Bourne saw Shadow emerge from her Beverly Hills hotel at nightfall.
She’d been closeted in her suite all day, not taking his calls, not answering his texts, protected behind security in the lobby and an agent outside her door. Now he watched her pass under the hotel’s stone archway onto Wilshire Boulevard, but she wasn’t alone. Two Treadstone agents came with her, a man and a woman.
She waited on the street, as if posing for a picture. She wore turquoise jeans with white sneakers, plus a tweed jacket over a black shell. Her Coach purse was slung over her shoulder, which made an elegant holster for the Ruger LCP he knew she kept inside. Her blond hair was loose, her lips deep red as always. She eyed the street and then murmured something to the two agents with her.
Bourne stayed out of sight, but he wondered if Shadow sensed his presence. She knew he was coming after her.
He waited while she crossed the street to the Two Rodeo pedestrian mall. She climbed the steps beside a gurgling fountain, and the agents gave her space, taking up positions twenty feet behind her, one on the left, one on the right. Bourne followed. He didn’t bother with a disguise. If Shadow saw him, a disguise wouldn’t matter; she’d see through it. He let the crowd give him cover, but Shadow never looked back as she window-shopped along the cobblestoned walkway. The two agents in her wake watched for threats, and they were good, conscious of every face without drawing attention to themselves, hands ready if anyone made a move.
When Shadow went inside the Versace store, the woman agent accompanied her, and the man stayed outside, casually checking his phone while he kept an eye on people coming and going. His back was to the windows of Stefano Ricci, his stare fixed on the Versace doorway. Bourne approached him like a normal pedestrian, staying close to the store window, then passing in front of him. In the next instant, he spun back in a single smooth motion and cracked the man’s skull against one of the building’s stone columns. No one saw; no one heard. The man’s eyes closed, and he slumped, and Bourne guided his body down to the sidewalk.
He slipped across the walkway to the Versace door. The woman agent came out first, her attention immediately focused on the disturbance at the opposite store, where pedestrians had begun to gather around the agent on the sidewalk. She didn’t notice the man three feet to her right. Her mouth moved; she murmured the other agent’s name into her radio and got no response. By instinct, she turned, ready to force Shadow back into the store. As she did, she spotted Bourne, and her eyes widened. Her lips formed the word Cain as she reached for her Glock, and Bourne’s forearm had already launched a chop to her neck when Shadow stepped between them and deflected the blow.
“Enough!”
Bourne held up his hands. The woman agent stepped back. Shadow dismissed her with a flick of her fingers and continued at a casual pace down the middle of the stone walkway. Bourne fell into position next to her.
“How’s Wolf?” Shadow asked, nodding toward the male agent on the ground.
“Hibernating.”
“Was that really necessary, Jason?”
“You weren’t taking my calls.”
“I’ve had a busy day,” she replied.
“Busy doing what?”
Shadow didn’t reply. She stopped outside the window of David Orgell and nodded at one of the displays. “Do you like that Ritmo Mundo watch?”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Want me to get it for you? It’s almost Christmas. It would look good on you.”
“No thanks,” Jason said.
“You don’t want me buying you gifts?”
“What would the other agents think?” Bourne asked.
Shadow smiled at the joke. She reached into her purse—he could see the Ruger—and removed a pack of cigarettes. She lit one and inhaled. “That’s better.”
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
“Every now and then.”
She used two fingers to draw the cigarette from between her red lips. It was always the same with her. The languid movements. The flirting. Sex was a more lethal weapon with her than the gun in her bag. “Since you’re here, I assume that means you know about Garrett Parker.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about him?” Bourne asked.
“I knew you’d get to the truth eventually. Garrett was never an agent for us. Just a resource who provided me with information from time to time. I saw no reason to think he knew who had the Files. In the interim, I didn’t want to prejudice your search. I couldn’t be sure that the Files originated with Jumpp. It might have been TikTok or ChatGPT or something entirely different where the Chinese didn’t have their fingers in the pie.”
