Hard to Handle

by Raven Scott

  “I don’t know how to answer that, Sam. I don’t even know what ‘us’ is,” she admitted.

  “You could have asked. We could have talked about it,” he retorted. “But you’ve gone off and made your decisions on your own.”

  Kaylee was about to respond but paused and looked away. Her defiant stance softened a bit.

  “Then I’m asking now,” she told him. “But I don’t think you have any answers for me.”

  “You don’t know that,” Sam countered.

  “I know that you don’t trust me.”

  He couldn’t respond truthfully because he didn’t know what to say.

  “I’m not leaving you, Sam. I’m leaving the situation,” she explained. “I think this ‘us’ might be a part of the life I created to help my father. I’m not sure it can work once I move on.”

  “So I’ve served my purpose, then? Played my part in your scheme, and now you have no further use for me?”

  She took a deep breath.

  “Yes, I think that’s the truth. But not because I see it that way, but because you do.”

  It took a moment for him to step back from his hurt and see what she was saying.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say, Sam. I know I created this situation between us. I accepted that a long time ago,” Kaylee continued. “But, I’ve spent so much time believing that if we had met in a different time and place, it would have worked. You would be the man that I could share everything with. Life, children, love. I had a bar to measure every other man on, and none ever came close. So now that I’m reevaluating everything, I wonder if this time together might be about closing that chapter.”

  It took Sam some time after she had spoken to really understand her words. It was about that time in between now and when they had first met. A time that he preferred not to think about and had never considered discussing with Kaylee.

  “Renee told me I was waiting for you,” he told her. “I think she was right.”

  “See? We just needed to play it out. Now we can both move on without imagining some perfect relationship that really isn’t realistic.”

  “Nay, that’s not what I meant,” countered Sam. “Some of what you said is true, for me also. I did find it hard to forget you, but I thought it was because you weren’t real. The way I felt around you should not be possible so fast. That connection is supposed to build slowly over time, right? Love doesn’t club you over the head one day. So, you could not be real.”

  Kaylee listened quietly, with her arms wrapped around her waist. Her eyes were sad, but she stood tall, as though ready for the truth, whatever it was.

  “I always knew that if I saw you again, I would know for sure,” Sam admitted. “But I didn’t know which would be worse, finding out that love cannot happen that fast, or that it can. So I’ve been waiting to find out.”

  “What are you saying?” she asked.

  He walked forward to stand in front of her, close enough to touch her, but he didn’t.

  “I’m saying you’re right, I needed to close that chapter, also,” he explained “You’re real, Kaylee. More real than I ever imagined, and I knew it the moment I saw you again. It wasn’t you that I didn’t trust—it was my feelings. I just needed a little time to accept that I love you and I don’t suspect it’s going to change.”

  Kaylee gasped in surprise, and her eyes filled up. Sam wanted badly to pull her close and savor this moment, but there was so much still unsaid between them and he needed to know exactly where he stood.

  “So when you get on that plane today, are you leaving me also?” he asked.

  She shook her head, laughing a little.

  “No, never. I’ve tried that once, and it didn’t work out too well,” she teased.

  “For me either. So let’s not do it again, lass.”

  Finally, he wrapped his arms around her body pulling her tight against him.

  “I love you so much, Sam,” she whispered into his ear. He swallowed around the large lump in his throat.

  “You said you had to make decisions about your life,” Sam finally stated. “You don’t have to make them alone anymore. We can make them together.”

  He felt her sigh. “Well, the easy one is where to live. I want to come home, back to Virginia.”

  “That’s a good start. I approve,” he declared.

  “The work thing is a little trickier, now that I’ve developed some new skills. There are lots of options to choose from.” She pulled back to smile up at him, flashing her dimples. “I’m thinking professional ninja or join the CIA. Or maybe become a ninja-spy? Then I don’t have to choose, right?”

  Sam just chuckled and squeezed her tighter.

