Bourne sat below the columns of the Lincoln Memorial. It was a gray afternoon in Washington, the mood somber despite the holiday decorations everywhere.
He heard Shadow’s footsteps approaching from the steps above him with that distinctive, confident click of her high heels. She stood beside him, breath clouding in front of her, hands buried in her pockets as she admired the view. She wore a long winter coat with a fur collar that framed the sharp line of her chin. Her makeup, as always, was perfect, her lips deep red. Her wavy blond hair spilled onto her shoulders. When she finally sat down next to him, smoothing her coat beneath her, she was close enough that their legs touched.
They were silent for a while. The Reflecting Pool in front of them stretched toward the pinnacle of the Washington Monument. Christmas tourists shivered in the cold, but the hard ground in the park was brown and snowless.
“So you’re back,” she said finally.
Jason didn’t reply. He surveyed the people around them by habit—assessing threats, identifying the half dozen Treadstone agents assigned to protect Shadow—but his soul felt dead. He’d been virtually silent since he’d left Cody’s ranch house outside Narva. Silent on the road back to Tallinn. Silent on the Treadstone jet back to Washington. The only thing he could hear in his head were Tati’s screams.
Idly, he stroked the little finger on his right hand. Part of him wanted to bend it back until he heard the crack of the bone breaking. His whole soul tightened into a ball of fury aimed at the Russian called Cody.
He was a monster!
“Is everything all right?” Shadow asked, her lips pursing into a frown.
“Fine.”
He felt the intensity of her eyes as she watched him, that damn psychiatrist’s stare that was both icy and intimate. He had to suppress the wave of anger he felt toward her. Or was it desire? With Shadow, the two became tangled up in his mind until he had no idea whether he wanted to kill her or sleep with her. Or both. He knew she wanted a report. She’d rerouted his Treadstone flight out of Tallinn from Los Angeles to Washington because she wanted an update on his hunt for the Files. But he found it nearly impossible to drag the words out of his chest.
Instead, he couldn’t stop thinking about Tati. He saw her face. The pleading in her eyes.
“You’re distracted,” Shadow said. “That’s not like you. What’s going on? What happened in Estonia?”
Bourne dragged a cloak over his emotions. “It was a long flight. I haven’t slept.”
Her blue eyes hardened. A wrinkle of annoyance came and went on her forehead. It was obvious she didn’t believe him, and Shadow didn’t like agents lying to her. But he didn’t care. There was no way he was going to tell her the truth. The secrets of Narva belonged to him and him alone.
“This is a race, Jason. There’s no silver medal for the loser. I need you at your best.”
“Then get out of the way and let me do my job,” Bourne snapped, trying to turn the conversation against her. “You’re the one who insisted the jet stop in DC. We could have done this over the phone. Or we could have done this when the mission was over. I’m losing time being here with you instead of in L.A.”
“What’s in Los Angeles?” she asked.
“A county parks worker named Rod Holtzman.”
Shadow waited again, saying nothing. The standoff between them drew out, until her impatience won over her stubbornness. “All right. Who is Rod Holtzman? Why is he important?”
“His parks job is a cover. It’s fake. Rod Holtzman is a contract killer. His assignments come via a Russian strongman in Estonia named Cody. Cody’s the one who masterminds the escort website. He finds rich clients for Holtzman via the website—people like Wilson Scott—and then Holtzman splits the fee with him. It’s a lucrative business, five- or six-figure payouts on every job.”
“What’s the connection to the Files?”
“Someone on the outside figured out who Holtzman is and what he does. They went directly to him to get him to do a hit. If he refused, he’d be exposed. Turned over to the FBI, along with evidence of his jobs.”
“Someone?”
“I think it’s the person we’re looking for,” Bourne said. “Whoever has the Files found Holtzman’s secret occupation, and they blackmailed him. Just like they did with Scott, al-Najjar, and the others.”
“So you want to follow Holtzman to his target,” she concluded. “Is that the idea? There can only be so many people who might want the target dead. Presumably, one of them has the Files.”
“Exactly.”
“And why did the Russian give you Holtzman’s name?” she asked.
Bourne had been anticipating that question. He’d prepared a cover story to throw her off the scent. Shadow was smart, which was what made her dangerous. He could see suspicion on her face, because she could play every chess game several moves ahead.
The only reason for Cody to give up his hit man was to help Bourne get the Files.
“He didn’t give me anything. Irina did. She’s the girl on the website.”
