“I’m thinking this hot tub was a wonderful idea,” Raz said. “I’m thinking I’m glad you and Colin removed the concrete behind your home. The trees are gorgeous. With the fence down, you can see our little farm and your peaceful forest. I love the privacy of being inside and still being able to see the stars. Colin’s upstairs?
“I think so,” Samantha shrugged. “His entrance is open now, so I don’t see him come and go anymore.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder.
“It was really nice of you to wait up for me,” Raz said.
“I knew it would be hard,” Samantha said. “I wanted to help if I could.”
“Mmm,” he looked at her. “I appreciate it. You put this hot tub in for us. You wait up for me. You don’t feel threatened if I sleep at home.”
“I sometimes want to sleep in my home,” Samantha said. “Sometimes I need my space.”
“I like that about you,” He smiled at her.
“Can I ask how Wyatt is?” Samantha asked. “Were you successful?”
“He’s asleep,” Raz said. “Max is with him. Alex thinks she got most of it out of him – missions, training, when it started, who was involved – and helped him break through the barrier to this other part of himself. He has a few tools to help get him through rough patches. Max will work with him. Alex too. He really loves Max; Wyatt does. He’s so . . . masculine . . .”
“Butch,” Samantha said.
“Tough soldier,” Raz said. “And he loves Max. I hate to admit it, but it’s lovely to see.”
“Why do you hate to admit it?” Samantha asked.
“Because I’m becoming an old softy like Alex,” Raz smiled. “I’m losing my New York cop’s edge.”
“Maybe the New York cop has a little softy in him,” Samantha kissed him.
“Little?” Raz raised his eyebrows at her. “Softy?”
Samantha laughed.
“You want to talk about having a baby,” Raz said. “Can we talk about it tomorrow?”
His eyes looked over her silent face.
“I guess not,” Raz sat up.
“I don’t want it to be a problem,” Samantha’s words came out in a rush. “Don’t be mad. And I know you’re tired. I just want to know.”
“What?” he tried to smile to ease her anxiety.
“What’s the problem?” Samantha asked. “Why can’t we just get pregnant?”
“Because I had a vasectomy,” Raz said.
“You did?” Stunned, Samantha leaned away to look at him.
“All of the guys got them on the same day,” Raz said. “Vince’s wife Emily did them. You can ask her.”
“All of the guys . . . You mean Alex’s old team?”
“The Fey Special Forces Team,” Raz said. “Everyone except Paul. He wanted to wait until he’d had at least one child.”
“Why?” Samantha asked. “I always thought that was weird, you know, that everyone banked sperm. The Fey wives said it was Alex’s idea, but . . . It’s pretty weird.”
“It was a couple of things,” Raz said. “The guys had rescued a couple of hostages whose testicles were destroyed in one way or another.”
“Yuck,” Samantha said.
“At the very least,” Raz said. “The guys wanted to be sure they could have kids, so they banked sperm.”
“That makes sense, I guess,” Samantha said. “And the vasectomies?”
“Since Vicki and . . . everything, I’d wanted a vasectomy,” Raz said. “I just never got around to it. Then Alex and I worked this weird case where this government official was hit with ten paternity suits from women he’d never slept with. We could prove that he was in other cities, countries, or states at the time the women got pregnant, but the DNA tests proved they were his children.”
“How . . . ?” Samantha shook her head.
“His ex-girlfriend. Right before she broke up with him, she started passing his sperm out to her friends who wanted kids,” Raz said. “The crazed soon-to-be ex read an article on the Internet that taught her how to use non-spermicidal condoms and how to flash freeze it so that it was still viable. That was enough to convince the guys to get snipped.”
“I thought it was because they were screwing around and didn’t want to get caught,” Samantha said.
“The Fey Special Forces Team?” Raz shook his head. “No way. They had the same policy we do.”
“What about the whole sex in the bathroom thing?” Samantha asked.
