Flint set down his pen and took a deep breath. “Shit,” he said slowly.

“That about sums it up,” Tate said. “Did Birch give authorization to bring Flint in?”

“Yes,” Lizzy told her as she kept her eyes on Flint for his reaction.

“That’s not fair. He didn’t have to find Humphrey snoring and drooling on his couch,” Tate complained, trying to lighten the mood. It was hard to do when you just realized you were standing smack in the middle of an international power grab.

“Prince Noah, the African rebels, President Mitchell, and now a stack of other high-ranking politicians and royalty all involved,” Flint said, ignoring Tate’s attempt to lighten the mood. “Celebrities, a media magnate, an FBI higher-up, three assassins, and a missing bomb.”

“More or less.” Lizzy wasn’t trying to break the tension. “You can walk away right now. I’m sure Jeff Sargent wished he had. We won’t think less of you if you do.”

“Fuck that. I will think less of you.” Crew crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Flint.

“And you released the photo of yourself and Fitz to discredit Claudia?” Flint asked Tate even though Lizzy had already told him about the play.

“Yes. I’ll send the videos to Brent Eller right before Claudia’s special runs. As she’s bashing me and reading from the talking points you identified, her downfall will spread like wildfire before she even knows it’s happening. I’ll give it ten minutes on Tinselgossip.com before smaller news outlets pick it up and fifteen minutes before the main media markets run with the story. Maybe thirty minutes if they actually try to verify the story. Nowadays that doesn’t seem a priority.” Tate crossed her arms and waited for Flint to respond. She saw his mind working overtime as he stared down at his notes.

“What do you want me to do?” Flint asked, looking up at Lizzy.

“I want you to continue doing exactly what you’re doing now. I want you to report the truth. I just can’t allow you to report about us and our mission. Think about it this way: If Mollia Domini were a wall that you needed to tear down, you would need to slowly chisel out the foundation until it collapses. Otherwise, you’d need many big swings to destroy everything. And that’s something we simply don’t have. We’ve captured both foreign and domestic assassins. We’ve nabbed both foreign and domestic operatives. But they are all on the outer edges of the spider’s web. They’re all the blocks sitting on the top half of the wall. We can push them off the wall, but the wall doesn’t crumble,” Lizzy explained.

“But if we take out the bottom, or kill the spider in your web analogy, then the rest doesn’t matter as the wall will crumble and the web will fall apart.” Flint took a deep breath. “I don’t like being hampered or told what I can write about.”

“We’re not telling you what you can or cannot write about topically. I’m just saying you never mention us or even the president’s resistance right now. When the spider is killed and the wall tumbles, you get the exclusive story and all the evidence we’ve gathered. You’ll be the one who exposes the truth. You just have to swear that you’ll never identify us now or anytime in the future. No evidence, no notes, nothing can ever be found. Everything with our names must be destroyed. And no, putting it in a safety deposit box does not count as being destroyed. Or—” Lizzy shrugged her shoulders.

“Or what?” Flint asked.

“Or I’ll kill you. I’d hate to do that to you. I’d hate to do that to Snip. But I have to protect this team. And I think you already know that.”

Flint nodded. “Here’s what I have found that I think will help you.”

Tate sat back and listened as Flint told Lizzy about George Stanworth and the reach of his media empire. As Lizzy and Crew listened, Tate thought about the web. George would tell Claudia what to do just as Phylicia had told Dan. He was a higher-up, but the difference in power between someone like George Stanworth and Phylicia or even Harriet Hills was staggering.

“That’s great information. And lines up exactly with what Tate has found,” Lizzy said, drawing Tate out of her thoughts.

“He’s bigger,” Tate sputtered as she stood back up so she could resume pacing. She thought best that way.

“What?’ Lizzy asked, turning to watch her.

“George Stanworth is the closest to the spider we’ve ever gotten. Could he be the spider?” Tate asked as she stopped and looked at their confused faces before resuming her pacing. “Follow along. The edge of the web, the biggest circle with the littlest minions. Dan March, all these actors and singers, Bram, the guy you just caught trying to kill the Sargents . . . they’re the outermost circle of the web. The ring above them, a little smaller and a little closer to the spider, are people like Phylicia and Harriet. We know they were both receiving orders from someone another ring up. But compare Phylicia and Harriet to George Stanworth.” Tate held her hands out, palms up, as if weighing them.

