My heart clenched. “Oh, Reggie, I’m sorry. What happened? What can I do to help?”
“Nothing. Jush leave me ’lone an’ lemme sober up.” His lips twisted in a bitter parody of a smile as he gestured at the empty bottles. “Party’s over.”
“But after all that time sober, why would you…” I trailed off, suddenly making the connection. “Oh, shit. You like Katie, too, but you won’t respond to her because you think she’d freak out if she saw your real-”
He interrupted with a bark of harsh laughter. “Chrisht, Kelly, give up the fuggen romantic-tragedy bullshit. I had a shitty day, okay? My stump hurts like a bitch, I watched one of my friends…” He glared at me. “…damn near die in a fuggen blizzard, an’ I really fuggen hate making sh… small talk. And then there was booze. Once an alk’holic, always a fuggen alk’holic.”
I stared at him, debating whether to push the issue. He stared back, defiant.
I backed down first. “So that abrasion on your leg looks pretty bad.”
“My stump,” he corrected. “That’s what it’s called. Stop trying to be all fuggen tactful.”
“Whatever. It’s bad.”
“Yeah.” He directed an unfocused scowl at the ugly wound. “Fugged it up worse when I fell on it. Fuggen shlippery bedspread.”
“Do you have bandages? Antibiotic cream?”
“In my suitcase.”
I rose and headed for his suitcase. “I’ll get it for-”
“Back off, Florence Fuggen Night’ngale. I’ll take care of it.” He gave me another defiant glare.
Fatigue descended on me like a leaden blanket and I smothered a yawn. “Would you like some company while you sober up?”
“No.”
“Is there somebody you can call? An AA sponsor?”
“Didn’t do AA. All that shit about God.” He snorted. “If there’s a God, he’s a fuggen sh… sadishtic bashtard.”
“But-” I began.
He flung out a hand. “Don’t fuggen start.”
“I was just going to say-”
“Say goodnight.”
Eyeing his implacable face, I blew out an exhausted sigh. “Fine. Goodnight.”
I laid his gun beside him on the bed and left.
Chapter 11
An irritating sound buzzed at the edges of my consciousness.
Groaning, I pulled the blanket over my head and clung to sleep. Then my damn brain identified the sound as my cell phone vibrating, and booted me into wakefulness. Eyes closed, I fumbled my phone off the nightstand and accepted the call.
“H’lo?” I croaked.
“Good morning.” John Kane’s warm baritone tickled my ear, and I sighed. Happy dreams…
“Aydan?” His voice quickened with concern. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
I groaned. “Wha’ time izzit?”
“It’s seven-thirty. I’m sorry, you’re usually up early and I thought…”
“Seven-thirty? Shit!” I jerked upright, squinting at the clock. “Don’t be sorry; I owe you one. I got to bed around three o’clock last night and forgot to set my alarm.”
“Do you need to leave right away?”
“No.” I fell back with a sigh of relief. “Your timing is perfect. I’ve got about five minutes before I need to get in the shower. So how are you?”
“I’m fine.” I could hear his wry smile as he added, “I don’t suppose you were lucky enough to be up ’til all hours because you wanted to be.”
A montage of the previous day replayed in my brain and I shuddered. “Oh, hell no.”
Caution crept into his voice. “Are you working?”
“Yeah.” I didn’t elaborate. Couldn’t, since he wasn’t an agent anymore. I sighed. “So what’s up?”
“I was just calling to see if that invitation to come over and work on your car was still standing.”
“What, don’t tell me you’re finally going to have a day with no hockey games or school concerts or family crises,” I teased.
“I’m sorry it hasn’t worked out for the past month,” he said. “It’s certainly been frustrating, but this time it may pan out. It’s up to you.”
“Me? Since when do I have any influence on Daniel’s hockey schedule or Alicia’s passive-aggressive head games?”
“Well…” He hesitated. “Would… it be all right if I brought Daniel with me?”
“Um…”
“Alicia suggested it,” Kane added. “So she likely won’t sabotage it this time.”
