mirrored Lopezâs assault on the cabal.
Two kills, both running with clocklike precision and no concrete leads. It took time, planning and good information to carry out a hit.
Aside from the fact that his men were being hunted, he was also certain that someone within his own organization was leaking information.
Lissa, his personal assistant, tapped on the door, breezed in, set a box on his desk and dangled an invoice. Marc peeled some bills out of his wallet and added a generous tip. The gourmet restaurant that regularly supplied the building made a point of extending deliveries into the early evening specifically for them, and the service was always prompt.
Lissa flicked open the box on her way out and checked on the contents. âLooks like chick food to me.â
Bridges looked faintly outraged. âWhatâs wrong with healthy food?â
Lissa lifted her brows and sauntered out to pay the delivery boy.
Smothering the first gleam of amusement heâd felt in a week, Marc examined the sandwiches, took the beef and mustard and left Bridges with the chicken. âShe likes you.â
Bridges started on his food. Lissa had been a reluctant focus for Bridges ever since he had moved into the office next to Marcâs. The combination of personalities was decidedly offbeat; Bridges the warrior monk, his principles as sharp-edged as a blade, and Lissa, divorced, sweetly cynical and with a city girlâs love of all things shopping. If anything ever happened it would be explosive. âYou know youâre driving her crazy.â
Bridges checked out his suit sleeve. âNo markdown ticket from Saks. Itâs not ever going to happen.â
  Â
Just after five, Rear Admiral Saunders, Director of Special Projects and Marcâs boss, stepped into Marcâs office. âAny progress?â
Marc sat back in his chair. âNothing concrete yet. Iâve pulled Willard and Rossi off the task force. Weâre tightening security.â
He had closed down surveillance options around the building, but blocking every knowncamera wasnât a cure-all. It was easy enough to install a hidden camera, and satellite coverage was a wild card he couldnât control. If Lopez, or whoever it was who was targeting his team, wanted to watch them, there wasnât much he could do to prevent that.
Heâd also put a team on running traffic cameras and collecting security tapes from every business within a four-block radius of the café where Corcoran had been shot. It was painstaking work and the results might not be conclusive, but his gut instinct said that Lopez had been the shooter and that heâd had to park a vehicle somewhere. If they could score a license plate, they would be closer than they had ever been to finally capturing him. âIâve moved Jennifer and her daughter into a hotel until the funeralâs over.â
He had also posted security around the house and issued a gag order for the press. If the fact that Corcoran had been an agent investigating Lopez were released, they had an even bigger problem. It was a remote possibility that Jennifer and her daughter could become targets themselves, and a given that if the media spilled the full story, every weirdo and headcase in the country would crawl out of the woodwork to confuse an investigation that was already in trouble.
Saundersâs expression was impassive as he listened to the details. âI talked to the director half an hour ago. Heâs asked me to keep him briefed.â
The remainder of the conversation was to-the-point and predictable. Saunders had a reputation for cleaning up messes and cutting through red tape with a facile skill that, over a career that had spanned decades, had won him more friends than enemies. That political savvy had shot him through the naval ranks and into the upper echelons of the intelligence sector. He was sharp and efficient, and it was no secret that he was standing