“You’re right,” Raz smiled at the memory. “Mike used to egg Alex and Jesse on with his ‘sex with redheads in the loo’ stories, but he was mostly full of it. The rest of the married guys? No way.”
Samantha nodded and leaned back against the hot tub. After a few minutes, she leaned forward again.
“Did you bank sperm?” she asked.
“Alex talked me into it,” Raz nodded. “She said that I never knew. I could meet a smart, pretty woman who liked her own life and space just like I like my own life and space. I wouldn’t want to regret it in the future.”
“I wonder if she was talking about me,” Samantha said.
“I’ve wondered that myself,” Raz said. “What about getting married?”
“What about it?”
“Do you want to be married?” Raz asked.
“No, I think you’re right,” Samantha said.
“About what?”
“You can’t give the kind of love a wife needs. I don’t want to expect it,” Samantha said. “Plus, I can’t really give the kind of love a husband needs either. No, I like us exactly as we are. You have your carriage house; I have my flat. We see each other when we want to, keep separate bank accounts, and stuff like that.”
“And if you change your mind?” Raz asked. “There’s a rumor floating around that Erin’s changed her mind.”
“Is that a big surprise?” Samantha asked.
“Not really,” Raz smiled.
“I’ll tell you if I change my mind,” Samantha said. “But I don’t think I will. I like that we live really close, but not together. I like that I have my own space . . .”
“And closets,” Raz said.
“I’d hate to share closets,” Samantha said. “But I’d like to have at least one biological child.”
Raz took a sip of his wine.
“What do you think about that?” Samantha bit her lip.
“We should practice,” he smiled, and she laughed.
“No, really, what do you think?”
“What’s it to me if you have a child?” Raz shrugged.
Shocked and hurt, Samantha looked away from him. She was working on a biting reply when she realized he was teasing. She grinned and he raised his glass to her.
“We’ll share custody?” Raz asked.
“Of course,” Samantha said.
“You’ll work out the legal stuff before we try?” Raz asked.
“Of course,” Samantha said.
“You promise not to get all crazy and use the baby to steal government secrets?”
“I signed a non-disclosure agreement when we started dating,” Samantha said. “I can’t tell anyone anything about you. Period.”
“So no ‘Who’s the baby daddy’ talk shows? No WikiLeaks?”
Samantha laughed.
“I’m in,” Raz said. “We’ll see the doctor . . .”
“Tomorrow?”
“How about when this action settles down?” Raz asked. “I don’t have any idea where this is going. I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“But you promise we’ll go?”
“We’ll go when this project is resolved,” Raz said.
Samantha gave him a bright smile.
“And tonight?” he asked.
“We should practice,” Samantha moved to sit on his lap.
“I am so glad you made this room,” he said.
“Me too,” she said.
F
CHAPTER FIVE
Saturday, early morning
November 6 �
�� 3:21 a.m. MDT
Denver, Colorado
Alex pushed her computer screen and keyboard to the back of the armoire that served as her desk. On the edge of the shelf, she set her brand new Magic 8 Ball next to the shiny gold-colored card holder with a sunflower etched on it. She took her old Fey Special Forces Team lighter, microSD card, and plastic pieces of a black security token and set them in a row next to the Magic 8 Ball. For good measure, she wrote “GOLD” on one sticky note and “VAULT VIDEO” on another. She stuck them on the other side of the gold-colored card holder. She leaned back in her chair and thought for a moment before getting up.
She took the antique world map off the wall and set it next to the chair where Maggie was sleeping beside the gas fireplace. Maggie opened her eyes to look at Alex. She ruffled Maggie’s head for good luck before taking Mike’s small journal, Charlie’s journal, and the two journal’s she’d protected in the limestone vault when everyone was killed – her small journal and the larger team journal – from the safe. She set the journals in a stack next to the gold card holder. Standing in front of the armoire, she moved the card holder next to the security token and stepped back.
