One-Knight Stand (White Knights #3) - Julie Moffett Page 0,100

bird tried to escape again. Johnson is fed up. He wants extra pay for the extra work up front. Please advise.

He’d expected to be informed that the deed had been done, but instead, Johnson had almost let her get away again and was now insisting on more money up front? Anger, then outrage, swept through him. He reread the message in disbelief, his outrage growing.

What an idiot! Why would Sampson use Johnson’s real name in a text? Had he no sense of security?

It was just another sign of how far the quality of US intelligence agencies had fallen, something he intended to remedy once he was in charge. Johnson was an idiot, too, thinking he was calling the shots. He wasn’t anywhere near as good as he thought, and he was going to be a loose end when this was all over. No one would miss him, and the world would be a better place.

Tell him he will get a bonus for a job well done. But after it’s done. Based upon our prior business arrangements, he knows I’m good for it.

How odd for Johnson to insist on a prepayment. Was he suddenly getting cold feet about killing someone? He could only chalk it up to a situation involving an innocent, and a woman at that. The guys Johnson usually offed tended to be scum who deserved it. Still, he hadn’t expected that from Johnson. It could be that the man was just trying to put a squeeze on him for more money. Remington had been careful to make sure Johnson did not know who was hiring him. If he had and knew Remington’s position, he would have all the leverage and would have asked for a lot more.

His irritation rising, he took the phone with him back to the dining room and turned off the music before sitting down to his dinner again. Unfortunately, the food no longer held his interest, so he pushed it aside. Instead, he took another sip of the wine, trying to temper his frustration. This was a delicate situation and had to be handled with finesse and firmness. The burner phone dinged again.

He’s now refusing to do it and is threatening to leave.

Isaac stared in disbelief at the text message. Johnson was refusing to do it? He was leaving? Was no one worth their money these days? Furious, he typed a response.

Let him go, the worthless idiot. I want you to take care of the bird personally. Inform me when it’s done.

There was no immediate response. Isaac sipped his wine, reminding himself to stay calm while figuring out how he’d get rid of Johnson. He’d just become one more problem to clear up.

Several minutes passed before his phone pinged again. He picked it up.

He’s gone, but I’m not doing this alone. If you want the bird gone, you need to be here with me. Team effort.

Remington read the text once, twice, completely shocked. Sampson was defying him, too? Insisting he be there when the hit went down? What was the world coming to? He typed his response.

You cannot be serious.

Sampson’s answer came right away.

I’m not a fool. We do this together or it doesn’t get done. Shared risk.

Isaac looked at the text, considering what it meant. Sampson was clearly protecting himself in case anything went south. Yet, after all they’d been through, including the killing of J. P. Lando, it seemed wholly unnecessary. When they’d killed Lando, Sampson had been young, eager to please him, and untested. Sampson was older and wiser now, clearly intending to cement his position as Isaac’s right-hand man, especially as he was primed to assume the directorship.

Isaac vacillated between being furious at Sampson’s insubordination and impressed by his bold move. But this defiance had sealed his fate. Sampson, too, would have to go at some point, permanently. For right now, he had no choice but to agree to Sampson’s request. They needed to move forward with the plan.

He wouldn’t make this easy, and decided to let Sampson sweat it out. He drank his wine slowly, plotting all the ways he’d eventually punish Sampson. He permitted fifteen full minutes to pass before he finally typed his response.

I’ll be there at midnight.

Chapter Forty-Five

ISAAC REMINGTON

It took him nearly an hour to get to the house, and he almost missed the turnoff for the dirt driveway. If it hadn’t been for his GPS, he might have.

He hated driving on dirt roads. It was uncivilized and made his car look dirty. This place was