Yeah, right. She had already sabotaged it. She knew damn well I wouldn’t deprive Kane and Daniel of precious father-son time; and a wide-eyed six-year-old chaperone would ensure there were no private exchanges between Kane and me.
Instead of voicing that thought I said, “Okay. Um… when were you thinking of coming?”
“Sunday afternoon, if it’s all right. If…” he hesitated again. “…you think it’s safe? For Daniel?”
I took stock. Today’s conference seemed pretty straightforward. We’d finish up and go home; and as far as I knew I had no new missions coming up. I’d be home from the wedding by Sunday afternoon. And nobody had tried to kill me for at least a month…
I suppressed a sigh at the ever-widening gulf between Kane’s safe new family life and my violent and dangerous world. “I don’t foresee any problems, but we can touch base Sunday morning and confirm.”
“That would be great.” His voice deepened. “It will be good to see you again. I’ve missed you.”
I shivered at the caress of that velvet voice and my belly warmed.
Bad belly. Stop that.
My admonition had no effect, and my perfidious memory joined the mutiny with a red-hot image of a magnificently naked Kane smiling up at me from rumpled sheets.
Dammit, cut it out. We’re going to get to know each other as friends this time. Build trust slowly…
Another X-rated memory blazed into my mind, and my throat went dry.
“It’ll be good to see you, too,” I croaked. “I have to go now. Thanks again for calling. ’Bye.”
I disconnected and squeezed my eyes shut, thumping my forehead with the heels of both hands. Get it out of my head.
Shit, maybe it was best if Daniel came along. If I could keep my hands off Kane long enough to think straight, I’d know I was only torturing us both by holding onto our relationship. Fatherhood was his top priority now; and there was no room for a child in my life.
The thought of being even partially responsible for a child made claustrophobic terror clutch my throat. And if that child, plus a husband, were in my home all day, every day, depending on me, needing me…
Panic quickened my breath and I thumped my forehead again.
Stop it. That wouldn’t happen unless I allowed it. And Kane wouldn’t try to manipulate me into it.
Probably not, anyway…
“Shut the fuck up!” I growled aloud. “I’ve already dealt with that shit. Focus on the mission, idiot.”
Which brought up another dilemma. Should I go next door and rouse Reggie from his well-deserved hangover so he had enough time to dress and have breakfast?
Or should I just let him wallow until…
Shit. He needed two hours to get his face on. And we were supposed to be at the secured facility by nine-thirty. He’d be late for sure.
I rolled out of bed and yanked on my jeans and sweatshirt.
Standing in front of Reggie’s door, I tapped lightly.
No reply.
Shit.
I knocked again, louder this time.
Still no reply.
I swore and plied the cardkey, fervently hoping that he didn’t take a potshot at me when I woke him from a dead sleep.
When I eased the door open, light from inside the room raised my hopes. Maybe he was already up.
Or maybe he’d passed out with all the lights blazing last night.
“Reggie?” I called softly. “It’s Aydan. Are you up?”
“Get lost
!”
The irritable growl wasn’t accompanied by a bullet, so I slipped inside and let the door swing shut behind me.
“Christ, Kelly, what part of ‘get lost’ didn’t you grasp?” Reggie snarled. He directed a glare at me from his wheelchair in front of the bathroom mirror. The scarred half of his face was already covered by the mask but the edges hung loose, looking disturbingly like flayed skin.
“Are you done gawking yet?” he ground out. “What the fuck do you want?”
“Sorry,” I said reflexively. “It’s just… that mask is kinda gross.”
“Look who’s talking. You look like shit.”
I flipped him the bird. “And whose fault is that, asshole?”
He jabbed up a stiff middle finger in return. “I never asked you to come barging in here last night and wreck a perfectly good bender.” He turned back to the mirror and continued smoothing the mask into place. “So did you just pop in to piss me off this morning, or do you actually have a reason to be here?”
“I was checking to make sure you’d gotten up in time to get your face on.”
