Chapter 1

ONE

Platja Fonda, Spain

It wasn’t every day you had to face all your demons at once. Today was Meg Carson’s day.

The lazy afternoon sun turned the sea into a carpet of diamonds, small boats bobbing in the clear blue waters. It was the off-season, and tourists were scarce, yet a smattering of local children ran among the waves. Their mothers gathered in groups on blankets, watching and gossiping along the rocky shoreline.

Nestled at the foot of the high cliffs, Meg still felt vulnerable, even with a wall of rock shielding her and the others from town. Shielding her, she hoped, from life.

Warm, humid air tickled her nose. Her skin gleamed with sweat. The towel under her was already soaked through. Rare for this late in the season, but the week had seen multiple days with temps above average. Seemed everywhere she went, she brought the unexpected and unusual.

The rocking of the boats eased her overtaxed mind into a lull. Here, she could forget everything. Be no one. Decide what was next.

A wave hit an outcropping of large stones to the north, white spray climbing high in the air before dropping once more into the hidden cove. She admired those rocks, taking the constant battering of the sea without crumbling. Impenetrable, unyielding. If only she could make her heart so solid and resistant.

Footsteps approached from behind her. Snapping out of the lull of the sea, her focus shifted. Even in the mineral-laden sand, she could hear how purposeful the steps were. Sense the person was on a mission, and that mission involved her. Instinct and finely honed skills made her slip a hand under the towel.

The cool metal of her Bodyguard 380 instantly mollified her. The scent of her sister’s signature floral perfume did, too.

A shadow fell over her, and Meg returned her hand to the lounge chair’s arm, pasting on a fake smile. “Kids napping?”

Tawny and Josh had invited Meg to accompany them and her niece and nephew on this vacation. Meg needed a vacation from her life, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Tawny, hair in a high ponytail and concern etched in her features, held out Meg’s cell. The screen showed a live call on mute. “Your boss.”

“I don’t have—” a boss anymore . Yet, a shiver of anticipation snaked through her. She knew exactly who was on the line, and while Tawny had no idea her older sister had been an elite covert operative for six years, there was a part of Meg who both hated and missed that life. “I’m retired. It’s a telemarketer or a wrong number. Hang up.”

Dangerous, that, but Meg had told him—told them all—never to bother her again. To go to hell and stay there. She was done. Period. End of story.

Tawny crouched next to the chair, her eyes wide with fear. “I already tried that. He’s called three times. He says if I don’t get you on the line, he’ll tell Josh about…” She squeezed her eyes shut and dropped her voice to a whisper. “About what happened.” Those hazel eyes, so much like their mother’s, opened once more. “Meg, how does your boss know about that weekend?”

The best spy in the business, now CIA’s Director of Operations. He knew or could find out anything. Leverage, blackmail, manipulation. He was a master at them all.

Meg hated Conrad Flynn for that. Hated him for scaring her sister. “He’s bluffing, and besides, Josh would never hold it against you. He adores you, and you have a great life with him.” One I intend to see continues . “You should tell him yourself and clear the air. It was a meaningless flirtation before you were married.”

Tawny took Meg’s hand and force-wrapped her fingers around the phone. “Talk to this guy. Please. For me.” Her eyes added, and for you . Desperation clouded Tawny’s face. “You’re miserable, Meg, even in this paradise with people who love you. Maybe you should think about going back. Jessie would want that.”

Meg considered whipping the phone into the waves. Just hearing that name made her want to scream. The grief and guilt balled up inside her threatened to explode. Tawny believed Jessica Mendoza had been an employee of her security firm—a cover they’d used for their special division of spies.

Instead of losing control, Meg did what she always did these days—she bitch-slapped the scream down into the deepest crater inside her. Pasting on the fake smile again, she hugged her sister. “I’ll handle it. Go kiss your husband and tell him you love him. Everything will be alright. I promise.”

Tawny hugged her back, then trudged away. “I love you, Meggie,” she called over her shoulder, her voice carrying on the breeze.

Staring at the phone, Meg forced her erratic pulse to slow. It was a phone conversation. Not a commitment.

She unmuted the call and lifted the device to her ear. “If you ever threaten my sister again, I’ll shove your balls in a blender.”

“Good to hear your voice, too,” Conrad Flynn replied. “It’s been a while. Enjoying Spain? By the way, you’ll have to get in line for that honor.”

“Whatever it is you want, no.” She disconnected.

As expected, the phone rang almost immediately. She counted to ten, willing it to go to voicemail, then remembered the scared look on her sister’s face and jabbed the button. “What?”

“We’ve got a missing friend in Bucharest. The president has reactivated your division.”

Black Swan. A whopping four people, the elite of the elite in what had been dubbed Flynn’s Secret Army. Two men, two women, who could work in pairs or alone. Get in, get out, complete the mission without anyone ever knowing.

Only now, one was dead and the division was, too. “I quit, remember?” The MIA had to be someone important for the president to get involved. “Find another sucker to track down your MIA.”

“He requested you, and you’re not on search and rescue. At least, not for our friend. Your mission is more critical.”

