“I guess so.” I jerked out of his grip.
“Was that the errand you had to run? You had to go and kill someone?”
“I didn’t plan on it. He pulled a gun on me, and I had no choice.”
“What the fuck, Paige? Is that all you do? You go around killing people?”
“He was a very bad man, Parker. He had an innocent girl handcuffed to one of the beds upstairs. She was severely beaten.”
“What did you do to her?” His head cocked.
“What do you mean? I dropped her off at the emergency room.” My brows furrowed.
“I’m surprised you didn’t kill her.”
“I’m not a fucking monster, Hamilton.”
“Well, from what I’ve seen, I tend to disagree.” He sat down behind his desk.
Chapter Seven
Paige
I had no idea why his words stung. “Believe what you want. You don’t know me.”
“How can I?” he shouted, throwing his arms out to the side. “You won’t tell me a damn thing about you,” he continued shouting.
His office door opened, and a woman stood on the other side.
“What’s going on in here? I could hear you down the hall.”
“Morgan, Paige. Paige, Morgan Hamilton, Roman’s wife,” Parker said.
“Oh my gosh.” She smiled. “I’ve been dying to meet you. Roman told me what happened.” She walked over and extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Paige.”
“You too, Morgan. I need a computer to plug this phone in and crack the password,” I said to Parker as I pulled the phone from my pocket and held it up.
“Does that belong to the guy you just killed?” he asked.
“Excuse me?” Morgan gasped. “Come with me, Paige. I can help with that.”
“Morgan is our private investigator. She’s a genius hacker and can get into anything,” Parker said.
I followed Morgan to her office. When I stepped inside, I looked at the wall filled with monitors and a state-of-the-art system.
“Hand me the phone, and I’ll get it unlocked.” Morgan smiled.
I handed her the phone, and she plugged it into her system.
“So, Paige. Did you really kill the person this phone belongs to?”
“I didn’t have a choice. He pulled his gun on me.”
“I get that.” She smiled. “You’re CIA?” Her brow arched.
I stared at her momentarily. I trusted no one. But there was something about her that seemed warm and familiar.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. My father was a brilliant hacker and a private contractor for the FBI. They murdered him in our home while I was upstairs.”