Butterfly Ops

by Jen Doyle

  Tommy, clearly more relaxed now that Lyndsey hadn’t completely blown their relationship with the client, seemed to be playing the grown-up today, quickly stepping in with, “Would it be possible for us to have the room for a few more minutes? We’ll need some time to confer on the best way to move forward. I’m sure you all have much more important things to do than listen to conversations about rations and duty logs.”

  “I, um…” Monica stammered as the people around her got to their feet, clearly happy to be somewhere other than in the middle of her power play. A power play that had made everyone miss lunch, incidentally, although no one other than Lyndsey appeared to be particularly concerned about that. Seeing she’d been outplayed, however, Monica just snapped, “Fine. Dominic?”

  With a quick nod—and a lingering glance at Ian—Dominic hurried after her as she left the room.

  The rest of the people were cleared out within the minute, leaving Lyndsey and Tommy sitting across the table from Ian, Sprague, and Matt. No one said anything until the door slammed shut behind the last man out. After just a few more seconds of silence, Matt jumped to his feet.

  “Seriously?” he said with enough anger for Lyndsey to hope it wasn’t directed at her. Unsurprisingly, it was aimed at Ian. “‘I have no problem working under Lyndsey’? ‘You can crack a whip?’ Are you fucking twelve?”

  Ian shrugged, entirely unperturbed. “I was pretty happy with my response given the circumstances.”

  Although she wasn’t nearly as angry as Matt was, Lyndsey couldn’t exactly say ‘happy’ was the word she’d use. “I thought…”

  Okay, yes, he’d killed a Grazier demon his first time out. And he’d clearly spent a lot of years doing the vampire/demon hunting thing. From what she’d been able to tell in their limited time together so far, however, this wasn’t the norm for him anymore. Running a job from a control center, sure; navigating political waters Lyndsey was barely able to doggie paddle in, obviously. Giving a damn good show while sparring in the gym, absolutely. But heading out into a potentially hostile situation—which was what they needed to be ready for any job to be?

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked Ian. “Aren’t you out of practice? I thought you had a desk job.”

  For the first time Ian actually tensed.

  That was what made him mad? Really?

  Instead of giving him a chance to respond, however, Matt jumped in. Traitor. “It happens a few times a year. We trade off.” His eyes hardened. “I’m sure you’ve noticed Ian’s picked up a few souvenirs since you last saw him.” She assumed Matt meant the scars covering Ian’s body. The ones she could only have seen if she’d had the chance to observe him naked.

  “But what…?”

  A veil dropped over Ian’s eyes and her voice trailed off.

  “I’m not dead yet,” Ian snapped. “Is this discussion over?”

  “No, it’s not over,” Matt answered. “This is ludicrous.”

  Ian sat back, a blank look on his face as he turned to face Matt. He raised his eyebrows in a whole Et tu? thing. “There was brass up and down this table. You know she wouldn’t have gone there if General Cutting hadn’t already given her the green light.” He tapped the table with his fingertips. “Why give her the satisfaction?”

  “Our boss,” Matt said to Tommy by way of explanation. Shaking his head, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced up at the clock about the door. “He should be in his office. Maybe I can talk some sense into him.”

  Ian snorted. “Talk some sense into the General? Tell me the last time we ever changed his mind.”

  It seemed to be a no-brainer because Matt didn’t even hesitate. “Argentina. Last year.”

  “Only because Annie was in the hospital,” Ian answered. “He’s not an asshole. Besides, three vampires. Wasn’t exactly a big deal.”

  “And a basic recon mission is?” Matt answered. Glancing at Ian, he obviously had no intention of giving up any ground. “You don’t waste your star quarterback on an exhibition game.”

  “A game?” Ian got to his feet and came right back at Matt. “Ten guys are dead. Four are missing. It’s not a game. I’m already there. I’d rather be doing something than sitting around a motel room for three weeks and tracking the team on satellite. What exactly is the problem?”

