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Chapter One
Washington DC—5:00

“You don't even have to come up with the plans.”

I shake my head to try and stop the words from echoing in my mind as I shove my hands into the pockets of my nineteen fifties vintage coat- to compliment my matching brown suit, though not my more modern boots- that I wear both to satiate my childhood affection for that particular decade and to ward off the autumn chill.

You won't even have to come up with the plans. What a nice way Liam had of telling me I wasn't even in charge of my own team anymore. The team I founded. The team I dismantled.

The team I'm being called back to- but not as the leader.

And that's not even the worst part.

Grabbing my revolver, I take it out of my left pocket and aim it. I shoot two bullets, one in each of the back tires of the Maserati speeding away from me.

Such a shame.

The gorgeous car continues forward a few yards before skidding to a stop. Then I stride forward to the shotgun seat. Just in time to hear a different kind of shotgun going off.

“Blast,” I mutter, dropping to the ground to avoid being hit and rolling underneath the car to the other side. Then I climb up and shoot around it at my target's accomplice.

The accomplice shooting at me panics and takes off running, and I let him go- I'll let the man waiting just around the corner take care of him. The cops like to do the arresting bit anyway.

Then I stride back to the driver's side.

The window rolls down, and a golden-haired dame leans out, smoking a cigarette. “How'd you know it was me, Clark?”

“I've known for a while,” I answer, opening the door for her so I can escort her to the heat myself. “Just wanted to see how many of your underworld you could lure out before we took you in.”

She takes a long suck on her cigar before bowing smoke in my face. “Then why move now?”

Standing up, I open the door. “I just got a tighter time window.”

“Oh?”

I tip my stringy bin fedora at her before taking her arm in mine. “Been drafted into duty.”

“But there's no war going on.”

“Not that kind of duty, I'm afraid. Not that kind.”

~~~

Leaning back on my leather chair, I drop the envelope containing to the heirloom brooch I had been hired to retrieve- and finally found in the dame's purse- onto my desk and slide it to the other side. The case had been surprisingly easy compared to the difficulty of wrestling it away from my competition across the street.

My young brunette client takes it with a grateful smile. “Thank you so much, Kristian- I mean, Clark.” She blushes to be caught using my first name.

I sigh and sit up. Like with the dame, I'd long suspected the brunette- only of a different crime; a crime all my young lady clients I steal from the competition across the street (though, in my defense, she seems to steal all my male clients) seem to become guilty of at some time or another.
Maybe it's the mysteriousness of my dimly lit office- a precaution for those sometimes long days between clients when I might feel the need to pile up some z's. Either that or my roguishly good looks. It's a curse, really.

“I'll be sure to tell all my friends about you,” the brunette adds, glancing away shyly, though every now and then stealing a glance at me.

Poor souls. They just can't help but fall for me. I just wish they could see that I'm not right for them. My heart already belongs to another. Another I've forbidden myself from.

“You'll probably be getting a lot more business,” she continues.

I sigh and sit up. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

She startles and turns to me, completely forgetting the solemn oath she seems to have taken to not look me eye to eye. “You don't want my good word?”

“I do, but…” I take my time lighting a cigar before fingering it dully. “I'm afraid I have to shut down temporarily.”

“What? Why?”

“A different kind of duty calls.”

She looks away, her face so surprised and flustered at this, so I add, “But maybe in a few months’ time. If you still feel grateful.”

Her face lights up. “Oh, I will.”

I smile and wish I really could come back in a few months’ time.
But deep down inside, I know that's never going to happen.

“Well, I should go,” she says, standing up and pulling on her shrug.
I nod and watch her go before putting the cigar in my mouth. Maybe this time…

The foul taste consumes me like it does every time and I quickly snuff it and throw it into my ashtray, coughing all the while.

One of these days I will get used to smoking, if it kills me.

~~~

Gritting my teeth, I scan my thumbprint and push open the door of the unassuming rental office that Liam, the man who'd called me back, had secured for our base of operations.

Our operations being espionage.

The first person I spot in that room on the other side is Amelia, petite and pretty as ever with her smiling face and brown, bobbed hair. A one-woman wonder, she's always been good with her hands and light on her feet, and back when we were a whole team, she was the one who we counted on for getting in and out unseen, changing our appearances, swindling people while stealing their hearts, and just being the heart and soul of the team. Back when we were a team, anyway.

Amelia notices me and her face lights up, reminding me of all the time we spent together two years ago. She hurries over and throws her arms around me, just like those good old days. “Kristian!”

But unlike old times, I tense. A sworn- and, well, friendless- bachelor, it's been a long time since I've suffered human contact.

Twenty-four and already a curmudgeon. Must be my mother's genes.

If Amelia notices, she doesn't let on. I notice, however, that something about her demeanor is different. It makes me wonder if my tall stature, dark hair, blue eyes, and firm jaw are the same as she remembers, or if I've changed too.

She doesn't give me an answer. And as for me, she barely gives me a chance to tip my fedora before she pulls me toward another familiar face.
“Hey, Garret, look who's here!” she cries like this is a class reunion and not a forced draft of failed special agents.

My dark haired, dark skinned friend who's only specialty was muscle- and that he clings to like an idiot savant to his one skill- nods, but he seems distracted, studying the stranger in the room.

I turn and study the stranger too before clenching my jaw at what must be our replacement tech. Scrawny-and-bespectacled's not going to be good for anything else. At least not in this business.

And this business is dangerous. Just ask our last tech…

Scrawny-and-bespectacled glances at me and I'm struck with the feeling of having met him before. Or at least someone very like him, like a relative. But I can't quite place him...

“Good; you're all here.”