will. But first, I have a private matter to
discuss.”
Dante shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable with the
Marshall’s tone. He sounded less like the head of an international spy agency
and more like a concerned father.
“I understand.”
“No, I don’t think you do. You probably think this old
black man has come here to make sure Macy’s heart doesn’t get broken through
your deal, whatever it is. I don’t give a damn about her heart.” He leaned
forward, his large, long-fingered hands braced on his knees. “For all I know,
Macy doesn’t have a heart. And if she didn’t, I wouldn’t give a damn because
she’d probably be a better agent for it, not that she’s lacking in any way.
But this mission is critical, and I won’t allow one of my agents to have her
will broken as a consequence of working with the Arm.”
Dante frowned. Under Dante’s direction, the Arm had not
used the type of tactics Marshall spoke of—at least, never with someone like
Macy. He had created a scenario where she’d been forced to comply because he’d
had no other option. And only he had known that he planned to give Macy access
to the house, even if she refused their deal.
Though he’d like to think that deep down, Macy understood. His
entire career, he’d put national security above everything else—including her.
That’s how he’d lost her—though she didn’t know this yet.
“I assure you, sir,” Dante said, clearing his throat before
continuing, “I’d never authorize any type of mind control with Macy. She means
a great deal to me. You must know about our past.”
Marshall’s gaze didn’t waver. “Vaguely. She’s never
volunteered specifics. I know you were once lovers. I know that you did
something that royally pissed her off.”
To say the least.
“In her eyes, I betrayed her.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
Marshall sat back into the chair, his hands casually draped
on the armrests. “So you’ve used your position as head of the Arm to
manipulate a mission and win her back?”
Dante winced. Sounded so much worse when spoken by someone
else. “It’s because of my loyalty to the Arm that I lost her in the first
place. I want her back.”
Marshall’s eyes narrowed. “As an agent?”
“I couldn’t care less about what organization Macy gives her
allegiance to.”
“She can’t work for T-45 and be personally involved with
you. I respect Macy and I trust her with my life, but that’s a conflict of
interest no organization can ignore. Understand one thing, Mr. Burke. If Macy
returns to you emotionally, you’ll be asking her to give up her career. She’s
poised to take a leadership role within T-45, a job she’s deserved for a long
time. Are you promising her something in return that is worth her giving up
her life’s dream for?”
Little by little, the air deflated out of Dante’s chest.
What exactly was he offering Macy, other than a slow roll in the hay as opposed
to the fast ones they’d shared in the past? He’d attempted to show her how
much he’d changed, how much he wanted to pamper her, pay attention to her,
concentrate on her and her needs. But she’d need much more than a couple of
nights of great sex before she’d chose him over her career.
And he wasn’t entirely sure he had anything that valuable to
give.
“Your point is well-taken, Mr. Marshall.”
“Good,” Marshall said before his face dissolved into a mask
of dire seriousness. “Now, on to the real reason I’m here.”
* * *
Macy stretched, waiting until every disk in her spine had
popped before she released a guttural, frustrated groan and threw down her
gloves in defeat. She’d had such high hopes for the billiards room. Though
the housekeeper had reported that Bogdanov hardly used the room while he’d
lived in the house, the nature of the room invited images of numbers, patterns
and shapes, all of which could be used to
discuss.”
Dante shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable with the
Marshall’s tone. He sounded less like the head of an international spy agency
and more like a concerned father.
“I understand.”
“No, I don’t think you do. You probably think this old
black man has come here to make sure Macy’s heart doesn’t get broken through
your deal, whatever it is. I don’t give a damn about her heart.” He leaned
forward, his large, long-fingered hands braced on his knees. “For all I know,
Macy doesn’t have a heart. And if she didn’t, I wouldn’t give a damn because
she’d probably be a better agent for it, not that she’s lacking in any way.
But this mission is critical, and I won’t allow one of my agents to have her
will broken as a consequence of working with the Arm.”
Dante frowned. Under Dante’s direction, the Arm had not
used the type of tactics Marshall spoke of—at least, never with someone like
Macy. He had created a scenario where she’d been forced to comply because he’d
had no other option. And only he had known that he planned to give Macy access
to the house, even if she refused their deal.
Though he’d like to think that deep down, Macy understood. His
entire career, he’d put national security above everything else—including her.
That’s how he’d lost her—though she didn’t know this yet.
“I assure you, sir,” Dante said, clearing his throat before
continuing, “I’d never authorize any type of mind control with Macy. She means
a great deal to me. You must know about our past.”
Marshall’s gaze didn’t waver. “Vaguely. She’s never
volunteered specifics. I know you were once lovers. I know that you did
something that royally pissed her off.”
To say the least.
“In her eyes, I betrayed her.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
Marshall sat back into the chair, his hands casually draped
on the armrests. “So you’ve used your position as head of the Arm to
manipulate a mission and win her back?”
Dante winced. Sounded so much worse when spoken by someone
else. “It’s because of my loyalty to the Arm that I lost her in the first
place. I want her back.”
Marshall’s eyes narrowed. “As an agent?”
“I couldn’t care less about what organization Macy gives her
allegiance to.”
“She can’t work for T-45 and be personally involved with
you. I respect Macy and I trust her with my life, but that’s a conflict of
interest no organization can ignore. Understand one thing, Mr. Burke. If Macy
returns to you emotionally, you’ll be asking her to give up her career. She’s
poised to take a leadership role within T-45, a job she’s deserved for a long
time. Are you promising her something in return that is worth her giving up
her life’s dream for?”
Little by little, the air deflated out of Dante’s chest.
What exactly was he offering Macy, other than a slow roll in the hay as opposed
to the fast ones they’d shared in the past? He’d attempted to show her how
much he’d changed, how much he wanted to pamper her, pay attention to her,
concentrate on her and her needs. But she’d need much more than a couple of
nights of great sex before she’d chose him over her career.
And he wasn’t entirely sure he had anything that valuable to
give.
“Your point is well-taken, Mr. Marshall.”
“Good,” Marshall said before his face dissolved into a mask
of dire seriousness. “Now, on to the real reason I’m here.”
* * *
Macy stretched, waiting until every disk in her spine had
popped before she released a guttural, frustrated groan and threw down her
gloves in defeat. She’d had such high hopes for the billiards room. Though
the housekeeper had reported that Bogdanov hardly used the room while he’d
lived in the house, the nature of the room invited images of numbers, patterns
and shapes, all of which could be used to
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