“Yep.”
I stared at him.
Waiting for a thank you. Or an apology. Or hell, who knew what? Maybe just a dismissive ‘fuck you’.
He ignored me.
Fine.
As I turned to leave, his voice stopped me.
“Sorry.”
When I turned back to him he met my gaze squarely and added, “I let you down.” His gaze wavered and dropped to his lap. “I let both of us down. I’ll do better.”
“You didn’t let me down,” I said quietly. “You were there when I needed you, keeping Melinda and Murray calm and coordinating communications and manning the P90. I’m sorry for putting you in that position. I didn’t realize what it would do to you.”
“Not your fault. A shitty day is just an excuse for an alcoholic. I was weak.” His gaze drifted back to his reflection in the mirror. “I thought maybe I could handle it by now…” he added as if to himself.
I wasn’t sure whether he was talking about his addiction to alcohol or his attraction to Katie, so I went with a general question. Blunt enough that he wouldn’t accuse me of tact again.
“Did you start drinking after you lost your legs?”
He snapped back to the present with a glare. “I didn’t lose my legs, I got them blown off by a fucking IED. Christ, I hate that expression, ‘lost your legs’. Like I fucking laid them down somewhere and just can’t remember where I put them.”
I threw up my hands. “All right, fine, you prickly alcoholic bastard! Have you always been a fucking lush, or did you start after you got blown up and burned?”
He leaned back in his chair, the good side of his lips quirking up. “No, I wasn’t always a lush. I got addicted to opioid painkillers when I was in the hospital. When I finally got out and healed up enough that the docs didn’t want to prescribe them for me anymore, I needed something else to take the edge off. Alcohol was easy to get.” He grimaced. “I kicked the narcotics and got addicted to booze instead.”
“And then kicked that, too,” I countered. “For three years, five months…”
“…and forty-two days,” he finished. “And here I am back at Day One.”
“I’m sorry. That sucks.”
“It is what it is. I’ll beat it in the end.”
“I know you will.” I grinned at him. “You’re too fucking ornery not to.”
He gave me his wicked half-grin in return. “You’re pretty damn ornery yourself.” He sobered. “Seriously, though, thanks. For…” He hesitated as if choosing his words carefully. “…watching out for me.” Before I could respond, he added, “Now get the hell out of my room so I can get this fucking face on.”
Smiling, I reminded him, “Breakfast in my room in half an hour.”
“Can we make it my room?” He gestured at his wheelchair. “It’ll give me a few more minutes off my legs.”
“You’re going to wear your legs today?” I frowned. “You shouldn’t-”
“I’m going to,” he interrupted. “So shut the hell up.”
I gave him a ‘you’re-nuts-but-I’m-not-going-to-argue’ shrug and withdrew.
When I got back to my own room, a glance in the mirror confirmed that Reggie was right. I did look like shit.
The previous evening’s sweaty ringlets had morphed into a rat’s nest of tangles overnight, and puffy bluish bags shadowed my eyes. Hellhound’s giant sweatshirt drooped off one shoulder and sagged lopsidedly halfway to my knees, adding the final touch to my bag-lady fashion statement.
Growling profanities, I yanked a brush through my hair, then ordered room service for four before retreating to the shower.
When the food cart arrived half an hour later, I waited until the hotel employee had vanished down the hall before tapping on Reggie’s door.
He called, “Who’s there?”
“It’s Aydan, with breakfast.”
“Let yourself in.”
I did so, pushing the cart ahead of me.
“Damn hotels,” Reggie groused. “They call themselves wheelchair accessible and then they put the fucking peephole at standing height.”
I blinked at the door. “Shit, that’s true. You can’t see out of it from a chair.”
“Of course it’s true; I couldn’t make up shit that stupid.” He wheeled cautiously over to the cart. “God, those eggs turn my stomach.”
“I got you some tomato juice.” I handed him the glass. “I thought it might help your hangover. Drink up; I’m going to go and get Murray and Melinda.”
