Epilogue Clark

Clark sat at his desk, shrouded in midnight darkness. He contemplated the glass of bourbon in his hand, watching the color shift by the solitary light of his green desk lamp. His burner phone was going to ring at any second, he was sure of it. And he was going to savor this moment.

Despite all the public trappings of "island contentment," it had been a year of silent, seething frustration for Clark. In the aftermath of his "failure" in utilizing Kyle, Clark had been shut out, humiliated. He'd had several of the Wellings' locks in his grasp , and they'd just slipped away, with no mistake on Clark's part but putting his faith in the wrong person. He'd thought Kyle to be the perfect tool—malleable, desperate enough to take terrible risks, not savvy enough to take countermeasures against Clark. To find out that he'd been betrayed by Kyle postmortem…?

Well, Clark was glad the little shit was dead, even if it wasn't by Clark's own hand.

Every development since Riley Denton had stepped on the island had been a disappointment. Hell, he'd even lost his vantage point to spy on Shaddow House when Clifford Martin's incompetence went from helpful (making Gray Fern Cottage unrentable and therefore available for Clark's exclusive spying use) to obstructive (pissing Ben off so badly that he'd returned to the island). He'd thought he was managing the Wellings' expectations, even after Kyle's misstep. But then, they'd shut him out of their operations, ignored him, insulted him, hired an outsider to operate independently of him, and expected Clark not to object. And yes, Clark had been pleased that Cole had been found dead off-island in what he could only assume was some girl-power triumph for Riley and her coven. That could only work in Clark's favor, making his employers more frantic, putting them at the disadvantage.

Yes, it would make his job more difficult in the long run. But the problem with Cole had been resolved without dirtying Clark's hands. In the big picture, he considered that a zero-sum balance. Clark was all about the big picture, when the big picture looked like dollar signs.

The silence of his office was broken by the buzzing of his burner phone.

Clark smirked and held his hand over the phone. He let it ring four times. When he finally picked up, he drawled, "Imagine my surprise, to receive this call, when you've made it clear that my services were no longer required."

"Don't get smart now, Graves. It doesn't suit you," the voice on the other end of the line rasped.

Clark snorted. "I can do anything I like. I'm not the one who is losing to a bunch of girls, nerds, and dead people."

"You seem to forget the leverage we hold over you," his employer seethed. "Being disbarred would be the least of your concerns if we decide to apply that leverage."

Clark frowned, even if he was sure that was a bluff. He was ninety percent sure. "I don't see why our relationship has to become adversarial now after so many years of working together. You've done some things you regret. I have made errors in judgment. There's no reason why we both can't salvage the situation."

"I'm assuming your inside connection is still in place?" the voice asked.

Clark smirked. "Absolutely."

"And you're prepared to apply the necessary pressure?"

And even though there was a tiny, almost imperceptible pang of something like conscience in his gut, Clark answered, "Without hesitation."

"Redeem yourself, Clark, and we can give you what you want. Fail us and, well, you won't have anything to worry about. Ever."

The connection closed with an electronic beep. Clark rolled his eyes and stared into the darkness.

Time to get to work.