Knox padded out of the bathroom. She had taken her jeans off and the T-shirt was

too short to conceal her pale thighs. “How’s your arm?” asked Puller. “Fine,”

she said curtly. “You feeling sore? We hit pretty hard.” She didn’t respond.

 

They had not talked last night. Knox clearly was too angry to do so and Puller

couldn’t come up with the words to initiate a productive discussion. He decided

to try again, with a universally appealing opening. “I’m sorry,” said Puller. He

paused and added, “I thought if I told you what I was planning you might freak

out and not do it. Then we’d be dead.” She sat down on the corner of the bed and

glared at him. “Have more faith in me next time,” she said, though her tone was

more conciliatory. “I will.” She scooted up next to him and laid her head

against the pillow.

 

She closed her eyes and scrunched up her brow as she rubbed her injured arm. “So

they tried to kill Shepard and then tried to kill us. Led us right into a trap.”

“Which tells me they’re worried we’re getting close to the truth.” “Who do you

think those guys were?” “My guess is mercenaries. They’re a dime a dozen now.

Probably brought in from another country. Even if we managed to track them down

they could tell us nothing. Money wired to an offshore account from an

untraceable source. I’ve seen that enough times.” “I get that when they’re

operating in the Middle East, but here?

 

Hiring killers to come to this country and kill a DoD contractor?” He glanced at

her. “Well, some assholes came to this country and knocked down buildings using

planes, right? So in my book anything is possible.” She sighed. “Right.” “We