“Except I came to you about mygirlnextdoor from the beginning,” Bourne said. “You never told me about the connection to Jumpp. And Garrett.”
“Do you want me to apologize for being three steps ahead of you, Jason? The fact is, I always am. But like I told you before, it’s irrelevant to me where the Files originated. The only thing that matters right now is who stole them.”
“I think it’s a woman named Vix,” Bourne told her. “Do you know who she is?”
“A former coder with Jumpp, as I recall.”
“She was also Garrett’s lover. And Mr. Yuan’s daughter.”
Shadow’s perfect dark eyebrows arched. “His daughter? Now, that is interesting. I thought Mr. Yuan’s daughters were both in hiding in China. Or imprisoned in a labor camp somewhere.”
“Mr. Yuan smuggled Vix out.”
“And Garrett knew who she was?”
“He did.”
“But he didn’t tell me. What a naughty boy. That information could have changed everything. So Vix stole the Files to get back at the Chinese for what they did to her father. The pieces begin to fit.”
“She also wants revenge against Garrett because she thinks he’s a Treadstone spy who set up Mr. Yuan.”
“Why would she think that?” Shadow asked.
“Don’t act innocent. You leaked it. You wanted the Chinese to think Mr. Yuan was handing us secrets. That’s what got him killed.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Garrett thinks you did. So does Vix. It came out of the Files.”
“Then the Files are wrong,” Shadow said. “I didn’t know about Vix, and I didn’t sell out Mr. Yuan.”
Bourne studied Shadow’s face, from her eyes to her mouth, looking for the tells that would prove she was lying. Because she always lied. She lied as easily as she could tell you the day of the week. But he saw no signs of deception now. Either she was very good—and she was—or she was telling the truth.
“I really have to go, Jason,” she went on. “This was a short break, but I still have work to do. Is there anything else?”
“That depends. Is there anything you’re not telling me?”
“I’ve told you everything you need to know.”
Bourne shook his head. This time Shadow hardly even tried to hide the fact that she was lying. Something else was going on, but she was cutting him out of the loop. He’d been played by her once again, outsmarted and outmaneuvered. He’d given her Vix, and she’d given him nothing at all.
“Good night, Jason.”
Shadow walked away with a toss of her hair and disappeared down Rodeo Drive. A few seconds later, the woman agent followed, trailing behind her, shooting Bourne an ugly look as she rounded the corner.
Jason turned around.
Johanna was right behind him.
She grinned at his surprise and then rolled her eyes. “A Ritmo Mundo watch? Seriously? What a bitch.”
“What are you doing here?” Bourne asked, making sure no other Treadstone agents were staking out the mall. “If Shadow made you, she would have had you killed. You can’t get that close to her.”
“I love it when you get all protective.” Johanna grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him. When she pulled away, she took his hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. The exchange is going down, and I need your help.”
*
Abbey folded her arms over her chest as she stared out the window. The moon shined on the ocean in the distance, and a few headlights sped along Highway 1 behind the shroud of trees. The house was silent. Dead silent. She’d left the lights off because she thought better in the dark. And God, she needed to think.
Garrett was in his office working. They hadn’t spoken at all.
Treadstone.
Fucking Treadstone.
She couldn’t believe it. She’d given up the man she loved—she’d walked away from Jason even when it killed her to do so—because she couldn’t live in the world of Treadstone. She couldn’t exist among people whose only code was death and betrayal. She’d decided it was better to be alone than to love a killer.
But then she’d met someone else. She’d fallen in love again. She’d gotten married.
Only to have Treadstone come back into her life like a bad dream. Garrett was part of them, too. A spy. A liar.
“I’m sorry.”
Abbey turned around. Her husband was in the doorway, and he didn’t need to be a psychic to read her mind.
