Author Michael Wolff Novels & Stories

he does that when the information is too sensitive for any digital trail. I pour us two glasses of scotch. We sit. He walks me through the Volkov situation. Clean, thorough, the way he always is. Maps out the pattern at the docks. His read matches mine...Dmitri is testing us, poking for weakness before he makes a real move. “He’ll push harder if he thinks we’re distracted,” Michael says. “We’re not distracted.” Michael looks at me. “We’re not,” I repeat, harder this time. He nods and moves on. He’s smart enough not to push. He always knows exactly where the line is and stays just behind it.

They were already packed and in the van, peeling out of her life. Oh, sure, she’d expected them to leave soon, maybe even that very day. But she’d hoped that it would be a sweet parting, slow and sexy. This was going to be abrupt and empty, and it was going to hurt all the more for that. “She’s OK, Briley,” Drake said. “Wolf talked to her this morning, and she’s fine.” “So – so what’s going on?” “Wolf didn’t say much,” Drake told her. “He just said that Michael is alive and he’s resurfaced in Utah.”