damn fine investigator with some of the best instincts I’ve ever seen. Accepting a role on this case will give you a chance to learn to trust them again.”
Bitterness surged. “I think Minneapolis proved my instincts are flawed.” She had lived with the knowledge, with the guilt, for the last four months.
“That case proved you’re not infallible.” His flat tone would have sounded cold to someone who didn’t know him. “None of us are, and sometimes it takes a fucked-up case to make us realize it.” She looked at him then, saw the faintest flicker of empathy in his expression. The sight had her throat knotting up. “Once we live through something like that . . . we’re not the same. We aren’t meant to come out of it unchanged. The question is, are you going to let it merely change you or eviscerate you?”
She couldn’t reply. Wouldn’t have known what to say if she was able. But Raiker was better at commentary than conversation. Already he had his cell phone out, texting a message that would doubtless have his driver returning for him. He’d pulled the necessary strings, applied the necessary pressure. Now the ball was in her court. She could return, in an unofficial capacity, to the work that had once identified her.
Or she could continue to hide and dodge coming to a decision about her future.
The familiar longing and self-doubt warred inside her, emotions crashing and colliding in an inner battle that left her feeling bruised and weary. But Raiker couldn’t help her with that. No one could.
Risa eyed him. “What are you doing in Philadelphia anyway?” This was his second visit. Usually he contented himself with short, terse phone calls. He had a reason for coming here. Raiker had a reason for everything he did. “Shouldn’t you be concentrating on finding the guy trying his damnedest to kill you?”
“ Failing to kill me. The verb is rather important.” His shrug was negligent. The navy pin-striped suit would have made another man look like a banker. It merely gilded that faintly lethal air that surrounded the man, like a wolf disguising itself in sheep’s clothing. “He’s imaginative. I’ll give him that.”
She blew out a breath. “You mean tenacious. Blowing up your penthouse was what? The fourth attempt on your life in the last few months?”
His grin faded as quickly as it had appeared. And the look in his eye reminded her that this was a very dangerous man in his own right. “He miscalculated again. I’m still alive. But he’s got my attention.”
And that alone should have the would-be assassin quaking. If it was only one. “Did you ever consider this might not be the work of a single man? Tampa, LA, Chicago, DC . . . How is he, or they, discovering your itinerary anyway?”
“Risa.” The gentleness of his tone didn’t hide its finality. “Paulie and I are on it.”
She folded her arms over her chest and met his stony stare. Intellectually she knew he was right. Not only would his own formidable talents be turned toward finding the assassin, a number of police departments would be involved as well. But emotionally . . . that was another issue. “Do I have to call Paulie for the details?” Her bluff was empty and they both knew it. Paulie Samuels was Adam’s right arm at headquarters, and despite his breezy, friendly demeanor to all, he was fiercely devoted to Raiker. If they were playing this one close to the vest, she’d get no more out of Samuels than from Adam.
Shifting tactics, she said simply, “We’re worried. All of us.” Enough so that she checked in with one of Raiker’s other operatives weekly, just to compare notes on their boss’s well-being. Because Kellan Burke had a history with the man longer than anyone else’s—with the exception of Samuels—he was invariably the one they all turned to for information.
He was as out of the loop as the rest of them. Whatever Raiker had uncovered about these attempts on his life hadn’t been shared
Bitterness surged. “I think Minneapolis proved my instincts are flawed.” She had lived with the knowledge, with the guilt, for the last four months.
“That case proved you’re not infallible.” His flat tone would have sounded cold to someone who didn’t know him. “None of us are, and sometimes it takes a fucked-up case to make us realize it.” She looked at him then, saw the faintest flicker of empathy in his expression. The sight had her throat knotting up. “Once we live through something like that . . . we’re not the same. We aren’t meant to come out of it unchanged. The question is, are you going to let it merely change you or eviscerate you?”
She couldn’t reply. Wouldn’t have known what to say if she was able. But Raiker was better at commentary than conversation. Already he had his cell phone out, texting a message that would doubtless have his driver returning for him. He’d pulled the necessary strings, applied the necessary pressure. Now the ball was in her court. She could return, in an unofficial capacity, to the work that had once identified her.
Or she could continue to hide and dodge coming to a decision about her future.
The familiar longing and self-doubt warred inside her, emotions crashing and colliding in an inner battle that left her feeling bruised and weary. But Raiker couldn’t help her with that. No one could.
Risa eyed him. “What are you doing in Philadelphia anyway?” This was his second visit. Usually he contented himself with short, terse phone calls. He had a reason for coming here. Raiker had a reason for everything he did. “Shouldn’t you be concentrating on finding the guy trying his damnedest to kill you?”
“ Failing to kill me. The verb is rather important.” His shrug was negligent. The navy pin-striped suit would have made another man look like a banker. It merely gilded that faintly lethal air that surrounded the man, like a wolf disguising itself in sheep’s clothing. “He’s imaginative. I’ll give him that.”
She blew out a breath. “You mean tenacious. Blowing up your penthouse was what? The fourth attempt on your life in the last few months?”
His grin faded as quickly as it had appeared. And the look in his eye reminded her that this was a very dangerous man in his own right. “He miscalculated again. I’m still alive. But he’s got my attention.”
And that alone should have the would-be assassin quaking. If it was only one. “Did you ever consider this might not be the work of a single man? Tampa, LA, Chicago, DC . . . How is he, or they, discovering your itinerary anyway?”
“Risa.” The gentleness of his tone didn’t hide its finality. “Paulie and I are on it.”
She folded her arms over her chest and met his stony stare. Intellectually she knew he was right. Not only would his own formidable talents be turned toward finding the assassin, a number of police departments would be involved as well. But emotionally . . . that was another issue. “Do I have to call Paulie for the details?” Her bluff was empty and they both knew it. Paulie Samuels was Adam’s right arm at headquarters, and despite his breezy, friendly demeanor to all, he was fiercely devoted to Raiker. If they were playing this one close to the vest, she’d get no more out of Samuels than from Adam.
Shifting tactics, she said simply, “We’re worried. All of us.” Enough so that she checked in with one of Raiker’s other operatives weekly, just to compare notes on their boss’s well-being. Because Kellan Burke had a history with the man longer than anyone else’s—with the exception of Samuels—he was invariably the one they all turned to for information.
He was as out of the loop as the rest of them. Whatever Raiker had uncovered about these attempts on his life hadn’t been shared
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