Threat Level:Red (The Disavowed Book 3)

By: David Leadbeater

There was a knock at the hotel room door and he opened it without thinking. Susie Brewster stood there, hair down, doe-eyes flashing. After the Seager thing Brewster was in line for a promotion. The news had helped quell the vociferous ghosts of her most recent past, the split with her husband and the events that surrounded it, the sudden move to Los Angeles, and being paired with an inferior cop.

“Damn it’s been a rough one.” She pushed past him into the room. “Do I need a shower.” She started stripping out of her clothes right there in front of him, in the middle of the hotel room. “Wanna join me?”

Silk did, but he hesitated. He saw her reaching for the minibar. Bending down like that, and wearing only her shoes, she presented a fine sight. But still, he posed the question.

“How’s the drinking?”

“I’m working on it.” She wiggled her ass. “Can’t you see?”

“I’m serious. We should talk.”

“Now?” Brewster straightened and turned toward him, a miniature bottle of rum in her hand. “We can share it if you like.”

“Shit. I don’t know what to grab first.”

She pranced off in the direction of the shower. “First? You have to catch me.”


Aaron Trent walked out of the cinema feeling hugely satisfied. He couldn’t remember the name of the film. Hadn’t concentrated on more than a minute of it at any one stretch of time.

Sometimes, it’s the company, he thought. Actually, most times.

Mikey strolled along beside him, proffering a small hand. Trent accepted instantly, shocked but pleased; it had been a long time since his “grown-up” boy had wanted to hold his dad’s hand. He scanned the lot and spied a few benches along the side of the cinema, next to the big windows where forthcoming films were advertised. The ex-spy and father in him checked for suspicious characters, lurkers, even out-of-place watchers at the edge of his vision, but noticed nothing unusual, at least not in the few seconds he looked. Although nothing had yet come of their last rousing mission in Monaco and Davic hadn’t been heard of since, he couldn’t help but think the Serb was going to be a problem at some point in the future.

“Shall we sit?”

“Yeah. I gotta finish my Twizzlers before Mom gets here.”

“I can always take them with me.” Trent cracked a smile. Something else he hadn’t done in a while.

“Ha. Nice try.” Mikey tucked the packet under an armpit. “Dad? Can I ask you something?”


“You and Mom, you fight all the time, right? Her boyfriend, Ricky, he’s cool but she wants me to call him Dad. But he says it just ain’t right. But not in front of her. Right? What do you think?”

Trent sifted through the eight-year-old’s thoughts. “Your mom and I split some time ago now, Mikey. That’s over. I think Ricky is right. You’ll only ever have one true dad. And, Mikey, I will never leave you.”

“She says you go away a lot. And that you might not always be around to protect me.”

Trent looked away, not wanting Mikey to see the hurt and anger flashing deep in his eyes. Victoria could be especially cruel.

“I’ll be there for you, Son. If you ever need me. I promise.”

Mikey leaned in. “Thanks, Dad. Ricky might be cool but you’re super-cool.”

Trent saw his face reflected in the cinema’s brightly lit windows. He was smiling again. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

“But Mom says you never keep your promises.”

Trent sighed. In a soul-destroying way, Victoria was right. One of the reasons they’d split was because of the job. The CIA required their men to be on constant call, especially if a crisis arose. Trent had faced many such crises, and had missed many appointments, many dates, too many to be believed. The amount of times he’d broken promises to her couldn’t be measured on fingers and toes.

“To you I keep my promises,” he said with some emotion. “You are my son. Trust me, Mikey.”

“I do, Dad. I do.”

Just then, Vic pulled up in the Porsche, giving the engine an extra few revs for show. The top was down, her blond hair flowing. She gestured quickly toward her son.

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