  EPILOGUE

  “I thought Evan and Nia were stopping by,” Lucas said to Sam. It was Saturday afternoon over three weeks later, and the two men were standing by the barbecue in Sam’s backyard keeping an eye on the baby-back ribs that were slowly grilling to tender perfection.

  “Yeah, they should be here any minute,” Sam confirmed. “Evan says he has some news.”

  “About what, a new case?”

  “He didn’t say,” Sam replied as he carefully turned each slab of pork, testing the readiness of the meat.

  “Things seem cool between you guys, now,” Lucas added. “Right?”

  Sam looked over at Kaylee, sitting by the pool talking to Lucas’s girlfriend, Alex Cotts. Niko sat serenely in her lap, sleeping.

  “Yeah, we’re all good.”

  The friends were silent for a few minutes, drinking cold beer and listening to the sounds of summer along the Potomac River.

  “Any updates on the case against Patrick O’Toole?” Lucas eventually asked.

  Sam nodded. “I spoke to the head of the FBI investigation late yesterday.”

  He paused when Niko barked sharply, now with his head lifted and ears perked in alert. The small terrier then jumped off Kaylee’s lap and ran to the back door of the house. A few moments later, Evan and Nia James stepped out into the backyard, holding hands. They said hello to the two other women. Then Evan left Nia with her new girlfriends to join his partners by the grill.

  “Sam has a new update from the FBI on O’Toole,” Lucas explained, while handing Evan an icy-cold bottle of beer from the cooler nearby.

  “What are they saying?” Evan asked.

  “We’d given them plenty of evidence that O’Toole was the head of an operation that was involved in everything from fraud to tax evasion to extortion,” Sam reminded them. “Once George Clement told the feds everything he knew about O’Toole’s business operations over the years, Anthony Fleming and Mark McMann quickly became very helpful, trading information for immunity on the most serious charges. But yesterday they finally got what they need to issue a warrant for O’Toole’s arrest on two counts of murder.”

  “Really?” Evan exclaimed. “For Jason Holt? And who else?”

  “Yup, Holt and Nate Battleford,” confirmed Sam.

  “What’s the evidence?” asked Lucas. “Both Fleming and McMann were adamant that if Holt had in fact been murdered, they knew nothing about it.”

  “Turns out they were telling the truth. It was Nigel Dobson that finally talked,” Sam told them, then clarified when both men looked unfamiliar with the name. “Dobson was the guy that shot Battleford at the Ross construction site, the former New Jersey State police detective. His former police chief finally gave the feds access to the archived data from Dobson’s computer before he left the force, and they found an email exchange with Patrick O’Toole about a problem that needed to be taken care of in Maryland. It was dated one week before Holt died in the car explosion.

  “That was enough to get Dobson to finally talk, and he stated on record that O’Toole hired him directly to take out Holt, then later to keep an eye on Battleford and eliminate him as a risk if needed.”

  The three friends were silent in thought for several seconds.

  “What about George?” Evan finally asked. “I spoke to
him last week, and he seemed to be doing okay. Looked more relaxed than I’d seen him in years.”

  “The worst is over for him,” Sam confirmed. “The FBI and State Department have been happy with his cooperation and transparency. There’s enough evidence to support his claim that O’Toole had threatened his family. I also provided our case files on the annual Clement Media security reviews that prove George was diligent about ensuring his papers weren’t used to bury stories about the various construction, cement, and research companies under the O’Toole Empire.”

  “Kaylee must be relieved,” Lucas said.

  Sam nodded with agreement as they all looked over at the three women, now sitting together at an outdoor dining table and drinking white wine. Suddenly, Alex screamed with surprise, and gripped Nia’s hand to look more closely at one of her fingers. The women then jumped up from their seats, hugging and kissing each other on the cheek with shouts of congratulations.

  Lucas and Sam looked at each other with raised eyebrows, then over to Evan, who was looking at Nia with intense pride and adoration.

  “Is there something you want to tell us, Ice?” Lucas finally asked.

