“We’re just pulling stuff out of our asses right now,” said Clark.
“This is brainstorming,” said Rudd.
“This is pointless,” said Clark. “We execute CONTROL’s orders to the best of our ability. Just like we’ve always done. If they decide to kill him, we kill him. Until then, we watch him. That’s it. I don’t understand why we’re yakking about this. We do what CONTROL tells us to do. Period. Any questions?”
“Okay then,” said Walsh, rolling his eyes. “I guess that’s it.”
“Always a pleasure,” added Sandy, nodding at Clark.
Rudd still didn’t understand why they had been brought together like this. The one thing CONTROL had most definitely accomplished with this awkward, impromptu social gathering was to drive home the fact that he wouldn’t miss any of them when this was over. Maybe that had been a part of their intention. If so—mission accomplished. He hoped to never see any of them again after this trip.
Rudd had the same thought again, ten minutes later, after he’d backed their loaded SUV out of the garage and stopped at the bottom of the driveway. He pressed the garage remote and took Jolene’s hand, watching the bay door slowly close on the home they had shared for close to three decades. If his instinct about this upcoming mission proved correct, this would be the last time he looked at their house. Oddly, he wasn’t sad. He felt more relieved than anything. A little excited, even.
“I’m ready to move on from this place,” he said. “All of it, if that’s what they intend.”
She squeezed his hand. “Me too. Just promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“I get to kill Gray.”
“Only if CONTROL orders it,” said Rudd, kissing her cheek.
“Of course,” she said. “I’m not a psychopath.”
They both chuckled a little. That was one of the many things he loved about Jolene. Her sense of humor. Of course, she was a psychopath. They all were. How could they not be—and still do this cold-blooded work for all these years?
CHAPTER 10
Devin dropped his toothbrush in the stainless-steel cup next to the bathroom sink and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like shit, to put it mildly. The past ten days had taken an unexpected physical toll on him. He’d expected the emotional wipeout, which he understood would knock him down a few notches physically. But this was something entirely different. He felt as he had when he’d woken up the morning after his first marathon. Every marathon, for that matter. Utterly spent and fatigued to the bone.
The sleeplessness had to be a big part of why he felt as though he could take a twenty-four-hour nap. It hadn’t been the stare-at-the-ceiling-all-night variety. That would have been too easy. He’d drifted in and out all night, thinking he’d never fallen asleep, his brain racing to make sense of the facts one moment and wrapping itself around some vaguely connected reality the next. Nine straight nights of this, with no end in sight.
He’d dropped his sister at the airport a few hours ago and grabbed some takeout from a nearby Mexican restaurant, hoping to eat himself into a coma. Maybe just the act of sending Kari home would break up whatever dynamic his mind had established over the past several days. Same with taking a short hiatus from his dad. Devin had told Mason that he’d swing by over the weekend, lying to him about needing to put in some face time at work. He’d never brought up the fourteen-day forced vacation triggered by the hotel job. As far as his dad knew, he was on bereavement leave.
He just needed a few days away from Falls Church. A little space from ground zero to recalibrate. The dark circles under his eyes told him a big part of his recalibration would involve sleep—or trying. A burrito the size of his forearm and the cheese quesadilla sitting in his stomach wagered he’d be out as soon as he went horizontal. Devin wasn’t so sure.
He turned the light off and shuffled out of the bathroom to his unmade bed. Hadn’t some famous Navy SEAL said something about making your bed if you wanted to change the world? Looked like the world would have to wait a few days. He sat down on the edge of the mattress and let his house sandals fall to the carpet before grabbing his phone off the nightstand. More out of habit than anything else, he activated the home screen to see if he had any messages.
He’d been texting back and forth with Marnie Young over the past few days, throwing around the idea of grabbing a drink or coffee when everything with his mom settled down. She’d just recently left the Marine Corps after fifteen years and was temporarily living at home in Falls Church with her parents—until she landed a job in DC.