“Damn, you’re right. George isn’t a middleman. He already has power, wealth, and influence. So where does he fit?” Lizzy asked, jumping off the bench as she too began to pace. “And Epps. Epps could be equal to Stanworth with the power they wield. Those two could be upper management, as it were, though it’s entirely possible Stanworth is the spider. I need to know everything on Stanworth right away.”

“But Epps—” Tate started to say.

“Don’t worry about Epps. Dalton is on him. I want you to coordinate with Flint. If he has a story for Monday night to help discredit Claudia, then that’s the best thing to focus on right now while I’ll have Alex work on Stanworth,” Lizzy ordered. The look on her face told Tate there was to be no argument.

“Okay,” Flint said, turning to Tate. “What do you have on Claudia?”

Tate pulled out her bag as Crew and Lizzy headed back to the bar. She showed Flint everything Brent Eller had sent her, along with the videos Alex had copied from her device. As the night went by, her phone rang, interrupting Flint’s furious scribbling.

“Are you okay?”

Tate smiled as she heard Birch on the other end of the phone. “Yes. I’m with Flint.”

“Lizzy told me he’s joining us. Humphrey approves. Our group is growing.”

“Is that good or bad?” Tate asked when she heard something in his voice that sounded like uncertainty.

“I don’t know yet. It’s more people to help, but more people who could talk.” She heard Birch take a long breath in. “Sorry, it’s just been a long day. And I miss having you in my bed. When are you coming home?”

“I was going to stay at the hotel tonight,” Tate told him as she looked at her watch: one in the morning.

“No, you’re not. Stay with me. I’ll wait up.”

Tate smiled into the phone. “I’ll be there in an hour then.”

Tate hung up and found Flint looking at her. “The president?”

Tate blushed as an answer.

“I’m almost done. It’s a rough draft of my article that will be posted soon after the videos are on Tinselgossip. What do you think?” Flint pushed the notepad across the table.

Tate moved so that the yellow glow of the lamppost shone on the paper. As she read, she was transported into the words and into the story. “This is amazing. You’re a fantastic writer. You lay out the evidence piece by piece and show how the evidence connects to Claudia. You say it concisely, and it’s easy to understand. This will ruin not only Claudia, but also BBN. I think it’s good you don’t mention Stanworth directly. At least not yet.”

“The next piece will be on social media, and I’ll expose a good number of the names you’ve found in the entertainment industry with their posts. I have a feeling you’ll want to save the politicians for when you bring down Senator Epps. Is that correct?” Flint asked, putting away his notepad.

“Yes. I’ll call on you during press conferences also to clue other reporters in that some of their colleagues are being manipulated and they better jump off that boat or they’ll go down with BBN. Open and close your hand when it’s in the air if it’s important that you’re the first person that needs to be called on. Tuesday, right before lunch, I’ll hold my conference and address Claudia’s downfall.”

“Thank you,” Flint said as they stood up. “I’m glad you trusted me with this. We, as people of the world, have gotten too compliant with the news. It’s less work to just believe everything we read than to challenge it. Yet when the free press was started in this country, it was their job to hold people of power accountable. I don’t know when that shifted to the media being the ones with the power, but it’s time the people took a stand.”

“They will, starting Monday night.”

Tate and Flint walked quietly to their parked cars. Tate headed out of town before opening up her car on the highway. At one in the morning, traffic would be minimal. A few headlights were scattered along the highway in both directions as she drove closer and closer to DC.

In her mind, she practiced the speech she would give Tuesday. She decided to show the hurt and pain she’d lived through in just a few days. And she planned to take Claudia down. Fitz would be collateral damage, but it wasn’t like he was completely innocent.

Headlights filled her rearview mirror, causing Tate to squint at the sudden blindness. Tate looked in her side mirror to see the car, but it was too late. The car hit her at a high rate of speed from behind. Tate felt the scream shooting up from deep inside but didn’t have time to open her mouth to let it out.

Her car began to swerve as the driver behind her pressed on the gas, sending her spinning before flying by her. Tate clutched the steering wheel, fighting to regain control as the car shot off the road. She knew she was going to crash. She battled the wheel, attempting to navigate the out-of-control car from hitting one of the trees lining the highway a good twenty yards from the road.

