“Well, that went well,” Harriet said, once the trio had been escorted from her office. 

It was always nerve-wracking dealing with killers, even if she was the one hiring them. Especially if she was the one hiring them. That meant she’d be held responsible for whatever bullshit they got themselves into. 

She wasn’t terribly worried about Thomas. Thomas Chandler, called Hoosegow by his former teammates, had a reputation for oppositional defiance. Anyone with a brain could read between the lines. He was a Black man in the Army, operating in one of their most elite units. Of course he had a problem with authority. The authority in question usually had a problem with him first. 

Thomas never learned the art of going along to get along, and he absolutely refused to comply with orders he saw as stupid or wasteful. Under most circumstances, that would get him drummed out of the service, but he had an ace up his sleeve: he was an absolute artist with high explosives. So much so, in fact, that his command was genuinely worried about what would happen if he was released into the civilian world, never mind the fact that he was too useful to let go. 

So, whenever he got in trouble, they busted him down a rank, docked his pay, and if they deemed it necessary, locked him in the brig for a few days. That’s where his team name came from. “Hoosegow” was slang for prison, and Thomas was on a first-name basis with the MPs who ran it. 

The solution, in Harriet’s eyes, was remarkably simple: put him in charge and stay out of his way. She’d have to keep a close eye on whatever security measures he cooked up; Project Legacy had plenty of sway with the city, but they couldn’t get away with blowing up random people in the parking garage. Still, she considered him to be a good investment. 

Archibald “Archie” Huffman, now that was another story. Archie was not only a notorious arms dealer and manufacturer of strange and unusual weapons, he was also notoriously amoral. There was no one he wouldn’t sell a gun to, so long as they had the scratch, and he delighted in coming up with new and exciting ways to beat the latest in detection technology. 

Frankly, she hadn’t wanted to bring him on board. If she had any other choice, she wouldn’t have. Unfortunately, those damned Abaddon nutjobs were sniffing around, looking for their own pet arms dealer, and she had to assume that Archie was on the top of their list. So, she got to him first and made him an offer he couldn’t reasonably refuse. 

Still, Archie had one of the leading survival traits one needed when working in the criminal underworld: when he was bought, he stayed bought. Getting to him first kept him out of the bad guys’ hands, and hell, they could probably use a weapons dealer themselves. 

Greg, though, he was the real question mark. 

There was no doubting his record. There were Swiss watches that weren’t as reliable. If you needed a head ventilated and had something he wanted, the job was as good as done. What’s more, he was both thorough and methodical. In 40 years, no prosecutor ever managed to trace a job back to him well enough to convince a grand jury. Hell, rumor had it that he even did wetwork for the CIA on occasion. You didn’t get to play for Uncle Sam unless you were rock solid. 

The problem was that his whole career as a hired killer was driven by one thing: a pathological need to avenge his slain wife. 

Greg Blanchette, born Greg Laster, had started his killing career in the Army. He excelled at marksmanship and woodcraft, so, despite being barely literate, he was selected for sniper school. He would go on to meet the love of his life in Iraq, where Loretta Blanchette was working for the US Government as a nuclear inspector, examining the remnants of Sadam’s nuclear program to determine whether or not he really could have built a bomb. 

Loretta’s assignment was no accident. Thanks to a high-profile screwup, she was loaned out as punishment. What’s more, she knew it and hated it. She resented the fact that she’d essentially been exiled from the Project, and she made everyone around her keenly aware of the fact. No one expected her to fall in love, especially not with some backwoods hillbilly who had to take his socks off to count to 20. 

And yet, somehow, she had. What’s more, that backwoods hillbilly turned out to be a certified genius. The first time they’d met, Harriet tried to give him the runaround, talking shop with Loretta at their engagement party. Not only had Greg been able to keep up, he’d actually suggested some angles that she herself had never thought of. They weren't good angles, necessarily, but she no longer doubted why Loretta had fallen for him. 

After Loretta died, Greg turned his formidable brain towards a singular goal: finding her killer and making them pay. When the Army didn’t have the resources he needed, he joined the Atlanta PD. When the police failed to turn up any leads, he started selling his services to the underworld, killing impossible targets in exchange for scraps of information. 

By the time Harriet saw Greg again, he was a tired old man, on the verge of death from lung cancer. He’d made peace with his impending death, and apparently, had finally learned to let go. But when she offered him a second chance, a chance to save Loretta, he’d practically jumped at the opportunity. 

The real question, the one that kept her up at night, was whether or not he lost his edge. They needed the killer, not the gentle giant.

“He’s not quite what I expected,” Loretta said, stepping out of the backroom, where she’d been listening in. “Are you sure he’s the right one?”

“That’s him, alright,” Harriet assured her. “It’s weird to see him so young again. Last time we met, he was pushing 70, and needed an oxygen tank.”

“I figured as much. What’s your read on him?” Loretta asked. 

“I think he’s deadly serious about keeping you alive,” Harriet replied. “If nothing else, you can use that.”

“Oh, I plan to. I saw the crime scene photos, and I’m not keen on repeating the experience, even if I don’t remember it,” Loretta said, shuddering. “If playing the happy housewife is what it takes, so be it.”

“I don’t seem to recall you ever playing the housewife,” Harriet said dryly. 

“Hey, it beats getting vivisected.”

“Maybe it does, but I’d rather you didn’t lead the poor guy on,” Harriet said. “I hate to say it, but he seems like one of the good ones.”

“Why, Harriet Fitzgibbon, are you suggesting that there might be a man worth your time after all?” Loretta teased. 

“Hey, I never said he was worth my time,” Harriet replied. “I’m not giving up my gold star on account of a beanpole.”

This Loretta wasn’t quite the one she remembered. Since her 4th incarnation had been killed before she could be backed up, they’d had to bring her back from the 3rd version. That version had been bitter, spiteful even, to the point where no one, not even her ex-wife, could stand her. Either the years in cold storage had reverted her to an older, less angry version of herself, or there was something to this whole soul business after all. Harriet wasn’t quite sure which idea scared her more. 

“Whatever you say, dear,” Loretta replied, patting her condescendingly atop the head. It was something the old Loretta would have done, before the second loop catastrophe. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t plan to lead him on. He can keep the name, and I guess I don’t mind the flowers, but I’ll be keeping my distance for now. There’s too much work to be done, and I can’t afford the distraction.”

Harriet tried and failed to suppress a little surge of satisfaction at the news. A little part of her still held onto hope, after all, and the less competition, the better. But, it was followed up by a much stronger twinge of guilt. She remembered how happy Loretta had been, even if Loretta herself couldn’t. She never thought anyone would be able to pull her out of her downward spiral. She owed Greg for that, and she wouldn’t be satisfied with her victory unless he had a fighting chance. 

“You should go to him,” Harriet said quietly. “Even if it’s just to tell him face to face. The worst that can happen is you both get some closure.”

Loretta bit her lip, her conflict written across her face. 

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” she asked. 

“No,” Harriet replied, “but I am sure that you’ll regret it if you don’t see him. As much as we’d like to think we have all the time in the world, you know that’s not true. Besides, this whole not knowing business is going to drive me crazy if nothing else.”

Loretta sighed and ran her fingers through her long, auburn hair. 

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “But that’s it. I’m not ready to make any promises yet, and there’s too much work to be done to fiddlefuck around with romance.”