Shaking her head at herself, she went back to the safe to retrieve the nanodrone in its sterile, screw-top plastic container. They’d found the drone at JFCOM last year. Everyone who was anyone in the security tech world had dissected the nanodrone and put it back together. They had even created a new one from the plans on Hector Jasper’s computer. But the damned things didn’t work. She grabbed the container with the drone and set it next to the journals.
As if it was the crown jewel, Alex set the gold and diamond bee among the other objects. She hadn’t trusted sending the bee through the regular channels. Instead, she’d asked a good friend at the Denver Police Department forensics lab to take a look. Other than the fact that the bee was old, gaudy, and fairly valuable, it was just another mystery. Somehow these objects explained why the Fey Special Forces Team was murdered in their limestone storage vault under the streets of Paris.
She had no idea what they meant.
“Anything?” Jesse asked.
“Nothing.” Alex glanced at him and went back to staring at the objects. “You?”
“Nothing,” Jesse said.
“I keep thinking it’ll click in,” Alex said. “I’ll remember why I collected all of this . . . junk and why Dwight hid this bee monstrosity.”
“I wonder if it’s more like an archeological dig,” Jesse said.
“What do you mean?” Alex asked.
“You know, they find a mound and start to dig it up,” Jesse’s outline materialized next to her. His angel tattoo flashed before his image filled in. “They start pulling out this fabulous thing and that amazing thing only to discover it’s a trash pit.”
“Oh.”
“I’m not saying this is trash,” Jesse said. “I’m saying it might be left over from something you did, or some of it could be trash?”
“Only a few things mean something?” Alex picked up the map of Serbia and the card holder. Gesturing with the objects, she asked, “How would I know?”
“No idea,” Jesse shrugged.
“I should know,” Alex said.
“I guess,” Jesse shrugged.
“I can’t shake the feeling that this junk is at the center of what Eniac is up to,” Alex said. “The gold, sure, that’s obvious, but the rest of this? And this thing?”
Sneering at the gold bee, Alex crossed her arms and shook her head. They looked at the items in silence. Alex picked up the sticky that said “GOLD” on it.
“What if the gold isn’t the reason?” Jesse asked.
“Right,” Alex said. “What else is obvious?”
“Well, they asked a lot about a token or a way to get in,” Jesse said.
Alex picked up her lighter and the black pieces of plastic.
“Leave the lighter,” Jesse said.
“Right,” Alex said. “They didn’t ask for a lighter. They asked about a security token.”
“To get into the other vault,” Jesse said.
“Maybe,” Alex said.
“That’s right,” Jesse said. “They never actually said.”
“We missed something in the vault where the gold is stored?” Alex asked.
“No idea.”
“Hmm.” Alex tossed the map and the sticky note on the desk.
“You want to talk about Wyatt?” Jesse asked.
“No,” Alex said. “You?”
“I think it’s weird that you could be doing anything after finishing your report – take a bath, eat, drink copious amounts of Irish whiskey, make love . . .”
“John’s at the hospital,” Alex said. “Won’t be back ‘til six.”
“You know what I mean. Why this?”
“Something Wyatt said,” Alex said. “Or didn’t mean to say.”
“What’s that?” Jesse asked.
“He said, ‘If you look at the big picture, it looks like everything fits together,’” Alex said.
“But you’d be wrong,” Jesse and Alex said in unison.
“There is no master plan,” Jesse said.
“Only individual solutions created by the same problem solvers,” Alex said.
Alex looked up at the ceiling when she heard the stairs creak under the weight of small feet. She glanced at Jesse and he nodded. She flicked on her espresso machine. She took a pint of milk from the refrigerator and began making hot chocolate. When she looked up, Jesse was gone, and Troy’s son, Hector James, was standing in the doorway. Rumpled from sleep, his face was wet with tears.
“Bad dream?” Alex asked.
The child nodded. Maggie got up from her chair and went to the boy. Hector James pressed his face into the scruff of her neck.
“Hot chocolate?” Alex asked.
