A ghost of a smile touched Crowley’s lips. “Oh, James, you were never stupid. Although you’re calling yourself Alan these days.” He didn’t offer a handshake.
“If you knew I was alive, why didn’t you come after me?”
Crowley’s eyebrows rose slightly. “You think I was behind the attempt to kill you?”
“You’re with the company.” He lifted a shoulder.
Crowley sighed. “I’m not here to arrest you. Or kill you. Though I suspect there are several agencies that would be interested to know Alan Martin is spending Christmas in Budapest using a forged German passport.”
Alan kept his expression neutral.
“Wilhelm Mueller from Munich.” Crowley’s voice was quiet, conversational. “Nicely done paperwork, by the way. Damien does excellent work.”
Alan hid the jolt.Crowley and... Damien? Former CIA and Russian spy?
Crowley smiled. “You’re not the only one with thoughts of vengeance.”
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the whisper of snow shifting from the sky.
“What do you want?”
“To offer my condolences.” Crowley’s voice softened, and for a moment the calculated intelligence in his predatory eyes gave way to something that looked almost human. “You never forget them. Never stop missing them. The pain simply changes from sharpness to a terrible ache.”
Alan’s throat tightened.
“And she was pregnant too, according to the autopsy.”
He blinked at Crowley. “You found her body.”
Crowley nodded, probably thinking of his daughter, and his grandson, murdered at the age of four. York’s wife and child. York, who’d stayed in Russia, probably on his own mission of vengeance.
They stood in silence for a moment.
Inside the apartment, little Eszter stirred in her father’s arms.
“They’ve moved on,” Crowley said eventually, nodding toward the warm scene inside. “As they should.”
“Good for them.”
“York’s moved on too.”
Alan looked at him, the way Crowley’s eyes tightened at the edges.
“He’s got a new woman now,” Crowley continued, voice distant. “Lovely girl. Blonde. Podcaster in Russia.”
“Good for him.”
“Senator White’s just been elected to his second term. He’s wildly popular. Won’t be long before he thinks of a run for president.”
This time Alan did turn to look at Crowley fully. “You know White’s the one who ordered the hit.”
“How did you find out?”
Alan blinked at him. “Damien showed me the evidence. He said that White was involved with the Petrovs—was worried I’d walk away with information.” He shook his head. “I knew nothing about it.”
“And you believed him.”
“It makes sense.” The words tasted bitter. “There were rumors of an American official working with some high-level Russians. An inside man. I was a loose end.”