Rogue - Michele Mannon Page 0,10

about this organization to anyone or do anything to jeopardize it. Actions have consequences—always remember that.”

Holy hell. That sounds like a threat.

“You’ll need to practice if you plan on making it onto the team.” He takes a yellow manila envelope out of his desk and pushes it across the table. “Open it. You need to fully understand what I’m asking of you.”

It weighs a few pounds but is too bulky to be paperwork. Money? I tear it open at the seam, and stare down at the smooth black object tucked inside.

“A Ruger?”

“The best pistol on the market. You’ll want to brush up before camp. You’ll be training with the best.”

“The best at what?”

He flashes me a faux smile.

“Can you be any more vague?” I ground out, my tone seething with frustration.

The energy in the room abruptly changes. “You’re going to have to do something about your temper. One hothead on board is one too many,” he snaps, his voice sharp and full of authority.

I swallow hard. Is this what they mean in the movies when a character sells his soul for the almighty dollar?

“Relax. There’s a specific assignment I have in mind for you. One you’ll clearly excel at—you’ll spy on Franco and report back to me. Simple.”

Yeah, as if simple is a word in this man’s vocabulary.

As far as spying . . . “I don’t know.” Damn it. The money, at a time like this . . .

“Kylie?”

I stiffen, disliking my name coming off his lips.

“If it’s revenge you’re after, I’ll deliver.”

“The mob didn’t kill my father.”

“No, but I suspect they’re raising money for the men who did. The Pricks. A fitting nickname.” His lips twitch, his sudden show of humor catching me off guard. “TORC is in Shelby because I’m after the king Prick, a man called Novák.”

I sit up straighter in my chair as he removes a picture from his desk and pushes it across the table for me to look at.

“What began in Sydney, London, Rio, New York, and other major urban centers around the world has now gone small-town. That picture was taken at Truman Lake just outside of Clinton, Missouri. A quintessential mid-western town, which like Shelby, happens to have a group of lowlifes who’d sell their own mothers to make a quick buck. When I say Novák has a nose for rooting out even the smallest of town’s localized criminal element, it’s an understatement.”

I study the tall, brown-haired man in the picture. He looks like your typical business executive, dressed in a suit, with a Burberry tie and shiny black shoes. An average sophisticated Joe. But instead of murdering you on Wall Street . . . I run my tongue across my bottom lip then scowl as I taste blood from my biting down too hard. “So Novák has partnered up with other men besides Franco?”

“Partnering up, taking control over. And as with Shelby, each of the small towns have a compound located just outside of town. He’s personally setting up sleeper cells across the globe, making the rounds from place to place to guarantee things are running smoothly. Supplying his local business partners with money for bigger drug purchases, which increases both their profit margins. Buy more, spend less, just like any smooth-operating business model. All this, we know.”

Hayden gestures with his hand for me to pass the picture back to him.

I resist the urge to tear it to pieces and stomp it beneath my foot. What I wouldn’t do to see Novák gets what he deserves.

“One thing is for sure,” Hayden comments.

“What’s that?”

“I’ve got the right woman for what I have in mind. If you want to work for me, you’ll need to work on hiding your thoughts better. As it is, I can see straight through you.”

Screw you, I think, letting my expression do the talking.

“Tsk. Tsk. Mask your anger, Kylie. I’ve already addressed this.”

“If you already know what Novák has been up to, why not set up a sting, catch him red-handed, and arrest him?” I say, my tone ripe with condescension.

“Arrest him.” Hayden snorts, like my suggestion amuses him.

“Why not?” I ground out.

“I need answers. What is he doing with all this money? And if he’s working for a larger global off-the-grid organization that no one’s yet heard of but which I suspect exists. We can’t question his earlier business associates because they’re either dead or have been recruited into a localized cell. And small towns are notoriously difficult to maneuver within without raising suspicion. But something’s gotta