Page 88 of High Treason
“Another reason why I wanted to talk.”
“Am I being interrogated?”
“I have a new mission.”
“Which is?”
“To haul you down off the ledge.”
Her heart thudded. “I’m on solid ground.”
“Not every mission works the way we intend,” Kord said.
“I’ve had my share of failures. Perfectionism is in my blood.”
“Try a transfusion. We aren’t 100 percent successful or right every time. The truth is, Liam Fielder played you from the start, and you didn’t lose that round. You won.”
So he had the complete file. “Really? How many innocent people were killed before he was brought down? I counted each man, woman, and child in that village, looked into their blank faces. None of them deserved the excruciating death.”
“Monica, that was his doing.” He’d used that same gentle tone with Princess Gharam.
“Still my fault for not seeing through his lies. When were you going to tell me you’d been briefed about that business? Or is this a result of overhearing me talking to Fatima and Yasmine?”
“Do you trust me?”
“Answer my question first.”
“I asked SAC Thomas for your file after Prince Omar mentioned it.”
Her face grew hot. “Do you still want to work with me?”
“Photographic memory. Three missions in the Middle East. Reads lips. Real kissable. Hot too. Sharpshooter. Brought down an arms deal here in Houston. Stopped bioterrorism in Tanzania and led the CIA to Liam Fielder. Impressive. I understand why you blame yourself for the victims, but if you hadn’t figured it out, how many others would have died?”
Jeff had told her to suck it up, get over it.
God offered peace while pinching her heart to forgive. Kord candy-coated the gruesome thing as though her nightmares would end with the snap of her fingers. She wanted to forgive Liam and herself, but discarding the truth seemed wrong.
“Kord, you weren’t there.”
“But I’ve experienced the horror of death. Back to my question. Do you trust me?”
She still cringed at the “trust me” request. But honesty prevailed—always. “I’m trying.”
“Good. I expect no less. Only a select few fall under the title of agent or operative. I can’t tell family members or friends about my job, and you live the same way—more so.”
“My family regrets I’m not a math professor at Stanford. Married to a political figure with one child and a dog of the opposite gender.”
“So they think you’re deprived?”
She laughed and sensed relaxation trickling through her.
“No, they’re Ohio farmers. Big-time growers of corn, wheat, and soybeans with an organic vegetable business. They feel sorry for my lack of success and coffee obsession. Dad would invest in a café in Ohio if I’d let him. But the important thing is we love each other unconditionally.”
“Siblings?”
“Four older brothers, all within the area—one farmer, one dentist, one accountant, and one high school football coach.”
“How were you recruited?”
