Page 11 of Reckless

Gideon groaned and shook his head.

Ash cursed softly and then snarled, “We talked about this and agreed to let her face it in her own time.”

“Wait,” Hawke said. “What am I missing here? I thought the team had been looking for Jazz’s brother since she came on board. What’s changed?”

“Nothing’s changed, and that’s the problem,” Xavier said. “She won’t ask for a full-on OZ investigation.”

Eve’s forehead furrowed with concern. “Why’s that, do you think?”

“We’ve always known that Jazz has trust issues,” Serena said. “Which, considering what she’s been through, is understandable.”

Xavier shifted in his chair. Even though he was the one who’d started this conversation, he was feeling damn uncomfortable talking about his partner without her in the room.

“Maybe we need to do some kind of intervention,” Eve said. Turning her gaze toward Xavier, she added, “Gently and respectfully.”

Yeah, he got the message.

“Not tonight. I’ve already upset her. Having that conversation now will only make her feel like we’re ganging up on her.”

“Which we would be,” Eve replied dryly. “Why don’t you let Serena and me take a shot at it?” She raised her hand and added, “Soon. Not now.”

“Agreed,” Ash said. “Just do it in a way that shows she has our total support, not like she’s being interrogated with no way out.”

Okay, yeah, that was another poke at him again. Ash was pissed and likely wouldn’t let it lie until they had a one-on-one. Xavier didn’t necessarily disagree with his boss’s assessment. Didn’t mean he hadn’t done the right thing. He’d learned a long time ago that sometimes you had to do what you hated to get the results you needed.

CHAPTER SIX

Seattle

His steps controlled and precise, the assassin opened the door and walked into the hotel room. Outwardly, there was no indication of the chaos erupting inside him.

He grabbed a burner out of his stash and dropped into a chair. The only sign of any kind of turmoil was the heavy sigh he gave before pressing a series of numbers.

The call was answered before the first ring ended. “Identification?” the female voice said.

“0025413.”

The instant he finished reciting the numbers, he heard a soft hitch, and then her voice gentled as she said, “Hold, please.”

He didn’t know who she was, knew nothing about her…didn’t even know her first name. What he did know was she was the only pleasant thing in his life. They’d never had a real conversation, but for some reason, he felt closer to her than anyone else in this cursed life he lived.

She could be an octogenarian with ten great-grandchildren, but in his mind’s eye, she was perfect—wavy blond hair, camellia complexion, and a smile as soft as a rose petal. The Southern drawl was almost undetectable, but when she said please, he heard a trace of the South, and it always soothed him.

The good feeling lasted only a second, because the next voice was as pleasant as a bullfrog. “Report.”

With the same emotionless voice he used each time, he snapped, “Target down.”

“Excellent. Any problems?”

“Negative.”

“The funds have been transferred.”

He listened carefully for any inflection or hesitation in the emotionless, almost-robotic tone. Did they know anything? There was only a slight easing of tension in his body when he detected nothing.

“We will be in touch.” On that abrupt note, the call ended.

With practiced efficiency, he quickly disassembled the burner and broke the SIM card in half. Taking another burner from the stash, he made another call.