Taming Eliza Jane
Page 17
She nodded, then shrugged at the Latin beauty in the high-definition video screen. “I think I forgot the vanilla, anyway. Do they taste the same without the vanilla?
“Do I look like Betty Crocker? You need to get out more, chica.”
If only she could. “Who’d have thought motherhood’s harder than infiltrating Russian military installations?”
“Honey, I know it is. Why do you think I run so fast from men?”
“Because they usually have badges from some alphabet agency or another, and want to see you in an orange jumpsuit?”
“That too. You should come back to us, babe. Can you believe Gallagher and I are staying at the freaking Plaza Royale?”
“I’ve been to the Plaza Royale. And I quit the agency eight years ago, Carm. When are you going to believe me when I tell you I’m not coming back?”
“Never. You know the Devlin Group—we never give up.”
“Yeah, like Mounties, only a little more juvenile, and a lot more delinquent. And speaking of delinquents, how’s Gallagher doing lately?”
Carmen rolled her eyes. “Not too happy about being the hired muscle, but Dev didn’t have anybody else available. Pretty good money just to hang around and make sure nobody kills me, if you ask me.”
“Damn straight,” Grace agreed. Sean Devlin had founded a very lucrative business brokering assignments for the loose network of international freelancers specializing in just about anything. His primary focus was assisting government agencies whose hands were tied by red tape, but he certainly didn’t do it for free.
“Like hanging out pool side’s such a hardship for him,” Carmen was saying. “You’d think he’s on vacation for all the attention he’s paying me.”
“Based on some of his previous jobs, I’d say this is pretty close to vacation for him.”
“Knowing my luck he’ll try to cut the power to the camera bank and set off the fire alarm instead.”
“What’s the job?” Grace asked, knowing Carmen would tell her if she could, shrug it off if she couldn’t.
“Some pencil pusher from a biochem company got it into his head to sell a sample of a new biotoxin to the highest bidder.”
“Wow! I hope you brought good gloves.”
Carmen pulled her sable mass of hair into a sleek ponytail. “A very unsexy, but surprisingly flexible hazmat suit, actually. It makes blending in a bit of a challenge, though, so the whole thing’s gotta go down like clockwork.”
“And the seller?”
“We’ll leave him for the big, bad buyers to take care of. The client doesn’t want the publicity of prosecuting a guy for managing to steal a very scary concoction out from under their noses.”
“People really have to start taking better care of their scary concoctions.”
“Yeah. Nice to know there are people making up poisons so they can have an antidote to it by the time somebody else makes it up.”
“It’s a scary world out there,” Grace agreed. Just one more reason she had traded in her cat suit for an apron.
“I wish you were still in the field with me, Grace. I’d feel a lot better if you had my back.”
Not a chance. When the Devlin Group had poached her away from the FBI, she’d jumped at the chance to leave her small-town, white bread upbringing behind. Miss Most-Likely-to-Organize-Carpools was going to be an international super agent.
It didn’t take long for the flash to fizzle. Fast cars, hard people, and too much adrenaline. Each mission left her more jaded and more tired. She could barely recognize the person in the mirror at the end of each day.
Not until the doctor treating her for a gunshot wound told her she was pregnant did she have the strength to walk away.
Being a civilian contractor for legit government agencies didn’t pay as well, but it let her be home with Danny. Her mission now was to be both mother and father to one hell of a great kid—the only mission that ever made her curl in her bed and cry in fear of failure.
“You know I can’t raise Danny like that.”
And she did know. Carmen Olivera was the only person connected to the Devlin Group, besides Sean himself, who knew about Danny. Her need to have an ear to bend had overcome her initial decision to never tell a soul. Nobody knew who his father was, though. She’d told them it was her doctor, and Carmen and Devlin—the only two people she’d kept in contact with—had no reason not to believe her.
“Maybe when Danny’s all grown up, you can come out and play, huh?”
Grace laughed again and shook her head. “Sure. I’ll just stock up on the Geritol.”
They chatted for a few minutes, then she severed the digital connection to her former life and returned to Mommyworld.
She was pouring milk into a plastic cup when the screen door slammed.
“How was your—” She turned.
Her throat closed. The clock ticked.
Cold milk splashed over her bare toes.
The man smiled.
“Your son won’t be coming home, Ms. Nolan…for now.” He held up an 8x10 photo.
Danny, with a large, tanned hand pressing against the backpack he still wore, ushering him onto a small plane. No markings were visible on the aircraft. No other faces in the picture. Only Danny’s. The camera captured him looking over his shoulder, his blue eyes under his Red Sox cap wide and liquid.
“You bastard.”
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