Time slowed. The accident seemed to go on forever but Tate felt as if molasses was slowing her movements. By the time she wrenched the wheel to the left to avoid hitting some of the shrubs, it was too late to miss the sloping hillside. Her front passenger tire rode up the side of the hill. She stopped breathing as the car seemed to freeze for a brief second before rolling over. The airbags slammed into her, causing Tate to go blind as the car rolled over. Her face was on fire and the air smelled from the powder expelled with the airbags.

The roof crumpled as it slammed into the ground. Tate instinctively tried to duck but was pinned to the seat by the seatbelt and the airbags. The force of the hit expelled all the air from her lungs as she frantically clawed at the airbag in her face. Claustrophobia she never knew she had hit hard and fast. Tate felt as if her heart would explode as she fought to free herself.

The belt was cutting into her neck as she hung upside down, but she felt no pain. Her body shook with a combination of fear and adrenaline as her trembling hands found the latch. Tate pulled her seatbelt from the latch and fell head first onto the roof of her car. That one action allowed her to take a breath of air.

Tate reached for the door. She stopped and sniffed—gas. Frantic, she grasped for the door handle—locked! Tate shoved aside the airbag curtain and froze. Two legs in suit pants stood outside the window. A split second later, it looked like it began to rain and the stench of gas grew. Tate scrambled back against the passenger door. Someone was out there trying to kill her.

Her bag. She needed her bag. Everything in her car was now sitting in the middle of the roof. She shoved aside a sweatshirt and some books to find her bag. She flung it over her neck and pulled out the gun Lizzy had encouraged her to carry before crawling to the passenger door. Tate had to get clear of the car before she could fire her gun. She knew it would be too risky and likely ignite a fire inside the car.

Tate tried the passenger door. Locked. She tried to unlock it—nothing. Tate looked around frantically until her eyes saw the dual metal prongs of the headrest. Tate grabbed the headrest and yanked it free from the seat. She scooted to the side window and looked up at the seal holding the window in place. She shoved the prong of the headrest into the seal a couple of inches and then pulled the headrest as hard as she could toward her. The opposite side of the glass shattered and Tate shoved her way through the now broken window. She felt the glass cutting into her hands and knees as her skirt was shoved practically up to her waist, allowing her to move more freely.

The overpowering smell of fumes made her eyes water as she crawled through the gas-soaked grass before collapsing on the hillside. Tate dragged in a lungful of clean air, looking around for the man’s legs she had seen earlier.

“Ta-a-ate,” she heard him sing from somewhere in the darkness surrounding her car. She saw him stand up from the other side of the car. He had been peering in to find her.

“There you are,” he smiled. “I’m sorry we had to meet again like this. We had so much potential. But then I followed you to Lancy’s. What a dive, by the way.”

Tate’s throat constricted as her hand wiped the gas off on the grass before closing around the gun lying hidden in the uncut grass as the man strode forward.

“And you know what I saw when I parked my car? I saw you and a famous investigative journalist having quite the tête-à-tête. I was about to see what you were talking about when suddenly the door to the bar opened and the owner came out with someone who is clearly military and some old man. I looked into the owner. She’s FBI.”

“Former,” Tate corrected as he continued his advance upon her.

“That may be, but what does a former FBI agent, a military man, an old man, the president’s slut, and a journalist have in common? And what would keep them holed up in a park that is situated perfectly by the water so your conversation can’t be overheard?” He took a deep breath. “It really got me thinking, Tate. And I think this is where you need to make a decision.”

“And that is?” Tate asked as she kept her eyes locked on his while her finger skimmed over the gun looking for the safety.

“You have a choice.” He came to stand a few feet in front of her and looked down at her. He held up one finger. “One, you can die right now. Or two, you can join me. We can be partners in all ways. We’ll drive back to DC while I call my friend to arrange a little accident for everyone you were talking to tonight.”

“You can’t kill them!” Tate gasped.

He chuckled. “Of course I won’t kill them. We have people for that. You, I might have to make an exception for, though, since I caught you red-handed. You either join me, or I’ll drag you back to the car and light it.”

