She tried to get the computer out of its cabinet, but it was locked. And not just any lock—it was biometric, the bastard. She’d need a thumbprint to open it.

She checked her phone, saw there was no service.

The pity party was over, replaced by a fine sheen of rage. He’d left her here on his boat, in total isolation. Not the most chivalrous act he’d ever committed.

If he was done with her, perhaps she should be done with him, as well.

The darkness of the Potomac was all-encompassing. But she didn’t mind the dark. It gave her more room to move, held the synesthesia at bay. She turned off the lights of the houseboat so she wouldn’t be backlit in case anyone was watching, stepped out the doors, slid them closed behind her and jumped quietly off the boat onto dry land.

Robin knew how to disappear. She didn’t even have to go back to her house if she didn’t want to. She had a stash out in Woodbridge at the bus station, a go-bag she could access, with money and passports and weapons, one of the many she had all over the world just for these kinds of situations.

These kinds of situations.

She almost laughed. She didn’t know what the exact protocol was when your sister was murdered, your boss dissed you, your lover broke it off, you crossed your own moral lines and you had nothing left to live for. She checked her bag—yes, the small locker key she’d clipped to her key chain months ago was there. She might have been a bit crazy, but she was meticulous.

She started off into the night. She’d need a car. It was a few miles back into Old Town; she was sure she’d find one that met her needs along the way. She laid out a mental map in her head as she walked. She could be at the station by nine and gone from the world five minutes later.

The bright lights of a car’s high beams swung into the gravel lane that led to Riley’s dock. Robin froze, then ducked into the brush, crouching against a small sapling, feeling the sticky wetness of its leaves covering her legs. The car drove in slowly, as if the driver was looking for something. Or someone.

She pulled her gun from its holster, screwed on the suppressor. Felt something inside her—the last shreds of hope—break. Riley had left her here to be eliminated. She’d faced a hell of a lot of betrayals in her day, but this, her own team turning on her? This was beyond the pale.

She felt the anger and hurt leave; icy certainty flooded her. She was calm, breathing slowly, heart rate dropping, eyes laser focused. Not a girl with synesthesia who felt too much, but a stone-cold killer who wasn’t about to be taken alive.

The car passed her. It was a black Lincoln Town Car with diplomatic plates. French, if she wasn’t mistaken. The glass was dark; she couldn’t see who was inside.

Curiosity kept her in place, watching dispassionately as the car pulled up carefully to the small dock. The engine idled. No doors opened.

Who had they sent to kill her? She knew most of the top assassins in the world, if not by name, at least by face. She’d spent years building dossiers on her competition. In her job, she needed to be aware at all times of who might be coming, and whether they were friend or foe.

Of course, the two roles could be reversed at a moment’s notice.

They’d need a top contractor to take her out, someone simply outstanding. She ran through a list of the few people she thought might be able to take her, preparing scenarios for each. Realized these could be her last thoughts ever, and forced that away. No. She wouldn’t go down without a serious fight.

At last, the door opened. The driver emerged, male Caucasian, five-ten, buzz cut, eyes roving, a hand on his waist. An operator. When he was satisfied no shots were coming, he walked around to the passenger’s side. She laughed to herself. She could knock him off in a heartbeat, and his passenger, too. She leveled the gun against her arm, sighted as the car door finally opened.

They had sent their best. Out stepped her old boss. Regina Girabaldi.

Robin lowered the weapon, took a deep breath to dispel the surge of adrenaline that tried to punch through her system.

There were few things in this world she was certain about. That Regina Girabaldi would want her dead, or even try to have her killed, wasn’t on the list.

She stood up, made her way carefully back to the boat. Regina was already on board, tapping gently at the glass. Her bodyguard—Secret Service, most likely, and nervous to be out alone, away from his flock—was watching intensely. While Regina wouldn’t hurt her, this loon might.

Silent as a doe in a thicket, she stepped to his side, pulled the earwig from his ear and pressed the suppressor gently against his temple. She felt his muscles bunch; he was going to attack.

“You’re looking for me,” she said softly. “I won’t hurt her.”

He didn’t relax, but he didn’t move, either. She took his weapons, just in case, and with a small jab to his ribs, started him onto the path down the dock to the boat.

Chapter 43

Georgetown

XANDER WAS DEEP into James Denon’s computer files when Sam came through the door with Darren Fletcher fast on her heels. Thor jumped up with a bark and ran to Sam, tail wagging, tongue lolling. Xander watched her greet the animal with a loving caress across the ears, but she had her eyes locked on his, and he felt that jump in his stomach he always had when she looked at him. She was clearly exhausted and running on caffeine; her hands were shaking a little as they stroked Thor’s coat. She was beautiful, though. Beautiful, and his.

He stood, shook Fletcher’s hand, then pulled Sam to him. The hug was brief, but the connection between them was all he needed. He could feel her shivering, though it wasn’t at all cold in the room. Fear, then, adrenaline from the close call.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he said in her ear. She nodded, held on tighter, until Fletcher cleared his throat.

“Hey, don’t I get a hug? He nearly shot me, too.”

Xander let her loose and reached for Fletcher, who ducked away, laughing. It felt good to goof off for a minute, but Xander got serious again almost immediately. He jerked his head toward the living room.

“I have Denon here. He’s ready to talk when you are. I haven’t told him yet. About Amanda’s death.”

Sam sighed. She hated this part of the job. “Let’s get to it, then. Living room?”

“That seems to be the best place.”

“Xander, you need to be watching our backs until we find Robin Souleyret. I’m supposed to be getting the background on Jason Kruger any minute,” Fletcher said.

“You really think he was working with Souleyret?”

“I don’t know. But Souleyret’s the closest thing we have to a suspect until she presents herself and proves us wrong.”

Sam glanced through the house, saw the crowd of people gathered. “We need some extra security here. I don’t want to be paranoid, but until we do locate Souleyret, I won’t feel safe. Almost the entire working knowledge of this case is in a three-thousand-square-foot area, and from what I hear, she’s one hell of a shot. I don’t want to get picked off before we finish this.”

Fletcher nodded. “I agree. I can call in a few people.”

Xander shook his head. “Additional protection isn’t a bad idea, but let Chalk handle it. He can be discreet.”

“Screw discreet,” Sam said. “I want a show of force. Make her rethink any ideas of attacking us here.”

“Chalk is a show of force. Let me get him going.” He went to the kitchen, conferred with his partner for a minute. Sam saw Chalk smile and nod, then he slipped out the back door with Thor at his side.

Xander came back to her. “I wish we were at the cabin. I could protect all of you better there.”

She gave him a smile, ran a hand along his jaw. “Me, too. But we’re stuck here. So let’s make it work, soldier.”