She nodded. “So it’s over.”
Ham looked at her. “You might want to wait until the Thai government has a cap on this before letting anyone know they could get poisoned by just going to the mall.”
“Who was that woman?” North asked. “The one who threw Volkov into the river?”
Ham was quiet for a long moment. “Coco says she’s a Black Swan. Off-the-books operatives who work for whoever pays best. Thieves, spies, fixers—they handle problems that governments can’t officially acknowledge.”
“She was after Volkov specifically?”
“Or the research. Could be she was hired to steal the formulas, or destroy them.” Ham pulled into their gated complex and showed the temporary ID. The guard said nothing about their garb.
He drove through. “I’ll do some digging, find out why the Swans are involved.”
The Airbnb felt like a tomb when they returned. Skeet shed his gear, then headed upstairs to his room. Took a shower,standing under the hot spray, hoping it might sluice off the anger. Or the dread, really.
Because this wouldn’t be the last time she ran into trouble.
And he couldn’t protect her if he couldn’t trust her.
He came down, hair wet, wearing shorts, a T-shirt, and his bamboo flip-flops. North was in the kitchen, scrambling a batch of post-op eggs.
Chloe sat at the table, scrolling through the shots on her camera. “I got a good picture of Volkov,” she said to everyone and no one.
Skeet glanced at her, his jaw tight.
She saw it. “What? I was doing my job.”
“Your job?” His laugh held no humor. “Your job was to stay behind cover and let us handle the tactical situation.”
“My job is to expose the truth.” She set the camera down.
“At the cost of yourlife?” He hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but frankly, he didn’t care.
She drew in a breath.
And he simply couldn’t stop. “You promised.” He hung a hand behind his neck. Softened his tone. “You looked me in the eye and promised you’d stay back.”
She flinched, but her jaw tightened. “The situation changed.”
“The situation was exactly what we planned for. You just decided your story was more important than your word.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Fair?” Something snapped inside his chest. “You want to know what’s not fair? Having someone you trust break their promise the second something more interesting comes along.”
“I was trying to save lives!”
“You were trying to get your story.”
She rose. “I’m a journalist.”
You’re dangerous.
And even he knew it was over the line. That his words cut her. But he stood there, openly bleeding too.Chest wound.“I can’t trust you.”
“I was doing my job!”
He gestured toward her camera. “You gave me your word, then threw it away the second your story took over.”