The child nodded. Alex went to her office chair. She used her forearm to push her collection of objects aside. She set the hot chocolate on the desk. She held out her arms, and Hector James crawled onto her lap. She held him tight. Maggie lay down at Alex’s feet.
For reasons no one could explain, when Hector James was upset, he wanted Alex. She would stop everything to hold him until he got up and went back to bed. Sometimes, she held him while he slept. Other times, he would drink hot chocolate. Once in a blue moon, he wanted to talk. She wasn’t sure why he chose her; she was glad she could give the child the comfort he needed.
“Wanna talk about it?” Alex asked.
Hector James shook his head. Alex put the mug of hot chocolate in his hands. He went through the ritual of blowing over the top of it and taking a sip. He continued until it was the right temperature to drink.
“Can you show me?” Hector James asked.
Alex pulled her computer screen and keyboard to the front of her desk. She clicked a few buttons and opened a folder she’d made for him. She clicked a button and a sanitized photo slideshow of Hector Jasper’s death appeared on the screen. A photo of the side of Hector Jasper’s shoe on the floor of the burned building flashed on the screen. That image shifted to a lifeless picture of his jacket. If you looked closely, you could see blood and burned flesh. Hector James never looked at the details; he only saw evidence that his monster had been destroyed. He leaned into her and watched the slideshow. The last photo was of Hector Jasper’s coffin.
“He’s dead,” Hector James said.
“He’s dead,” Alex said.
Satisfied, Hector James turned his attention to his hot chocolate.
“I miss Mommy,” Hector James’s voice was so quiet Alex could barely hear him. “Will you show me?”
Alex started a photo slideshow of pictures of his mother, Dahlia. A beautiful woman, she had been the love of Troy’s life and the mother of his children. After years of vicious abuse, she’d finally escaped her marriage to Troy’s brother, Hector. Troy and Dahlia had been planning a wedding and a life together when Hector arrived to exact his revenge. She’d sacrificed herself to save the
boys and Troy. Hector was blown up by his own explosives only moments later. While Troy and the boys managed to escape the explosion, they remained shattered by the loss.
“Mommy’s very pretty,” Hector James said.
“She is,” Alex said. “You look quite a bit like her.”
“No, Hermes does,” Hector James said of his little brother. “I look like Daddy. See?”
He pointed to a photo of him and his mother. In the photo, Dahlia was laughing and trying to hold on to her squirming three-year-old child. To Alex’s eye, he looked very much like his mother. Hector James set the almost empty hot chocolate mug on his lap and snuggled into her. She felt more than saw him suck his thumb.
He’d turned eleven years old a month ago. Most days, he was a happy, well-adjusted boy. He did well in school and had a few close friends. But in the early morning hours when the years of Hector’s abuse came forward to overwhelm him, he snuggled on Alex’s lap and sucked his thumb. They sat for a while under the light of the laughing, smiling photos of Hector James’s old life until he fell asleep.
When Alex was sure he was asleep, she took the empty mug from him and set it on the shelf next to her keyboard. He rubbed his head against her until it rested in the gap between her arm and chest. She glanced down to make sure he was asleep before pushing her keyboard and monitor back. She set up her gallery of mysterious items along the edge of the shelf. She’d just moved the nanodrone into place when her phone vibrated. She glanced at Hector James; he was still asleep.
“Hargreaves,” she said in a low voice.
“Will you accept a collect call from Denver Main Corrections Facility?” an automated voice said.
“Yes.”
Hector James picked up the Magic 8 Ball. She gave him a soft smile, and he closed his eyes to make a wish.
“Alex!” Trece yelled into the phone. “DPD picked me up.”
“What?” Alex sat up straighter. Firmly rooted on her lap, Hector James shifted forward.
“Someone switched my file with my cousin’s,” Trece’s voice rose with desperation. “Fingerprints, photos, even DN-fucking-A. They think I’m him. They say I escaped from prison! From prison! No lawyer. No trial, because I already had one! They’re taking me to Pelican fucking Bay.”
In the Grey Page 5