“Except my understanding is Irina doesn’t exist,” Shadow pointed out.
“The girl in the pictures doesn’t, but there’s a real girl behind her. She builds the relationships on the website. She’s the go-between in the whole operation. Cody treats her like his girlfriend and keeps her around. So she hears a lot of names. She’s in the room for most of his phone calls.”
“How did you get her to talk?”
“She wanted to get away from Cody,” Bourne said. “I said I’d help.”
“And did you?”
“I tried to get her out, but Cody ambushed us on the road to Tallinn. He killed her. I was lucky to get away.”
Always build a lie on a foundation of truth.
Treadstone.
But Shadow was the head of Treadstone. She knew the rules backward and forward and knew how they could be manipulated. Her cool eyes drilled into him, trying to peel back layers of deceit, looking for holes in his story.
“I got a report that Interpol lost a couple of agents in Narva,” Shadow said. “Was that part of your operation?”
“Yes. They were working with me to evacuate Irina. Cody killed them, too.”
“Unfortunate.”
“I’m not giving you excuses. I’m telling you what happened. I take the blame. It’s my fault.”
“But the bottom line is, you got the information we needed,” Shadow said.
“Yes.”
“Then nothing else matters.” She nodded at one of her protection agents nearby and then got to her feet. “I won’t keep you any longer, Jason. Stay the night in DC. Meet me at the airfield in the morning. We’ll take the Treadstone jet to Los Angeles together.”
“Together? Why?”
“If we need to move on the Files quickly, I want to be prepared. I have assets on the coast that can help us.”
“I don’t need you looking over my shoulder. And I don’t need any help.”
“Is there some reason you don’t want me with you?”
“Not at all,” Bourne replied, because there was nothing else he could say. She wasn’t lying that backup might be necessary when they went after the Files, but he also knew that she didn’t trust him. She sensed his deception. She was going to babysit him until the mission was done.
Shadow stood over him, one hand on her hip. “I hope you’re not concerned about our history together.”
“Our history is dead and buried,” he replied.
But Bourne didn’t believe that. Not for a minute.
*
Jason got a room at the Hyatt Regency near the Capitol. He showered, changed, and reserved a late table for dinner at Charlie Palmer’s, where he ordered New York strip steak done rare. He drank red wine with it. Too much. He stayed until the restaurant was almost empty, finishing the bottle on his own and following it up with two shots of Macallan. When he finally took the short walk back through the darkness to the hotel, he had a stabbing headache behind his eyes.
But none of it drove Tati from his mind.
Jason, oh God, make it stop!
His eyes closed. His fists clenched. But all he could do for Tati was get the Files.
At his room, he noticed that the sliver of a toothpick he’d shoved into the crack of the door when he left was now on the carpet of the hotel hallway. Someone had entered his room while he was gone.
He wasn’t surprised. He’d been expecting her to show up and wondered when she would make an appearance. Bourne had his Glock in his hand as he opened the door. Just in case. Inside, the room was dark, but the glow of city lights from the window was enough to show him the naked woman lying on his bed. He could see her bare skin in the shadows, her long straight blond hair draped in loose strands across her full breasts, her legs parted with one knee bent.
“I wanted you to see I’m unarmed,” Johanna said.
He didn’t say anything. He returned his gun to his holster, then took off his sport coat and draped it over a chair. He put the holster on top of the coat and walked over to the bed, where he sat down next to her.
She rolled over on her side, and her fingers grazed his thigh.
“I saw you with Shadow today,” she said.
“You were watching me?”
“I was watching her. God, I hate that bitch. I could have taken her down, you know. I was close enough to get off a shot. Six agents and none of them spotted me. Pretty pathetic for Treadstone.”
“I spotted you,” Bourne said.
“Did you?”
“Taking selfies by the Reflecting Pool. Blue down coat, jeans, orange scarf, white wool cap, sunglasses.”
“Of course. I was wondering if you made me. At one point, I thought I saw your eyes look my way. But you didn’t say anything to Shadow?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Bourne decided to be honest. “Because it turns out I may need your help after all.”
“Well, I like to hear that.” She pushed herself up on the bed, and her arms snaked around him, her lips kissing his neck. “Tell me something. If I’d gone after Shadow today, would you have protected her? Or would you have let me kill her?”
“I protected her the last time you tried to kill her,” Bourne said. “Nothing’s changed.”
“You also let me go last time. You could have shot me, and you didn’t.”
“True.”
“One of these days, I’m going to try again. It’ll be her or me. You’ll have to choose.”