“I know I kept things from you,” Garrett said. “I didn’t have a choice. But that doesn’t change how I feel about you. I love you.”
She said nothing. She couldn’t say it back. She didn’t love him. Not anymore. She wondered if she ever really had. He came forward into the room, a shadow moving closer. When he took her hands, she pulled away.
“Abbey, let’s go away tomorrow. First thing in the morning. You and me. We can forget about Jason Bourne and Treadstone and Vix and all of this bullshit. It doesn’t matter anymore. Forget about Los Angeles. Forget about your book. Write something else. Let’s just get away from this whole thing once and for all and start over. Okay? Can we do that? We could go to Seattle. I know people there. We can get a place on one of the islands. Or we can go somewhere completely different. I don’t care. I just want to take you away from here.”
She was silent for a long time.
It was tempting. She couldn’t deny it was tempting. But she’d already learned with Jason that she couldn’t run away. That world, that violent world, always caught up to her.
Treadstone.
“Abbey?” Garrett said. “Please. Tomorrow morning. We’ll pack, we’ll go.”
She shook her head. “You pack. You go.”
“Abbey.”
“We’re done, Garrett. You need to get out of here. Annulment, divorce, whatever it is, we’re through. I’m sorry, but that’s it. I don’t want any déjà vu. I don’t want to live with someone who can’t be honest with me. I don’t want to be married to a man who’s been touched by a world I despise.” She went on even when she knew she shouldn’t. “If I could live with all of that, I’d be with Jason.”
His voice was bitter. “You love him more than me.”
“I loved him. I think I loved you, too. But not anymore.”
“Give yourself some time. Give us some time.”
“Time won’t change this, Garrett.”
“What are you going to do?”
She shrugged. “I have a book to write. People died in that fire. People lost everything. I’m going to figure out why, and I’m going to tell their story. That’s what I do.”
“You’d put that over us? A book? Jesus, you’re making a mistake, Abbey. Don’t walk away from me.”
“I already have,” Abbey said.
Garrett opened his mouth as if to say something more, and then he closed it. He stalked away, leaving her alone. Alone with the quiet and the darkness. She went back to the window and stared outside. She pushed everything else in her mind away, because that was the only thing she could do. She couldn’t think about Jason, or Garrett, or Treadstone. All she could do was take her laptop and work all night.
Write the book. Tell the story.
That was who she was. Abbey Laurent, the successor to Peter Chancellor. Abbey Laurent, novelist.
She slid open the patio door, letting in the cool ocean breeze, but then she heard a muffled shout from deep in the house.
“Abbey!”
It was Garrett. She spun around, then hesitated. Her gun was in the bedroom; she didn’t have it with her. Did she need it? But she’d heard nothing. No one was in the house. Just her and her husband.
Soon to be ex-husband.
“Garrett?” she called.
There was no answer.
She tried again, louder. “Garrett!”
Nothing.
She left the living room and found herself in the dark hallway. Ahead of her, on the right, the room that Garrett used as his office had its door ajar. The light was off. She walked closer, step by step, feeling a strange anxiety. With each step, she listened, but she heard no sound at all.
“Garrett?”
Abbey crept through the doorway. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the shapes inside. She saw Garrett’s desk and the tall windows that looked toward the hills, mostly invisible. The glass door that led outside was open, bobbing in the wind. The alarm had been deactivated.
Garrett—where was Garrett?
She hurried forward, but she’d only taken a couple of steps when she felt a presence looming behind her, someone closing on her and wrapping an arm around her throat. Something wet and foul covered her face as the person hoisted her off the floor. She flailed, legs kicking, her body trying to twist away. Her foot hit something heavy, and she heard glass breaking against the wall. But the person held her tight as she struggled. She tried to scream, but the noise died in the rag. She tried to hold her breath, but all she could do was inhale the fumes. The silence turned into drums pounding inside her head, and the darkness became a merry-go-round, spinning wildly.
Then she was gone.