The Cinderella Mission. Catherine Mann

threads of information left behind in a handful of transmissions from Alex. Hatch rubbed the bruised leaves between his fingers like a talisman as he studied the map. Slowly two pins on the board paired in his mind.

      The perfect duo for finding answers to the questions left in those last transmissions. Logical Kelly Taylor would balance well with Ethan Williams, a rogue operative who thought so far outside the box he invented his own rules.

      And their personal baggage?

      They would either have to work through it or ignore it. He didn’t need any fireworks drawing unwarranted—and potentially deadly—attention to this mission.

      Hatch reached for one of the seven phones on his desk and punched a three-digit code. One ring later, he carefully placed the mangled leaves on the soil at the base of the struggling strawberry plant. “Taylor, Director Hatch here. I need you to locate Ethan Williams, then meet me in my office with his after-action report from Gastonia.”

      Her affirmative barely registered. Hatch studied the sole remaining plant from Rita’s garden that hadn’t been killed by his black thumb. Since Rita’s death, that plant and ARIES were all he had left, and by God, they would bear fruit.

      Hatch packed the soil around the base of a new sprout and refrained from reaching for the antacids again. Williams and Taylor would find Alex.

      Assuming there wasn’t—as his roiling gut kept telling him—a Judas in their ranks.

      Chapter 1

      “Judas-freaking-priest!”

      ARIES operative Ethan Williams stumbled back a step. His hoarse croak ping-ponged through the cavernous room in a mocking echo. He gasped past the pain exploding in his head.

      But he stayed on his feet, damn it.

      Ethan swiped his wrist under his bloody nose. Three fast blinks cleared the haze from his vision, if not the dull ache and metallic taste of blood.

      Screw pain.

      He charged back into the cutthroat battle that reeked of sweat and resolve. He dodged shadows cast by light filtering through the thick plate-glass windows overhead.

      Perspiration plastered his T-shirt to his skin. Salt stung the healing nick in his side from a brush with a bullet last week. He ignored it.

      The second’s hesitation had already cost him his advantage. He needed to stay sharp. After his near miss in Gastonia eight days ago, he feared his edge had dulled. Losing that edge could mean losing his life.

      Or worse yet, his job—his only reason for crawling out of bed every morning.

      Without it, he might as well step in front of the next bullet. He’d come damned close to doing just that more than once after Celia died, before his recruitment into ARIES had given him the ultimate way to fight back against a world that didn’t play fair.

      Ethan led with his shoulder in a low blow. His opponent grunted. Adrenaline surged.

      ARIES operatives had precious few rules, and Ethan liked that most about his job in the special section of the CIA. Free rein to win in any arena. Essential with life-or-death stakes.

      Not that Ethan had much use for his own life. But winning? Yeah, Ethan had a hell of a lot of respect for the thrill of winning.

      He pivoted, boxed out, threw in an elbow, looking…for…that…

      Rebound!

      Basketball tucked to his stomach, he swung around. Ethan on offense now that he had possession, fellow ARIES operative Robert Davidson manned defense in their half-court game.

      To some, it might seem a simple hour of pick-up. But even basketball in a CIA training facility in Virginia provided the chance to hone skills, search for potentially lethal weaknesses and overcome them so he could stay in the real game a little longer.

      Ethan dribbled, waited, hunting for the opening.

      Thump.

      Thump.

      Thump.

      Patience. Don’t rush. Find the mojo.

      Halogen lights in the gym threw a bluish haze across his opponent. Ethan mentally zoned out the sounds of others shooting hoops on the second court, the bleed-over noise from the connected weight room.

      Davidson taunted, “Don’t be bringing it to me weak like before, rich boy.”

      “Gonna go right by you,” Ethan promised, ignoring the taunt about his family’s obscene bank balance.

      This could get ugly. Oh, yeah. Excitement pulsed.

      Ethan sprinted for the net. Crossover dribble. Nikes squeaked on polished plank. Bolt past. He caught an elbow in the side, his pager digging deep. Ignore it. Keep his hands on the ball, mind on the mission.

      Launching into the air, he plowed past for the lay-up. The thrill nudged closer, his elusive edge slipping back into reach.

      He jammed it home.

      “Weak, my ass.” Ethan hung from the rim for an extra three victorious seconds. “I’ve got a whole lot more of that where it came from.”

      Davidson landed on his butt, sliding backward. He raised his hands in surrender. “I give. You’re one crazy son-of-a-bitch.”

      No newsflash there.

      Ethan dropped to the court and scooped up the ball. A surprise kick of sympathy for Davidson caught him unaware. The guy had almost died nearly two years ago. He looked in top form now, but could anyone ever fully recover from the blast of shrapnel he’d taken to the leg?

      A ghostly whisper of that stray bullet echoed through Ethan’s memory.

      He tucked the ball under his arm and extended a hand. “Let’s call it quits. Good game, man.”

      “Thanks.” Reaching up, Davidson hooked hands with Ethan. “But it’s not over yet.”

      Davidson yanked.

      Ethan lurched forward. The basketball jarred free. He landed with a teeth-jarring thud on the slick wood floor, his pager ramming into his side like a brick. He rolled to his back just in time to see the guy sink a three-pointer.

      “Oh, yeah.” Davidson punched the air with his fist. “Nothing but net.”

      Ethan sank back on his elbows. If this had been a real-life operation, that lapse could have cost a life.

      Number-one rule, nix the emotions.

      He’d pretty much mastered covering the ice block inside himself with a smile. Sure everyone considered him a bud, but he knew the truth. Only with a select few—three to be exact—did he reveal a genuine glimpse of himself. With his boss. With his aunt who’d raised him.

      And with Kelly.

      Shy Kelly, Hatch’s top informations assistant and languages specialist in the operational support unit. Seeing her innocence always reminded Ethan of all the reasons he’d joined the CIA in the first place, back in his idealistic days. Their office friendship had been a real port in the storm for him in his messed-up world.

      Until he’d realized she harbored a damned misguided infatuation for him. He’d been with too many women to miss the look that had crossed her face as she’d whispered, be careful, just before he’d left for the Gastonia assignment.

      Gastonia?

      His bullet wound stung.

      Ethan swept the rolling ball back into his grasp.

      No way was there a correlation between his missing mojo and discovering Kelly’s crush. Even considering a link gave too much importance to their friendship when he simply didn’t have it in him for anything more.

      Ethan leapt to his feet and shook off doubts with a laugh, his most reliable cover for facing the world.

      Davidson