I study her severe scowl again. Even with it, there is a unique beauty in her face. She’s not on the run, which makes me think Bentley is wrong and she doesn’t know anything about what her uncle was up to. That, or her uncle’s murder didn’t scare her enough. But what if her uncle dragged her into something against her will? What if she knows something she can’t simply unknow? Does she still deserve that kind of “low-key, coincidental” end?
It’s not my call. It’s Bentley’s. I have a job to do, and I leave the questions of morality to my commanding officer, knowing he’ll make the difficult calls. I’m quite happy letting him do that.
I scan her information more closely. “She’s from Oregon?”
“That’s her parents’ address. She lived there from fifteen to eighteen, and has landed back there a few times for brief stints, but mainly she’s been on the move, with no fixed address, crashing with friends and family. She came to San Francisco seven months ago. Before that she was in Thailand for a month. Before that, with family in Madrid for a few months. Before that, Ireland. She has American and EU citizenship. She’s been searching out flights to New York, and Singapore, and even Australia on her phone this week. Looks like she’s going to be on the move again, so you need to get in there fast.”
If only the general public knew how easy it was to collect information on them. There are pages and pages of personal details in this folder: bank records showing a steady income and decent savings, which tells me she works hard and spends smartly; cell phone bills with mostly text messages, which tells me she doesn’t like idle chitchat; a credit card statement with a zero balance and nothing but concert tickets, clothes, and ink supplies tells me her interests are simple. Flight receipts that tell me she’s almost as mobile as I am, never in one place for too long. There isn’t much Bentley can’t get in the way of research, but I like to do my own recon anyway.
“I’ll pay double the normal rate, because this is more involved than normal. The first half has already been wired.” Bentley smiles. “If anyone can get information out of a young woman, I’m guessing it’s you.”
I ignore him. After what happened with the Grecian hooker, I’m not eager to jump into bed with anyone again, anytime soon. Especially someone whose life I may be ending soon. Not even my psyche can handle that. “I need a car.”
“Steve will get you one.”
“No GPS, no traceable plates, nondescript.”
“You know that I run one of the biggest private security companies in the world, right?”
I can’t help the smirk. “And yet you need me.” Committing Ivy Lee’s important details to memory and my phone camera screen—I definitely won’t need a picture to identify her on the street—I make my way over to the fireplace. Opening the grille, I take a moment to light my Bolivar, and then I hold the flame to the corner of the folder, until it ignites.
I watch evidence turn to ash as I savor the cigar’s mild blend of spicy fruitcake and chocolate, wondering if she’s an innocent associate or a guilty accomplice.
“Why did you bring me to your home for this?”
“I figured you missed me.” Bentley laughs when I shoot him a questioning look. “Honestly . . . What you do is invaluable to this country and its millions of people, and I know that you give it a hundred and fifty percent. You could have just as easily slipped away into oblivion after discharge.”
I smirk. “Haven’t I, though?” There are no medals or commendations for a successful assignment. No words of encouragement or pats on the shoulder. What I’m doing, no one will ever know about it. No one will ever talk about it. In many ways, I am a ghost.
“My point is that this life can’t be easy. I wanted to see how you were doing, Sebastian.”