  “Nia and I are getting married,” he confirmed, finally looking back at his best friends, beaming with a grin from ear to ear.

  “That’s fantastic!” shouted Lucas, slapping Evan on his back, enthusiastically.

  “Well done, mate,” Sam added with an approving smile.

  “Have you set a date?” added Lucas.

  “Not specifically, but it will be soon. We’re thinking early fall,” Evan explained while they looked back at the women they loved, who were chatting excitedly. “Nia wants to do something small, maybe a destination wedding.”

  “Any idea where?” Sam inquired.

  “Not specifically. We talked about somewhere in Europe, maybe at a villa in Italy or Portugal,” Evan explained.

  “How about Scotland, at Seaforth Manor?” Lucas and Evan looked at Sam, and he shrugged. “My mum does weddings all the time and I’m sure she’d take care of everything, even on short notice.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Evan replied as they turned to watch the three women walk toward them, all smart, beautiful, and strong in their own unique ways. “It looks like we’re going to Scotland.”

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  Hard as Ice

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  CHAPTER 1

  “How’s your first assignment so far, Ice?”

  The teasing question came through the video connection from one of the large-panel screen monitors set up around the room. It was from Lucas Johnson, his friend and business partner.

  “Well, it’s been twenty hours and I haven’t been shot yet,” Evan replied. “But it’s still early.”

  Lucas laughed.

  “Looks like you’ll have to get used to the slower pace of civilian work. You might not be under fire for a few days in.”

  Evan shifted his stance and felt the pull of tight scar tissue in his thigh. The bullet wound was a souvenir from his final CIA mission in Azerbaijan eight months ago. It had been a long road to recovery, including an early retirement from government service. Now, he was a managing partner with Fortis, a full-solution security firm, along with his best friend, Lucas Johnson, and their third partner, Sam Mackenzie. They had a team of twenty-two specialized field agents, technicians, and operations analysts with experience from all branches of elite government service.

  As Lucas mentioned, this Boston assignment was Evan’s first with Fortis. He was leading a team of three agents on the ground to solve a multimillion-dollar jewelry heist, and recover the assets within a matter of weeks.

  “I’ll do my best not to get bored,” Evan retorted with a hint of a smile.

  “Looks like you guys are set up there?”

  “Yeah. The additional surveillance is up and running through the building,” Evan confirmed. “Michael and Raymond are on-site since early this morning to start the investigation,” Evan replied, referring to two of the Fortis agents working on the ground for the mission.

  Lucas nodded. His high-definition screen was so sharp, he could have been standing right next to Evan instead of over five hundred miles away in Virginia.

  “Yup, we have the images from the Worthington building coming through here, now. When are you going in?” asked Lucas.

  Evan checked the time. It was eleven forty-five in the morning. According to their client, Edward Worthington, the key subject usually took lunch at twelve-thirty each day, and had no appointments in her calendar for that afternoon.

  “I’m headed to the auction house in a few minutes. I should make first contact before one o’clock,” he confirmed.

  “Okay. I’ve assigned two of our analysts here to do the preliminary research on the other employees. I’ve sent you what we have so far on James,” Lucas explained.

  “Got it. I’ll review on my cell phone, and give you an update later.”

  They ended the video call. Evan did a final check on the surveillance equipment. He and his team were based in two hotel suites in downtown Boston, several blocks from their client’s offices. One suite served as Evan’s temporary residence while in the city as part of his cover, and his three agents were staying in the connected room. In there, two powerful six-core CPUs were connected to four forty-two-inch LED flat-screen monitors set up around the living room, creating a control center. Evan looked around the various live feeds, all showing a different view of the Worthington business offices, the large art gallery in the front, and the warehouse in the back. It was a quiet day, with only four employees on the corporate floor, and three in the gallery and warehouse. His gaze landed on the image of Nia James, his target subject, as she sat behind her office desk reviewing several documents. He watched her for a few moments, until his cell phone rang.

  “Yeah,” he answered briskly, noting it was his third agent, Tony Donellio, assigned to local reconnaissance.

