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a member of. Charlie Team was the third operational unit of SPIRE’s field division, and SPIRE—a private corporation specializing in sabotage, procurement, infiltration, retaliation, and entrapment—was America’s elite provider of for-hire espionage services.

At least, Wolfgang thought so. He joined Charlie Team five months earlier after spending three years as an individual operator running minor corporate sabotage gigs. Since then, Charlie Team had conducted high-stakes operations in Europe and Africa, both of which delivered levels of adrenaline Wolfgang had hitherto only dreamed of, not to mention paychecks that outstripped his lifestyle by an order of magnitude.

Hence the Mercedes.

Wolfgang stepped through the office door and was immediately greeted by the acrid odor of cigarette smoke. He wrinkled his nose, glancing around the darkened room, but saw none of his teammates gathered around the table or the marker board on the far wall.

Then he saw Megan leaning next to the floor-to-ceiling window at the far end of the room, a cigarette smoldering in one hand as she stared out over the Mississippi River. Wolfgang nudged the door shut and shuffled toward her, feeling his heart rate quicken as the sun glimmered off her tanned skin.

Megan was petite—barely five feet tall—but two missions with her taught Wolfgang that size was no measure of ability. Megan was distant and elusive—a personality shrouded in shadow that, no matter how many times he tried to get to know her, still remained aloof. He’d at first attributed her distance as some manner of arrogance or condescension with the new guy on the team, but there had been flashes now and then of a deeper warmth to her that gave him hope—hope that maybe she’d give him the time of day. Because besides being mysterious and interesting, Megan had the sort of confidence and subtle good looks that made a man stare. Wolfgang was staring now.

“Nice car,” Megan said before taking a pull of the cigarette.

Wolfgang frowned. “You saw it?”

She laughed. “It’s bright yellow, Wolf. Everybody saw it.”

Wolfgang felt suddenly self-conscious, and he shifted, staring down at his tennis shoes. Still no gum, but the smudges bothered him now—as did the cheap jeans.

Why didn’t I stop to change? She shouldn’t see me like this . . . not while she looks this good.

“I don’t know. I guess I liked the color,” he mumbled.

Megan laughed again, softer this time. Smoke drifted from her mouth, and she waved for him to sit. “Chill, dude. It’s a nice car. I just didn’t take you to be a car guy.”

Wolfgang sat down, pulling his legs toward his chest and watching as she sucked on the cigarette. He hated the smell of smoke and the stench of sour clothes forever permeated by it. But right then, it didn’t bother him so much.

Megan caught him staring and gestured toward the pack of cigarettes sitting on the floor next to her.

Wolfgang shook his head. “No, thanks. I don’t smoke.”

She turned from the window and leaned back against the wall, taking another pull and staring at him with quiet grey eyes that left him wondering what was happening behind them. The kind of eyes that told you Megan only said about five percent of the things she thought, but that the other ninety-five percent was well worth his time.

“You don’t smoke,” Megan said. “You don’t drink. You don’t cuss. What’s with you, anyway? Religion?”

Wolfgang looked away, weighing the questions one at a time. Ever since he’d first met Megan, the day before the Paris job, he’d longed for a time like this—a time when they were alone and could talk. Now that the moment had come, he felt thrown off guard. All his usual charisma and wit fled him quicker than the Mercedes powering onto the freeway, and he felt like a silly little kid.

“Not religion,” he said, still not looking her way.

Megan said nothing for a long moment, then grunted. “I get it. I won’t pry.”

Idiot. You can’t expect her to talk to you if you won’t talk to her.

“My father was a drunk,” Wolfgang said, looking up. “He beat my mother all the time. He smoked a lot, too. When he was really mad, he’d burn her stomach with the cigarettes.” Wolfgang winced as he spoke, then turned away and stared out the window.

Fool. You said too much. What the heck is wrong with you?

Megan said nothing, but when Wolfgang looked back, she stared at him with the cigarette lowered next to her knee. Her eyes were softer now, and when he met her gaze, she didn’t look away.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice soft but strong.

Wolfgang’s cheeks flushed.

What was I thinking? Now she sees me as a pansy.

He cleared his throat, feeling his old wit return as he shoveled the memories back into their graves and reburied them with willful denial. “It’s a pretty sweet car,” he said, flashing a grin. “You should take a ride with me. Maybe someplace downtown. Maybe someplace with good food.”

A smile played at the corner of her mouth. “You never give up, do you?”

Wolfgang shrugged. “It’s just a meal with a coworker. Can’t object to that, can you?”

Megan rolled the cigarette between two fingers and cocked her head. “I told you, Wolfgang. I’m not getting involved with anybody on the team. But”—she hesitated, then shrugged—“you know, dinner with a coworker, maybe.”

A rush of elation overwhelmed Wolfgang as the door swung open and the remaining three members of Charlie Team burst into the room, headed by Edric, the team lead.

“On your feet, guys!” Edric said, clapping his hands. “We’ve got work to do.”

Ready for more?

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(Launches May 7, 2021)

About the Author

Logan Ryles is the author of the action-thriller Reed Montgomery series, and the Wolfgang Pierce series. Originally from Alabama, he now lives with his wife in Tennessee. You can learn more about Logan’s books, sign up for email updates, and connect with him directly by visiting LoganRyles.com.

Also by Logan Ryles

The Wolfgang Pierce Novella Series

Prequel: That Time in Appalachia (coming soon)

Book 1: That Time in Paris

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