Licensed to Kill

Chapter 9

The door slammed open and I looked up to see Leon Jordan, the man who controlled all of A.R.T. internationally. He was the biggest of big wigs, the last person an agent wanted to meet in an interrogation room – or anywhere, for that matter. He stared a hole through me, sizing me up, and I could see the gears turning in his head as he was deciding what to do about me.

"I have every goddamn reason in the book to strip you of your employment, as well as prevent you from ever working in intel or law enforcement again, here or abroad," Director Jordan said in a stern, almost terrifying voice, as he stood there, arms crossed, glaring down at me like he ruled the entire world and I was a pesky little gnat in his way. "But I'm not going to do that. I'd assume shooting your significant other is likely punishment enough."

I cringed at the mention of Dallas. We'd spent years seeing each other in secret and assisting each other on solo missions in the U.S., Australia, and Europe. We'd found every opportunity between work responsibilities to sneak off and conduct our affair in private. It had made me physically ill to disclose this information to my interrogators over the last several hours.

It was against the rules for agents to be romantically involved, as it could cloud their judgment and get them killed. There was always the potential for an enemy to discover a romance between agents and use that against them, too. It was even more frowned upon if the agents romantically involved were from rival organizations. Each organization had a strict rule that their business was theirs alone, and there were to be no communications between agents of separate organizations, regardless of if they were on the same side of the law.

I'd crossed so many lines and broken so many rules, I couldn't even count them all. My superiors had taken half a notepad's worth of bullet points about both the shooting and Dallas's and my affair. There had been no doubt in my mind that my status as an agent would be terminated. I'd just been waiting for someone to say it.

"So what happens now?" I forced myself to ask him, shocked to the core that he'd said he wasn't going to fire me.

Director Jordan finally sat down across from me, his frustrated stare clawing at my nerves as I awaited his response.

"I'm pissed as hell over your complete disregard for the rules, Dobreva. In fact, I would love to boot your ass out the door right this second," he said with penetrating eyes. "I've never come across an agent who has fucked up quite like this before, and it astounds me! It absolutely astounds me! And yet, despite your long list of breaches in protocol and mindboggling fuck-ups, you've still managed to outperform ninety percent of your fellow agents in dozens of missions. Your record, though now tainted, is still one of the most impressive in our organization's history. For that reason alone, I am not ceasing your status as an agent. You're too much of an asset to A.R.T."

Anyone else would've probably been thrilled, but to me, the idea of continuing with A.R.T. sounded more like torture. My job would be a daily reminder of the night in the warehouse. I would have to face my fellow agents and superiors and see the judgment in their eyes now that the secret was out and everyone knew of Dallas's and my affair. I wished Director Jordan would terminate my status. At least then I could resign to self-loathing in private, away from judgmental eyes.

A knock came at the door and in walked Mark Bartley, the director of International Defense Alliance, Dallas's agency. He wore the same angry look as Director Jordan and he took a moment to study me before speaking.

"Leon," he acknowledged Jordan with a curt nod and then turned his attention to me. "Agent Dobreva, is it?"

I mimicked him with a nod and waited for him to light into me about murdering his best agent. Surely, that was the reason for his appearance.