  “Hey, Ice, I’m at her apartment.” Evan clenched his jaw at the nickname. It was a remnant from his time in the CIA. Though he had left the agency, the Fortis team insisted on using it. That was mostly because Lucas chose to forget his real name.

  “Good, do a full search and wire the place up so we have eyes throughout. Then, you’re searching the security guard’s place, right?” Evan asked.

  “Yeah,” confirmed Tony. “His shift at Worthington doesn’t start until six tonight, but our intel says he’s usually at the gym by three o’clock in the afternoon. I’ll be there by about one-thirty to have a look around the area.”

  “Good. He’s the weak link. With nothing of use captured on the Worthington surveillance videos, and no signs of forced entry, there’s no way he wasn’t involved in the heist. Raymond and Michael are interviewing him tomorrow, but we need to find something on him to use as leverage. I’ll meet you back at control later this afternoon.”

  “Got it,” confirmed Tony.

  Evan hung up and checked the time again. With one more hard glance at the subject, he checked the clip of his Glock and slid it smoothly in the small belt holster secured against the right side of his back. He added his suit jacket before leaving the hotel room.

  In the lobby, the concierge gave him a friendly nod.

  “How are you doing, Mr. DaCosta?” asked the middle-aged man, well dressed in a tailored suit.

  “I’m good, Carlos. How are you?” Evan replied smoothly.

  “Very good, sir. Shall I get your car for you?”

  “Please.”

  Carlos waived at one of the valet attendants to request Evan’s car to be brought around.

  Worthington was an easy enough walk into the center of downtown, but Evan’s cover required the image of wealth and prestige, and that didn’t include a brisk walk in balmy May weather. His leased car, a sleek black Bentley, was brought to the front door within a few moments
, and Evan smoothly made his way through the streets of Boston.

  The Worthington Gallery and Auction House was a small chain owned by Edward Worthington. It had expanded from a single storefront operation based in Connecticut into a national player in the world of arts, jewelry, and estate auctioning over the last twenty years. They now had five locations across the country, a solid reputation, record sales, and plans to expand into Europe. All of that was now in jeopardy. Two nights ago, their Boston office was robbed in a meticulously executed jewelry heist. The thieves managed to enter the warehouse undetected and break into a digital safe, all while bypassing the state-of-the-art surveillance and security system.

  The stolen jewelry included a white diamond necklace with a rare 13.16 carat pear-shaped red diamond in the center, known as the Crimson Amazon. The piece was scheduled to be exhibited around the world prior to the auction at the end of August. According to appraisals and expert opinion, that necklace alone should fetch over twenty-five million dollars. Along with a broader collection of rare and high-end jewelry pieces, the summer event was now anticipated to be one of the highest-value auctions in years, certainly the biggest in Worthington’s history. It would put the company solidly on the map as a major North American player.

  Within twelve hours of discovering the robbery, Edward Worthington hired Fortis. Evan and his team of highly trained protection and asset recovery specialists now had under six weeks to find the thieves and recover the jewels intact. As with most of Fortis’s assignments, confidentiality and discretion were critical. If Worthington’s clients or anyone in the industry discovered this massive breach in security, the auction house would be ruined. Which meant police involvement was not the preferred option at this stage. Fortis had the skills and resources in security, surveillance, investigations, and threat neutralization to quickly and stealthily deliver services to their high-end clients, all without the bureaucratic restrictions of law enforcement.

  Evan arrived at the Worthington offices at a few minutes to one o’clock. He parked on the street in a spot where he could see the storefront. With a few moments to spare, he took out his phone to review the file Lucas had sent. Most of it was old information provided by the client in their initial meeting. It confirmed that other than the owner, only one employee knew when the Crimson Amazon necklace had been delivered, and only one had the combination to the safe: Nia James, the managing director. The digital copy of her employee identification photo showed a young woman with a rectangular face and sculpted cheekbones. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, accentuating the feline angle of her dark eyes.