Bentley barks with laughter. “She looks like the type of girl who used to light dolls on fire instead.”

There’s definitely an edge to her, her heavy boots zagged with fluorescent pink laces, balancing out the plaid schoolgirl skirt that barely covers her ass. A skull stretches across her shirt, drawn in pink jewels, the California sun reflecting off them.

I wonder if it’s just a look, if her tongue and mind are as sharp.

“I need this handled right, Sebastian, and you’re the only one I trust,” he says between puffs, the rich, aromatic smoke fighting for my attention.

It’s the second time he’s said that.

“I’ll eliminate a known threat without question. You know that.” I settle my gaze on Bentley, who watches me intently. “But I won’t end an innocent life.”

He pauses and smiles, and there’s a hint of sympathy there. “I’m not asking you to. If she doesn’t know about the tape, then keep it that way. Find it and bring it to me, and she and the world can go on believing that those other two were random, unfortunate deaths.”

“That means I can’t question her openly,” I warn him. A few hours of questioning always gets me the answers I need. “This will take longer.”

He sighs. “Yes, I realize that. But if she has any knowledge of this . . .” He tips his head back and releases a ring of smoke. It holds its shape for a few seconds before dispersing into the air above our heads. “We need to ensure that she doesn’t have a chance to talk about it to anyone. Ever. Make it clean and quick and low-key. Coincidental.”

Low-key. Coincidental.

A car careening off a road. A body found underwater, tangled in the weeds. A used needle laced with heroin. Something that is tragic but doesn’t raise suspicions, especially given that her beloved uncle was murdered so recently.

The way Bentley’s talking about it, it’s like he’s already decided that she is a liability and needs to be gone. But I also know that he’s not sure, and that puts doubt in my mind. I never pull the trigger when there is doubt.

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.”

He wants to see if my head is still screwed on straight. If my self-imposed isolation has taken its toll yet. The funny thing is, I don’t mind it. Because the alternative—a life without meaningful purpose, living day to day with disgrace still hanging over me—is not one I ever want to live. I can’t tell Bentley that my life is a dream because that would be a lie, but I can say that I’m still grateful that he’s given it to me. “Thank you for continuing to trust me.”

“It’s not hard. You’ve proven yourself over and over again.” He pauses. “Do you plan on seeing your parents while you’re here?”

My parents. I still think about them on occasion, and I get the odd update from Bentley, because I asked him to keep an eye on them for me. They still live in the same small bungalow that I grew up in. I’m sure my father still flies the same American flag over the porch, a symbol of the country and his own illustrious career in the navy, although his had such a different outcome from his son’s. “No. Not likely.”

Bentley frowns. I guess that’s not the answer he wanted. “Every time I reach out to you, you’re in a different place.” He puffs on his cigar. “Have you thought of settling in one location, finding yourself a woman to give you some stability?”

“So I can lie to her every day?”

“She doesn’t need to know every detail. There is plenty that Tuuli is happy not to know about.”

I flick the last of the papers into the hearth. “I find women when I need them.”

“I’m not talking about whores. I’m talking about making a real life for yourself, with a wife. Maybe even some kids.”

“You itching for grandkids?” It was a running joke while we served together, that Bentley spoke and treated me more like a son than my own father did. In a way, he’s filled that role after my father all but abandoned it.

“I’m serious, Sebastian.” And his voice says as much.

A wife and kids. I stopped picturing myself with a wife seven years ago, when my fiancée, Sharon, stood me up at the altar. Turns out it was a smart move on her part, because we never would have lasted. I’m not husband material, not anymore, anyway. And kids?