Clarissa offered Jon a hand up when it became clear that he wouldn’t reach his feet any other way.
“Thank you,” his voice was rough.
She didn’t answer, her throat was so dry that she probably couldn’t.
Today was not a day she needed to be reminded of the various threats to her career. Colonel Taz Flores’ photo of her when she was much younger and running a t*****e center at a CIA Black Site would not play well with today’s mild-mannered, politically correct rhetoric. Being reminded of her powerlessness, her vulnerability—so close on the heels of Clark’s and her plans’ deaths—was such gut-wrenching agony that she couldn’t even puke though she felt the need to.
She’d stayed at the CIA, trying to back-trace to the origins of the chatter that the cyber twins had uncovered—until the Preside
