying to wrap my mind around being pulled from a case.
“Charlie?” I recognize the voice instantly. Mark Dixon. As if this day couldn’t get any more complicated.
“Hello, Mark. What can I possibly do for you?” I smile despite my shit mood. He and I had spent the entire flight home talking. He’s funny, sexy as hell, but more than that, he makes me feel alive—something I haven’t felt a lot since I lost my father. I worked with Mark for a week when we got back from Aaron’s rescue but it yielded nothing. Then I had to leave for Dubai to track an informant, and things returned to life as usual. We met a few times, but since then it hasn’t been anything regular.
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to, princess.”
Good mood gone. “You want your balls in a vice? Call me princess again and see how fast I get to Virginia Beach and you lose them.”
“You just want to touch my balls,” he retorts. “Besides, maybe that’s my plan. Get you here.”
“If you had any.” I smirk.
I picture him leaning back in his chair, longish blonde hair pushed back, scruff painting his face, and his green eyes filled with mischief. Mark Dixon would bring any woman to her knees. Good thing I’m not just any woman. I think about the last time I saw him. It was when he came to DC with Aaron to talk. It’s not normal protocol, but after all Aaron went through, it was important. My handler urged me to help him through it, since no one else really could. It was really the first time I’ve ever had guilt over a mission.
“Anytime you want to play with my balls, you just call me.”
“Why did you call me?” I try to bring the conversation back on point. I have no idea what he could need.