Endgame (Last Chance Series) by Dee Davis

where her father was involved, but he did love her in his own unique way, and so with some reservation, she'd moved in. And never looked back.
    Her work kept her traveling, and the apartment had become a refuge, a place where the evil she lived with day in and day out could not penetrate. A safe house of her own making. And for that she'd be eternally grateful to her father.
    There was peace here that she never found in other places. Not in her mother's sprawling home in New Mexico and certainly not in her father's penthouse on Central Park West. With a resolute smile at her reflection in the window, she turned her back on it and moved over to sit on the couch, reaching for her wineglass, relishing the peace and quiet of her apartment. Information about the case swirled inside her head, replacing all thoughts of the past.
    None of it made much sense. They had two confirmed murders and a third that looked suspicious. What had been theory was clearly reality. Which meant that there was a killer out there. And worse, that he would most likely strike again.
    Taking another sip of wine, she let the events of the day wash over her. Despite her aversion to Gabriel, she had to admit that his associates seemed more than up to the task at hand.
    She looked down at the files Harrison had pulled together, everything he coul d find on Nigel Ferris and Payton Reynolds. Nigel's record was exemplary. A team player who'd made a career out of coming through in the most dire of circumstances. His loyalty to his friends came second only to his loyalty to country.
    Payton Reynolds's record was sketchier. He'd served under Gabriel in Delta Force, his stint in the army ending abruptly with a myriad of awards and a lengthy hospital stay. Details were classified, but it had obviously been something traumatic, the scar on his face a permanent reminder of whatever had happened.
    There was no way to know for certain, but Madison would stake a week's wages that the mark served as an outward sign of more significant internal damage. She'd seen men like Payton before. The walking wounded. He hid it well, but it was still there, reflected in his eyes, and she found herself wondering if Gabriel carried similar scars.
    She looked down at the report, clearing her head of all emotion. She was trying to get a handle on the men she was working with, not dissect their leader.
    After the hospital, Payton had simply disappeared. Harrison had been unable to ferret out more than rumors, none of them particularly favorable. The most prevalent was that he'd gone underground. Selling himself to the highest bidder—which fit with what Gabriel had told her, but not with her overall impression.
    She'd watched Payton today, and despite what the facts told her, she trusted him. Or maybe she just trusted Gabriel's instincts—at least professionally. And considering they'd all be working together to track a killer, that was all that mattered.
    The doorbell rang, pulling her from her thoughts. She stifled a flash of irritation. No one was supposed to get up here without being announced. Caution being second nature, she stopped at the breakfast bar to retrieve her gun before answering the door.
    It was probably nothing, but taking chances was how an agent wound up dead.
    She peered through the peephole, shock blending with relief as she lowered her weapon. Gabriel Roarke stood on the other side, a scowl coloring his expression as he rang the bell again.
    With a second surge of irritation, she swung open the door. "How the hell did you get up here?"
    "Nice to see you, too." He glanced pointedly down at the Glock in her hand.
    "I asked how you got up here. This is a secure building."
    "CIA credentials open a lot of doors." He shrugged, and brushed past her, acting as if he'd been coming to her apartment for years.
    She followed him into the living room, trying to compose herself. The man had absolutely no sense of propriety. "I could have shot you."
    "I doubt that." His smile was