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and that told her a lot
about the people around her. In her dreams, she’d wanted to discover they were
working for the enemy or at the very least worked against Agency and US
interests. She could safely shut them down and get Murdoch sent to Guantanamo
Bay where he belonged.
    And then she’d started having lunch with Grace Taggart.
    And then with Serena Dean-Miles and Eve McKay.
    And she’d actually met Jesse Murdoch.
    She’d gotten soft—even about Big Tag, who hid a massive
heart under about fifty miles of sarcasm. She’d seen all the pro bono work he
did. He charged the hell out of corporate clients and then turned around and
found some ex-Marine’s missing daughter for free.
    She couldn’t even think about Charlotte Taggart without
smiling.
    She’d gotten lost in the group, caring for their daily
troubles and woes and smiling at the way they took care of each other. It
reminded her so much of how she and Jamie and Ten had been all those years ago.
    In the beginning, she’d counted the days like a prisoner
waiting for a pardon, and now she worried about the call that would end Phoebe
Graham. Phoebe Graham was klutzy but reliable. She babysat kids and held Jesse
Murdoch’s hand, and only the faintest memory of being Phoebe Grant made her
hold off on pressing her body to his, on spreading her legs and taking Jesse
deep inside so there was no space between them. Her dreams had turned from
tender reunions with her husband to finding out what it meant to be Jesse’s
sub.
    She’d lost herself so deeply that getting that text had
jarred her.
    She stared through the scope, wishing everything could fall
away. This was the moment when her brain should go on autopilot. Her training
would kick in and it would be like some other Phoebe did this job. No emotion.
No fear. Just the moment and a bullet for the target on the other end of the
scope.
    Jesse’s arms went wide and she heard herself gasp. The door
to the balcony was open and she could hear him in the distance.
    “What the fuck are you waiting for, Phoebe?” Through the
scope she could see how his eyes flared. “You want me? You want to take me out?
Do it!”
    Panic threatened. He knew she was here. Jesse knew she was
here. She stared through the scope. He was standing there with his arms spread
wide, inviting her to do her job.
    She couldn’t. She couldn’t shoot him. She looked through the
scope at the face she’d come to care for and knew that no matter what that text
had said, she couldn’t hurt him.
    She was thoroughly and utterly compromised .
    And he was just standing there. He was standing there making
himself a huge target. What if there was a backup? It happened sometimes.
Sometimes the person who sent the kill order would watch from nearby to make
sure his or her order was followed and to bear witness to the act.
    Or to deal with failure.
    Where would Ten be? What the hell had he found that would
cause him to place a kill order on Jesse? The only reason Ten would ever place
a kill order was because he feared a coming attack.
    Jesse wouldn’t attack anyone. Well, not anyone who didn’t
trigger his very righteous PTSD.
    Ten was wrong. Wrong. Jesse had to get out of here. He had
to hide.
    Just as she was about to shove the rifle aside and run to the
balcony, there was the terrible sound of her door cracking open and a whole
bunch of yelling.
    Taggart was here. Her heart started racing and she had two
choices. She could try to get away or try to warn Jesse.
    She didn’t even think about it. She jumped from her sniper’s
perch and ran through the open doors, her bare feet hitting the concrete of the
balcony. She ran until she hit the railing.
    “Get down! Get down!”
    But she could see that he was already down, his body covered
by a man in a dark suit. Simon. His partner had done his job. Ten wouldn’t take
out Simon Weston. There would be too much fallout. She had some time to figure
out what was going on. All she had to do was get away from