“A skillet, a tablecloth, a bar spoon, and a pot of boiling water,” he recited, looking up at her. “You took out four trained men with kitchen supplies. And the last one, the leader, you put a bullet in his deltoid from twenty feet away while he was holding a hostage. That’s not adrenaline, Miss Pierce. That’s a skill set.” “It was a chaotic situation,” Kate maintained, her expression unreadable. “Right,” Morrison grunted, unconvinced. “I’ve seen chaotic situations. They usually end with a lot more dead civilians when the other side has guns. There’s something about you. It’s like I’ve seen your file. Or maybe a file that was supposed to have your name on it, but was just a black rectangle of redacted ink.”
Kate’s blood ran cold. But she did not let it show. “I’m just a waitress, Detective. I have a Social Security number, and I pay my taxes. There’s nothing else to know.” Morrison sighed, closing his notepad. “For now, maybe. You’re free to go, Ms. Pierce. But don’t leave town. We’ll have more questions.”
As Kate walked toward the exit, Jeffrey, the maître d’, stopped her. His face, normally a mask of polite snobbery, was filled with genuine awe. “Catherine, that was… I don’t know what that was, but thank you.” He pressed a thick envelope of cash into her hand. “This is your pay. And this,” he added, another, even thicker envelope, “is from the restaurant’s owners. They said to tell you, well, thank you doesn’t seem to cover it.” Kate looked at the money, a small fortune that could solve so many of her problems. She pushed the second envelope back into his hand. “I’ll take my pay. The rest isn’t necessary.”
She walked out into the cool night air, leaving behind the shattered crystal and the baffled police officers. She ignored the news vans that were beginning to arrive. She just wanted to disappear. Across the street, sitting in the back of a blacked-out Escalade, Alistair Finch watched her walk away. He was on the phone with his new head of security, a man being flown in from London. “I don’t care what it takes,” Finch said, his voice low and intense. “I want to know who she is. Not who she says she is. Who she really is. Use every resource. Ethereum’s facial recognition, data mining, government contacts, everything. I want to know where she came from, who trained her, and why a woman like that is serving overpriced scotch in a restaurant. Find her. And put a surveillance team on her, discreetly. She saved my life, and I have a feeling she’s now in more danger than ever before.”