“Thanks. Oh, and…” He handed me a slip of paper. “…here’s my private cell phone number. Next time call me instead of busting in with guns blazing. And when you come back with Murray and Melinda, just let yourself in.” He gave me his lopsided grin. “After all, why start being all polite and knocking now?”
“Good point.” I tossed him a salute and went to collect the others.
We made short work of breakfast, and my nervous vigilance during the trek down to the Hummer proved unnecessary. I drove a circuitous route through the congested morning traffic to shake any potential followers, but there were none. Our arrival at the secured facility was equally uneventful.
Too bad I couldn’t convince my racing pulse of that.
As I got out of the Hummer in the parking garage I drew a surreptitious deep breath and let it out slowly. We were perfectly safe in here. Nobody had followed us. The tons of concrete and steel above wouldn’t come crashing down to imprison us in a hellish tomb devoid of light and air…
Shut up.
I shouldered my duffel bag full of gear and motioned the others ahead of me through the first security checkpoint.
The bullpen was no longer a place of music and chatter. The other delegates had already arrived, and rows of chairs were filled with solemn scientists. The agents and weapons specialists stood around the perimeter of the room, their gazes tracking every movement.
Reggie’s shoulders relaxed at the sight of the businesslike atmosphere, and he strode to the front of the room with no trace of a limp. Murray and Melinda hurried behind him to sit near the front.
Taking my cue from the other agents, I put on my best ‘don’t mess with me’ expression and selected a piece of wall to lean against. Hellhound gave me a smile from beside the door to the weapons lockup, but that was the extent of our interaction. No kisses blown this morning.
Ian Rand flashed me a come-hither smile, too, but he didn’t abandon his section of wall on the other side of the room. Nora Taylor and Brad Wilson shot me sidelong glances, and the FBI and CIA guys eyed me suspiciously as well.
My shoulders stiffened, and I willed myself to relax. Look casual, dammit. Be super-cool Jane Bond.
I eyeballed each of them in turn, and as my gaze fell on Nora and Brad they glanced away, feigning interest in their respective smartphones.
What the hell were they up to?
The FBI age
nt broke eye contact the instant I looked at him, and transferred his mistrustful frown to the CIA guy beside him instead. Fish-belly-white Grandin. He looked like trouble to me.
Grandin met my eyes with an arrogant stare, and my built-in asshole-detector pinged.
I gave him a smile, curling my upper lip to show a few extra teeth. He stared back with expressionless shark-grey eyes, as though I was chum leaking blood into his waters.
Okay, asshole. Challenge accepted.
Reggie chose that moment to speak into the microphone at the podium, and Grandin and I simultaneously abandoned our staring match to look toward the front of the room.
“Good morning,” Reggie began gravely. As he had done the night before, he spoke without any facial expression, barely moving his lips; and I realized that he was concealing the difference between the normal expression of his right side and the immobile mask on his left.
“Let’s get right to it,” he went on. “As you all know by now, the terrorist threat last month was a hoax, and it was strictly coincidental that the would-be terrorist’s weapon of choice mimicked our classified technology. But…” He offered the audience a small ironic bow. “…since you all insisted on seeing the actual devices…”
He nodded to Hellhound, who bent to activate the retinal scan on the weapons lockup door. The lock released with a click, but as he opened the door a voice shattered the silence in the room.
“Hold it right there!”
Chapter 12
Everyone twitched. A burst of adrenaline drove my hand toward my holster while my gaze raked the assembly for the threat.
All the other agents did the same… except fish-belly-white Grandin.
A collective breath of relief wafted through the room when we realized it was Grandin who had spoken. A sardonic smile twisted the corner of his mouth as he repeated, “Hold it right there, buddy. You don’t go in unescorted when there’s classified technology belonging to the United States in there.”
Hellhound eyed him steadily, the personality I had nicknamed The Killer draining all the expression from his battle-scarred face. Without any perceptible movement, his brawny presence seemed to expand to fill the room.
Once Burned, Twice Spy Page 9