Bourne frowned. He was tired of being in the middle of their game. Shadow and Johanna were both playing him, both pulling him into their vendetta. But Johanna was right. A final confrontation was inevitable. He didn’t know, when the moment came to choose between them, what he would do.
“Why are you here, Johanna? I thought we covered everything outside Tucson.”
She reached between his legs. “Right now I just want to fuck. Everything else can wait until we’re done.”
“I already told you. You and me? That’s not happening again.”
“Yeah, you told me that, and I don’t believe you.”
She grabbed his face, turned his head, and kissed him hard on the mouth. Her tongue pushed between his teeth, daring him to kiss her back, and he did. She was right again; she was always right. He wanted her. Tonight, at that moment, he needed her in his arms. He needed to push everything else out of his mind. The Files. Tati. Shadow. Even the memory of Abbey Laurent. He took Johanna’s soft bare shoulders and pushed her down onto the bed and crushed her with his weight. Her hands ripped at his clothes, popping buttons on his shirt, fumbling with his zipper. She couldn’t go fast enough for their desire, so he stood up and stripped completely naked in front of her. She rolled onto her hands and knees; she took him in her mouth. His back arched, his breath expelling in a silent groan of pleasure.
Johanna let go, sinking back and spreading her legs. “Now,” she whispered urgently. “Now, quick, fast.”
The next moment, he was inside her, her legs wrapped around his back, her heels thumping him like a drum. They struggled with each other, gladiators both hungry for control, rolling and switching places, him on top, her on top. He won the first round, drawing a shattering climax out of her as her whole body clenched. Then, in the slow aftermath, she began to move again, her hips undulating like waves as she took him back up the mountain to his own release.
Eventually, they fell back next to each other, sated and sweaty.
“Jesus, I told you, didn’t I?” Johanna murmured. “We’re good together.”
Bourne, still breathing hard, didn’t answer. He stared at the ceiling in the darkness, and he knew she was right. There was something between them, whatever it was. But for all of the passion between them, he felt empty.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“That wasn’t just sex. You think I don’t know the difference with you? That was escape. What are you escaping from, Jason?”
He said nothing, and Johanna sighed at his silence.
“Fine. I get it. We can fuck, but it’s nothing personal.”
“I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“You’re right. Absolutely. It doesn’t have to mean a thing. You tell me the lie you want to hear, and I’ll make you believe it.”
“Johanna—”
“Forget it. Do you still want Abbey? Is that it?”
Abbey.
Was Johanna right? Was Abbey still his magnet, pulling him back?
“It’s not that simple,” he said.
“Fine. Then let’s get down to business. It’s safer that way. You said you need my help, right? And you were in town briefing Shadow. That means you’ve got something. You’ve got information. Well, guess what, so do I. If we pool our resources, we’ll get there faster. That’s important. The race isn’t just you and me, Jason. There are a lot of others who want the Files.”
“I know,” Bourne said.
“So give me something to work with. I’ve been hunting for leads in Washington, but I’ve hit a dead end.”
“You first,” he told her.
“Okay. What I know came from Callie Faith. I’m willing to give it to you for nothing if that’s what you want. No quid pro quo. But I’d rather you trust me. I’m taking a leap of faith in you, Jason. Why not do the same with me?”
Bourne frowned. His instinct was always to say nothing. To trust no one except himself. Especially not a woman who’d already betrayed him once. But he knew that Johanna could be useful in the days ahead.
“I’m going to Los Angeles,” he told her.
“Do you think the Files are in L.A.?”
“I don’t know, but whoever has the Files has business out there.”
“What kind of business?”
Bourne turned his head sideways and studied Johanna’s face. “A hit.”
“Interesting. Who’s the target?”
“That’s what I need to find out. Hopefully the identity of the target will point us to whoever has the Files.”
“Us?”
“Shadow’s coming with me. She’ll be on the ground, too. So you need to be careful. If you give her a chance, she’ll take you out.”
“Understood. But why does Shadow want to be there in person? Since when do you need a babysitter?” Johanna put a hand on his cheek, and her face darkened with concern. “What the hell are you hiding, Jason? You’re keeping secrets about something. I can tell. She must think so, too.”
He shook his head. “I’ve shown you mine. You show me yours.”
Johanna took away her hand, but her eyes stayed on his. “Okay, here’s what I know. We’re running out of time. We need to move fast. According to Callie, the seller has surfaced with a price. Fifty million dollars. The Files are in play.”