Codename Hawkeye

Men like him came in all shapes and sizes.

Photo by Birger Strahl on Unsplash

I knew Malone Dougherty would be the death of me if I let him close.

But I did let him close — close enough to kiss, anyway, as if that would mean anything to keep him in the long run.

Men like Malone couldn’t be kept. I knew that. I just liked the chase after all was said and done.

Malone wasn’t even his real name. That was just the last one in a string of aliases he had given, all in succession, as if that would save his soul.

Or his skin. He had people after him.

Spies often did.