Meg’s pulse stuttered. “What is it?”

“Special circumstances that can’t be discussed over an open line, but you might turn on the news. The Bucharest embassy is under attack, and we have a black swan. Mosai Hagar is involved. Thousands of innocent people could be harmed.”

Her mouth went dry. Her group had been formed to handle what their name suggested—an unpredictable event with potentially severe consequences. Such events were characterized by their extreme rarity, severe impact, and the widespread insistence they were obvious in hindsight. Nine-eleven was considered a black swan, but such events were never obvious, even in hindsight.

Since then, such occurrences had been increasing. The world grew ever more chaotic. No matter how much the analysts tried to predict situations and outcomes, the outliers and challenges grew unhindered, thus the need for a team that could move quickly, quietly, and counter whatever was taking place.

“Playing the innocent card is a low blow, and you have others who can protect them.”

Flynn agreed. “You’ll want in on this when you find out who the MIA is, trust me.”

“Not…” Declan . She couldn’t even say his name. “My…second?”

Dec Reid had been her right-hand man in more ways than Flynn or anyone else outside her team knew. “Not that bastard—hell, if it was him, I wouldn’t even be worried. He’d fight his way out, no matter what. I can’t give you anything else at this point. You’re going to have to have faith. You will want to be in on this.”

Faith. Trust. Did she even know what those terms meant anymore? “I can’t.”

Once again, she hung up.

In his time in the field, Conrad Flynn hadn’t just climbed through Dante’s nine circles of hell, he’d created them. He’d even gone under the deepest cover possible—faking his own death—to root out a mole in the CIA. Since coming in from the cold and being reinstated by the Agency—and receiving more commendations than she could count—he’d surprisingly thrived behind a desk. Not that he always stayed there.

Her phone rang again. She ground her teeth and punched the button. “You are a dog on a bone, you know that?”

“There’s a key under the plant in your bedroom that goes to a locker in the Bucharest train station.” Flynn was done with small talk. “You’ll find a survival kit waiting. I’m sending the rest of the swans to assist. I know I gave you my word I’d leave you alone, but I have to break that promise, and yes, you can kill me later. Right now, I need you to get off that pink lounge chair and get yourself to Romania. You’ve been reactivated, Meg.”

Click . The line went dead.

Tit for tat.

Bastard.

… get off that pink lounge chair …

Her eyes slid to the left, then right. Was he here?

Doubtful, but he loved nothing better than to jump into an op himself, and someone had to be tailing her. Either that or Flynn’s favorite techie, Del, had a satellite pointed at this very beach so her ex-boss could harass her while he sent someone to sneak a key into her room at the villa.

Not beyond reason. She held up her middle finger and waved it around, hoping he was across the ocean watching from his cushy leather office chair inside Langley.

I’m sending the rest of the swans …

She should call him back and tell him, “Hard pass.” How could she face them? The other swans…

Wait, what am I thinking? How could she even consider complying, with or without the rest of her team?

For a long moment, her focus returned to watching the boats bob on the water. Listening to the kids’ delighted cries as they played. She couldn’t go back to the CIA. Wouldn’t. Being the leader of her team had been the best—and worst—experience of her life, but her heart couldn’t take it. Losing a friend was terrible, but Jessie’s death had been…

A horror Meg wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy.

The look on her friend’s bruised and bloody face right before Mosai Hagar swung the machete hadn’t been accusing. There’d been no fear or judgment. As the man holding Meg had sunk his hand in her hair and forced her to watch, Jessie had stared at her with sad but trusting eyes. “It’s okay,” she’d whispered through her cracked, swollen lips. “You couldn’t save?—”

Me . The word was lost forever on a swing of that damn machete. Jessie would never speak again.

Meg blinked hard against the onslaught of tears. If she let even one slip out, the dam would break.

She stood and slowly walked to the edge of the lapping water. One of the kids waved at her.

Hagar is involved.

How many innocents would he harm? Why attack the embassy? Who was the missing person?

Tommy. Her heart lurched as his thin face and big eyes flashed through her memory. It couldn’t be. He was safe in the US.

Wasn’t he?

Jessie had gotten him a job with the Agency as an analyst. He’d put in for an overseas position. They’d sent him to Afghanistan during the pullout, and two hours after he’d landed, his sister had been murdered.

My fault .

Meg toyed with the phone, aching to call Flynn and make sure Jessie’s brother was okay. Instead, she dialed Tommy’s number.

The call went to voicemail. A generic, computerized bot instructed her to leave a message, except the mailbox was full. Tommy never used a voice assistant—the nerd loved to personalize his recordings with random Neitchze quotes. His favorite? He who has a why to live can bear almost any how .

Puzzles and mysteries always sucked Meg in. Getting revenge did, too.

She waved back at the young boy. He motioned for her to join him and his friends. “Do you want to play?” he called in Spanish.

I have to speak for her. Make sure Tommy’s not involved with this. It would be just like him to go after Hagar alone. “Not today,” she replied.

Then she reared back and, with all her might, chucked the phone into the sea. There was a key waiting for her and her own personal why.