Free Two Evils by Christina Moore Page A

Lamacek had a bad reaction to the experimental drugs—”
    “You say that as if you already know what happened,” John broke in.
    “—killed two people, and injured a third before he was taken down,” she went on as if he hadn’t interrupted. “When the rest of the team went into the wind in the aftermath of that goat fuck, the first thing Wainright did was try to find me, the only person on the planet even remotely qualified to track these men down. That tells me he’s afraid the same thing will happen to them—which also tells me that if there is even a remote possibility of there being a repeat of what happened with Eddie, you’re going to want me to find them and find them fast, preferably before the bodies start piling up. You have three men who are already trained to kill who might potentially have a psychotic break, and you don’t know where they are.
    “Now you think on that, Agent Courtney, and then you tell me this can wait.”

FIVE
     
     
     
    S ighing heavily and shaking her head, Billie stepped back toward the trunk.
    “Pop it,” she said.
    John frowned. “What for?”
    “So I can get one of my guns out and shoot you, of course. What else?” she replied snarkily.
    He scoffed. “Well, if that’s the case, the trunk is decidedly staying closed. I rather like having a heartbeat.”
    Stifling a growl, Billie gestured toward the trunk. “Open it so I can get my bag out.”
    “I repeat: What for?” John pressed.
    “Because quite frankly I’m tired of your attitude. I’d like to get away from it so that it doesn’t spoil my mood,” she told him.
    He came to stand across from her at the back of the car. “Billie, I can take you wherever you want to go.”
    She shook her head. “No thank you, Agent Courtney. Look, you did your job—you got me here, and in spite of the mediocre efforts of a certain gangster, I’m in one piece. Believe it or not, I rather like having a heartbeat too. But since my part in this twisted tale is on hold until the next chapter, I’d really like some time to myself to think. Preferably without you brooding next to me.”
    “Where are you going? How do you propose to get there?” John asked.
    “None of your concern, and there are these things called taxis that I can use to get from place to place. I’ll get one of those,” she replied.
    As if on cue, the car coming at them from the left turned out to be a cab, and its roof light was on. Billie raised her arm and waved to flag it down. The cab slowed and pulled to a stop at the curb several feet behind John’s Charger. Looking at him, she lifted her eyebrow and nodded toward the trunk. John sighed and pressed the button on the key ring remote, popping it open. He lifted the lid and reached in for her bag himself, holding onto it when he handed it over.
    “How will I find you tomorrow?” he asked.
    She pulled the bag from his hand. “You’re in the CIA—you figure it out.”
    With that she turned toward the cab, walking briskly to the back door on the passenger side. She opened it sharply, tossed her duffel bag across the seat, and got in. The driver, a woman, immediately switched on the fare counter and turned off the roof light, then put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. Though she didn’t look back to confirm it, she could feel John’s eyes following them as they drove away from him.
    After a moment, the driver asked, “Where ya goin’, hon?”
    Billie rattled off her father’s address—thankfully, he and two of her four brothers lived in Langley (her father was the city engineer), so at least she had someplace to crash for the night, given she technically had no home of her own anymore.
    The cabbie nodded, and Billie settled in for the ride. She noticed that the driver kept looking at her in the rearview—probably wondering if she’d just had a fight with her boyfriend. But in an attempt to lighten her darkening mood, she looked forward and said, “You’re not recording me for