“I’ll never join Mollia Domini!” Tate swore.

His eyebrows rose. “I was right. You do know about us. Tate, you’re not stupid. We have money. We have power. And we have the ability to make all your dreams come true. You want to take over Claudia’s spot? Fine. I can make that happen now. I’m that powerful. Claudia is a hireling, but I’ve moved up. I’ve proven myself to be a great recruiter. We’d be unstoppable together, Tate.”

“Why? Why is Mollia Domini even doing the things they are doing?” Tate asked, her hand closing around the grip of the gun. She tried to pay attention to the man in front of her, but she knew what she was going to have to do. Shooting a person was an entirely different thing from shooting a target.

“Laws, regulations, PC bullshit . . . I could go on and on. And then the people go and elect do-gooders who are more concerned with making everyone feel special than doing what needs to be done. We get things done all over the world. We’ve brought people together. Just look at how low Stratton’s approval ratings are. We’ve joined forces with the people who will do whatever it takes to come out on top. It’s the law of nature; only the strongest survive. And you’re strong, Tate. You’d be an asset to us, and we never let our own down. We do whatever it takes to win.”

“You believe George Stanworth will help you? You believe he’ll do everything possible to make you more powerful? You’re an idiot if you think he’d let anyone challenge him in terms of power. Just look at how you think about Claudia. She’s disposable and so are you.”

“My, you really have learned a lot about us. Who told you?”

“You’re not as smart as you think. We know about Claudia Hughes, Kerra Ruby, George Stanworth, Dan March, Bram Smit, Phylicia Claymore, Harriet Hills, Prince Noah, and so many more. How about I make you a deal? You drop your gun and come with me. You tell us everything about the entire organization, and we’ll let you live,” Tate suggested. She kept her eyes locked on his and watched as he processed all she knew.

“I’m sorry, Tate, but you know too much,” he said, his voice disjointed from the man she knew.

Tate saw him raise the gun. She waited to see if the raised hand would shake and then she’d know he could be reasoned with. But it didn’t. He held it steady and aimed for her chest.

“Goodbye, Fitz.”

Tate moved so quickly that Fitz never knew it was coming. It only took one shot. Fitz fell slowly to his knees as blood ran from his heart. His eyes blinked in surprise as his mouth fell open a second before he fell face first onto the ground.

Tate fought the urge to drop her gun. Instead, she inched forward and reached for Fitz’s neck. There was no pulse. Tate watched as traffic continued to pass every now and then. They were lost in the shadows of the night, far enough off the highway that headlights didn’t reach them.

Her whole body shook as she crawled back to the car. Tate didn’t know if she could stand. Her teeth clattered together, her vision wouldn’t focus, and she felt so cold.

Tate slid partially through the broken window and began to search for her cell phone. It took a couple of minutes, which felt like hours, for her to find it. And when she did she was shaking so badly she couldn’t dial. She used voice command to call Dalton. Lizzy was the leader, yes, but this situation called for Dalton’s particular talents.

“Tate? What is it?” Dalton asked, sounding as if she hadn’t just woken him.

“Fffff . . . Fitz just tried to kill me.”

Dalton didn’t exclaim. He didn’t ask about Fitz. He calmly asked her location and if there were any injuries.

“I’m c-c-covered in gas,” Tate stuttered before telling him where she was. It was hard since she wasn’t entirely sure, and she didn’t want to risk getting any closer to the highway. But they could track the GPS on her watch to find her.

“We’re on our way. Hide in the woods until we get there, okay?”

Tate nodded instead of answering even though Dalton wouldn’t be able to see it. The line went dead anyway. Dalton was the epitome of efficiency. He would be there soon and then she’d be safe. Tate grabbed her sweatshirt from the car. She crawled to the safety of the woods and sat staring down at Fitz’s body. She kept her eyes on him and the gun by her side as she pulled off her gas-soaked skirt and shirt. She used leaves to wipe down her body. The gas had probably evaporated, but she couldn’t get the fear of being burned alive out of her head. She scrubbed and scrubbed until her skin was red. Tate slipped on the sweatshirt, drew her knees to her chest, and stretched the hem of the sweatshirt over her legs to keep warm. She would keep her eyes on Fitz until Dalton arrived just in case he wasn’t dead.