Two weeks later. Logan Muller's Apartment. Washington, DC.
LOGAN MULLER DRUMMED HIS fingers on the bar and watched Zora place a pitcher of water on the new dining table she'd bought for his place. If they were going to have to move to conducting meetings at his place to protect the secrecy of it all, he needed somewhere for people to sit.
The thing that still galled him was that Zora was holding back intel. She wasn't telling him everything. Would he and his team ever earn her trust? What did they have to do?
"Any final thoughts on the plan?" Zora prompted him.
He'd let the silence go on for too long.
Calling her on the omissions would only highlight the gap between them.
It wasn't the mole or that his team was kept around specifically so they could skirt the law at times. It was that Logan still had no idea who or what they were after. For all he knew, they were running headlong into something far bigger than themselves.