Read On Thin Ice for Free Online

and foul language and the weaknesses of modern society. People laughed at him, calling him a prude, but they’d done so affectionately, he was sure of it, and he knew he was viewed with both admiration and gratitude for his spotless work. He could retire happily.
    If it hadn’t been for Thomas Killian. There were times when he still couldn’t believe Killian would dare think he could simply walk away from the company. When you sign up for the CIA undercover wet work, you sign up for life. Unlike Barringer, you didn’t get to retire to a nice little estate in Virginia and play golf. You couldn’t walk away, and yet Killian had, with the kind of information that would topple governments, locked away in his razor-sharp brain.
    No one had blamed Barringer, exactly. After all, people trained in wet work weren’t the most malleable of souls, and he was lucky only one of them had gone rogue. Only one that his superiors knew of, of course. He’d been able to see the warning signs in any of the others who seemed likely to break rank, and he’d dealt with them, calmly and efficiently.
    He hadn’t had that chance with Killian. By the time he knew Killian was planning to leave the reservation he was gone, disappearing as only a high level operative could. If he’d gone alone, Barringer might have been able to find him. But he’d disappeared with the head of the Committee, Isobel Lambert, and it was only belatedly that Barringer discovered the long standing connection between Thomas Killian and the woman who became Isobel Lambert.
    His intel had failed him badly that time, and he dealt with that problem as well. Perhaps a little too quickly, but he was seriously annoyed and Killian was out of reach.
    He wasn’t a man to regret his abrupt actions. He always made certain the families were well taken care of in these cases, that they knew their husbands or wives were heroes, giving their lives for their country. Barringer believed it, and he would cry at the funerals. It made no difference if his hand had held the gun or he’d simply ordered it. Each death was still in service of the country he loved.
    In the four years Killian had been gone Barringer had never given up. Sooner or later there had to be a sign. They’d surface, maybe in a neutral country in Africa, maybe in Australia or the Arctic; heck, maybe in Washington, DC. He wouldn’t put it past someone like Killian.
    So he waited. Patience was one of his many virtues, and he knew the value of taking his time. His retirement package was waiting, his comfortable house on the sound was furnished and waiting. All he needed was Killian.
    He couldn’t leave his career with a blot like that on his record. He couldn’t leave a loose cannon like Killian out there with all that knowledge. And Killian had been a loose cannon - ignoring orders, following his own head, refusing half the wet work assigned. He’d been brilliant, though, and Barringer had learned to let him go. He’d pulled victory from defeat so many times and those victories had gone on Barringer’s record. Killian had no record, very few in the company even knew of his existence or the few others he’d run.
    The others had done what they were told, and done it well. But they weren’t Killian. His betrayal had felt personal, and Barringer had no intention of letting him get away with it.
    Patient though he was he was almost ready to give up. The days were long, the commute, even with the car and driver he’d earned, was tiring. He needed to work on his golf game, he needed to join the R.O.M.E.O.s, the other Retired Old Men Eating Out, for their weekly luncheons. But the ghost of Killian kept haunting him.
    But now it had happened, finally. He’d known he’d be most likely to track him through Isobel Lambert, and he’d had the shattered remains of the Committee watched very closely for any sign of her. So far there had been nothing, but the sudden reappearance of one of her operatives was likely to change