Chapter 13

My fingers flew across the keyboard as I hurried to make note of my thoughts.

Mark poked his head into the study. “Hey, babe. Give me a couple of minutes to get changed, and we can go.”

“No rush, Mark.” I waved him off and resumed writing about how Andrew McAllister and Daemon Wayne, both in a race to recover this intelligence, donned scuba gear and dove from separate boats. And although operatives from Great Britain, France, Russia, and North Korea were also attempting to retrieve the formula, it was a rogue agent from McAllister’s own Bureau who fired a spear gun into McAllister’s leg.

The next time I glanced at the clock on my laptop, I discovered more time had passed than I’d expected. I saved and shut down, and hurried out of the study and into the bedroom.

“Mark?” The door to the master closet that led to the bathroom was closed, and I didn’t want to barge in, so I simply called, “Want to get some lunch, Mark?”

“Sure. I just have to fax something.”