Point of No Return by Rita Henuber Page B

like the dirtbag he was. He swiped bloody knuckles across his shirt, fighting back grief and a bone-deep sadness that Honey had used him. He was a major clusterfucking asshole.
    Time to end the pity party. Think about what you’re doing. He took in long breaths, letting them out slowly. Why you’re doing it. If it had been just him, he’d destroy Global. Make sure in the process he’d be destroyed, ending his pain. It wasn’t just him. The blowback would hurt his mother. The media would have no mercy. They’d play up the angle of a former agency man now a contract spy. His employers would protect themselves. Do what they do best. Spread disinformation. Another deep breath. They’d make him out to be a rogue psychopath so as not to bring crap down on them. They’d find the women he’d been with. Even Honey. Say he had a sex addiction. Hell, for all he knew he did. Women were his weakness. He liked everything about them. Liked watching them move. Their feel, their scent. The sex. Didn’t every guy? Once he was dead, they could say anything. None of his so-called agency friends would, could, stand up for him. Global would get away with everything.
    “Damn it.”
    He paced the porch, anger and frustration blanketing him like the crap from the roof. He glanced around. The hills across the lake were silhouetted against the last light of the day. Already too dark for a run. He dropped and began doing push-ups. Up, down. Up, down. At two-fifty his heart raced, sweat dripped from his face and soaked his clothes. He was getting soft. Not so long ago he would have been closer to five hundred before he felt like this. He kept going, working on forgetting he could be the reason Lee and Becca were dead and forgetting her . Her scent. How sweet she tasted. How his heart kicked when she smiled. How their slick bodies sounded and felt slamming together. He went to his feet and did lunges until he passed the point of his physical endurance. Until the sound of Ali’s sobs faded in his head. The memory of his mother’s pain subsided. Until he was too exhausted to want her.
    He dropped, rolled to a sit and pressed his back against the rough wood of the cabin. Waiting for his breathing and heart rate to return to normal, he began planning how to deal with Honey. It stood to reason, if they wanted to nail him they would hit his weakness. Sex. If they thought they could send her to get information by fucking him, they were beyond stupid. He used his sleeve to wipe sweat from his face. Sending Honey meant they knew about their affair. And they didn’t find out from him. He’d been careful when arranging and going to their meetings. It had come from her. He pushed to his feet and picked up the scattered bottles. Fuck. Let her come. He would use her as an asset and find out what she knew, what she’d learned from Ramsey and Saunders, then send her packing. He paused and lifted the photo, using his elbow to wipe away the roof gunk. Lee looked out at him seeming to say, Be careful, brother.
    Lee was right. Lee was always right.
    Jack stripped away his sweaty, grunge-coated clothes, leaving them where they lay on the porch. Inside, he put a match to the oil lamps and debated starting a fire. Soon the day’s heat would let go and be replaced with the night chill. Screw it. At the cast iron sink, he worked the pump handle and stuck his head under the flow of freezing water. He soaked a towel, using it to wipe his body, raising gooseflesh on his damp skin. He pulled on sweats and changed his fire decision, stacking the old fire grate high with wood. Before long soaring flames warmed him and childhood memories swirled like the smoke curling up the chimney. The family spent six weeks every summer here. Some weekends, when his dad could get away. His mom wasn’t fond of the outdoor facilities but she and Dad were happy, even silly here. Here, he and Lee enjoyed complete freedom and loved every minute. They slept on the screen porch most nights