Matt watched Danny make his way down the street, his back to the sun, still that cocksure strut. He had a limp now, a remnant from the prison attack, but otherwise it was still the stride of a confident man. Two girls stopped Danny, said something, like they recognized him from all the coverage of his release from prison. Danny took a selfie with them, then kept moving.
Matt had only one regret: that his father wasn’t there to see the sight.
Kala reached for his hand.
A car pulled next to their table. The street was jammed with pedestrians filling their Instagram feeds with photos of the sun slowly dipping below the horizon. The car’s windows were down, music blaring.
“Numb” by Linkin Park.
“Everything okay?” Kala asked.
Matt looked her in the eyes.
Those eyes.
“It is now.”
SARAH KELLER
AFTER
“I’m scared,” Keller said quietly into her satellite phone.
“No shit, I’m scared too, and I’m three thousand miles away, not in some hut in Colombia,” Bob said.
He never tried to tell her how to feel, always validated her emotions, which was weirdly comforting. Keller never used to be afraid of anything. But that was before she had so much to lose.
“Is the Texan there?” Bob asked.
Keller looked over at Cal Buchanan, the Chicago field office SAC who’d helped her raid Marconi LLP. Cal stood next to several hard-looking men holding large guns and wearing tactical gear. As a result of the Pine case, Keller had been promoted to head of the New York office when her boss Stan Webb was elevated to D.C. It paid to make the president’s daughter happy. With the new position, Keller could pull together the teams she wanted. Some jobs required finesse, some needed a BSD.
Cal was stealing looks at her like he was getting anxious that they’d miss their chance.
“I want to talk to the twins,” Keller said, still feeling the nerves.
“You talk to them after.”
Bob was right. Think positive.
“I’ll talk to you later,” Bob said. No hesitation there.
“I love you,” she said.
“You more. And, hey, you got this, G-woman.”
Keller severed the connection, collected herself. She went over to the group huddled near the only window of the run-down shack.
“We’ve got someone coming up to the place,” the spotter said from the window.
“Tough business staying off the grid,” Cal Buchanan said. “How in the hell’d you find him?”
“Airline records,” Keller said without elaboration. She went over to the spotter, took his binoculars, peered through a crack in the blinds.
A man carrying a plastic jug of water approached the doorway to a shack even smaller than the one they were in. He was tall, thin, had what looked like a freshly shaved head. He wore a mustache. But the ’stache didn’t fully cover the scar—from a cleft palate—that cut from his right nostril to his lip.
The man went inside the shack and Keller handed the agent the binoculars. “It’s him.”
The team stood at attention, the sound of the men locking and loading filling the room.
“You can stay in here,” Cal said. “We’ve got this. I’ve got the best breach men in the business.”
Keller thought of a fearless young woman named Maggie who always charged in. She got in the stacked position with the rest of the team. Cal gave her an admiring look.
Then she and the men charged out the door.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This novel came about in the most old-fashioned of ways—a writer and an editor sitting in a grim New York City watering hole talking about books and life—and an idea I had for a story about a family torn apart and ultimately brought together by tragedy. Joseph Brosnan, you’re a genius, and I’d be lucky to spend the rest of my career benefiting from your sage guidance and vicious pen.
I’m blessed to be represented by the best literary agent in the business, Lisa Erbach Vance. I’d walk through fire for you, Lisa, which is fitting because you’ve already done so for me.
I also extend my deepest gratitude to the talented and dedicated team at St. Martin’s Press, including Kelley Ragland, who threw her considerable force behind this book; Martin Quinn, Steve Erickson, and Kayla Janas, who expertly made sure the world knew about it; and Kaitlin Severini, who fixed all of my mistakes.
Special thanks to friends who read early drafts or helped with the medical, State Department, and technology research, including Reeves A., Lou B., Mara B., Deborah C., Kimberley H., Brian H., Dawn I., Stanton J., Robert K., Barry L., Doug L., Tony M., Sheila S., Carmen V., and “the Squad” from Recanati, Italy （Stephanie G., Jennifer R., Lynn S., and Charlie S.）。