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from too much time on the computer, and she just wanted to go home, eat and take a hot shower.

Tremblay was continuing to improve, but her meeting with the CIA director never transpired—his secretary indicated that the agency wasn’t fielding any questions about the Shepard case.

After making a brief detour to the grocery store, she was loading the items into the trunk of her SUV when she heard footfalls coming towards her. She peered up to see a sixty-something man in a suit and sunglasses who paused at the end of the parking spot. Standing near a black BMW one aisle away were two younger men in suits with their hands by their sides, scanning the parking lot.

“Agent Carter, forgive the intrusion upon your personal space like this, but I wonder if we can talk for a few minutes. I believe we share a mutual interest in Cal Shepard.”

She straightened up, raising her right hand to the Sig-Sauer pistol concealed under her jacket. “By the looks of that pricey suit, I’d say you’re not undercover, so who the hell are you?”

Patterson raised his right hand up. The two men to his rear split apart, walking a short distance away. “Someone who cares about the outcome of the case you’re spearheading and the fate of Cal Shepard.”

“You his handler or something? The agency send you to cover their asses?” She shook her head, slamming the hatch of her vehicle. “Come here to convince me that Shepard’s an innocent man?”

“I wonder how much convincing I’d have to do. You were top of your class at Quantico and a fine detective before that. Surely being the astute field agent you are, you must have already determined that there are things that don’t add up. Take for instance the fact you and your entire tac-team made it out alive from his house when he had the drop on you.”

She took a step closer. How the hell does he even know what happened there? Carter wondered if there was a drone above them right now, recording her.

He walked around the other side of the car, motioning to a bench near the edge of the lot, which bordered a small park.

“Please, will you join me? Again, I apologize for the awkward circumstances of our meeting, but I fear that Cal’s life is in great danger now that he’s on the run with the bureau after him and another faction that we have yet to determine.”

Carter kept her hand loose by her side, glancing over at the BMW again then over to the man before heading to the bench. He was clearly used to being in command of both other people and his surroundings.

If this is the guy who trained Shepard, then maybe I can get some idea what the hell he was doing working for Burke.

Carter locked her car then reluctantly followed the man to the park, keeping her head on a swivel.

The man sat down, staring ahead like he was waiting for a friend to play chess with.

“You never answered me…about being his handler.” She sat at the opposite end of the green plank bench.

“That’s a term from the old days, but if you must know, I was Shepard’s unit commander for quite a spell. I will deny this, of course, but I am telling you so we can begin on solid footing rather than a place of mistrust. After all, I’m asking you to take a leap of faith even meeting with me like this.”

“You mean the part where you tracked me from my office and confronted me in this parking lot? That’s not an exercise in trust building. Now, what do you want? Is this really about Shepard, or is it about what Burke was working on with that Perseus project we learned about?”

“Both, actually, but what can you tell me about the explosion at the estate? And don’t tell me it was related to a gas leak.”

She looked out at the treeline, wondering if there were other agents in the forest.

God, relax; you’re getting paranoid.

She could just as easily remain tight-lipped, but she wondered why he was here and whether anything she gleaned from their conversation could lead to further insight into tracking down Shepard and the thugs on the bridge who shot her partner.

“Symtex residue was found by our forensics guys…the same type that was also discovered in Shepard’s basement. And he’s the kind of guy who would know how to work with that stuff, isn’t he?”

Patterson glanced up at a passing raven. “There are far more efficient and less costly ways of erasing a group of targets from the board. An explosion of that magnitude was about getting a job done hastily to take out as many threats as possible in the least amount of time. Make no mistake, it was done by a professional hit team, but someone working with diminishing sand in the hourglass of their operation.”

“So you suspected all along that this was done by a pro?” she said. “Did you also know that one of the guys on the catering crew was a war criminal connected with a Colombian cartel—Carlos Montoya.”

Patterson flared an eyebrow. “You have my attention.”

She pulled out her iPhone, retrieving a fragmented photo showing a dark-skinned man dressed as a caterer entering a white van. “This is all we were able to extract from the security footage outside of the catering company, which has suddenly closed its doors for business.”

Patterson scrutinized the photo, his eyes subtly narrowing enough to inform Carter that it was a look of recognition.

“You know him?” She slid an inch closer. “Is any of this related to Project 284?”

His lips betrayed a faint smile. “Did Cal tell you about that?”

“After he nearly let my partner bleed out after the shootout with those Colombian goons on the bridge.”

She scrutinized the man’s weathered face, which revealed little.

He doesn’t seem surprised at the mention of the men’s country of origin. How much does he really know about all of this? Is he

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