  “The problem,” Matt said, slamming his phone on the table as he put his hands down and leaned in towards Ian, “is that the only reason you’re doing this is so you can fu—”

  “Don’t,” Ian said, his voice nearly a whisper and yet so cold and sharp it could have cut through the sound of a train. “Don’t even think about finishing that thought.” He picked up his uniform cap and stuck it under his arm. “We have things to do.” He turned his back on them and headed to the door.

  Sprague, who had been watching all of this quietly from his seat, looked from Matt to Lyndsey and then to the door. Shrugging apologetically, he jumped to his feet and followed Ian out of the room, leaving Matt alone with Lyndsey and Tommy.

  “Fuck.” Matt snatched his hat up and crushed it against his other hand as if he were throwing a punch. “I’m really starting to hate that woman.”

  “Better her than me,” Lyndsey mumbled. She chose not to look over at Tommy. With a sigh, she reached down for her purse. She was not looking forward to explaining what that had all been about.

  The smile Matt flashed her didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Let’s go.”

  7

  Lyndsey’s phone was ringing by the time they reached the elevator. As she grabbed it out of her purse and saw the caller i.d., her heart sank. Zachary. Had Monica already called him to complain?

  Tommy took it out of her hand before she could answer it. “I’ve got it,” he said. “Catalano.” And then, over Zach’s squawking, he added, “Zach, no… We… Look—the woman was out of line. But we can handle it. It’s entirely manageable.”

  From Lyndsey’s left, Matt snorted and muttered something mostly unintelligible.

  “What?” Tommy was saying. “I have Lyndsey’s…?” With a smile and wave he handed Lyndsey his own phone and then backed away before walking off to, presumably, find Monica. “We must have switched phones by mistake. She’s already headed off to interview one of the witnesses.” His voice faded off into the distance, as Matt stabbed the button to the elevator for what was now the third time.

  “I don’t think it responds any better when you do it more than once,” Lyndsey mumbled. Matt just turned and glared at her. Then he turned back to stare at the lights indicating the elevator’s progress—or lack thereof.

  A few seconds later, he said, “So Catalano seems like a good guy.”

  “He is,” Lyndsey answered, not any happier to be standing here than Matt was. “Mostly.”

  “You sleeping with him, too?” Matt asked as casually as if he were asking the time of day.

  Lyndsey whirled towards him. “Did you really just say that?”

  Not in one bit ruffled, Matt just looked her in the eye. “Are you?”

  “Of course not,” Lyndsey snapped. Now it was her turn to jab the button. “This is your business how?”

  The elevator dinged as the doors finally opened. “There’s more than one way Ian can get hurt.”

  There were too many people for Lyndsey to answer him appropriately as she preceded Matt into the elevator. And, considering what she’d learned about Ian’s life after he left her, she didn’t even know what she’d say. For as much as she wanted to fault Matt for not telling Ian all those years ago that, oh, she’d loved him, among other things, she knew Matt had spent nearly half his life looking out for Ian’s best interests. All things considered, she couldn’t say his choice to stay silent was entirely wrong. Still, when the other people got out, she said, “Did you ever think that maybe I got hurt, too?”

  He looked at her in surprise and then down at the floor. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”

  They rode the rest of the way down in silence. As they walked
out into the lobby, though, Lyndsey came to a stop. “Can he do this, Matt?”

  ‘Star quarterback’ was the phrase Matt had used which, of course, sounded pretty good. But ‘only recon,’ or not, there were never guarantees. If Ian had been on the administrative end of things for a while, he was probably pretty rusty when it came to going out into the field.

  Matt stopped as well and looked at her, before resuming his walking again—briskly enough for Lyndsey to have to work to keep up. “Are you asking as the person in charge?” he said. “Should I be expecting a request to submit our guys to qualifying tests?”

  “I swear I didn’t say what Moni—” Lyndsey snapped her mouth shut when she realized Matt was smiling. Well at least he trusted her enough that he hadn’t fallen for Monica’s ploy; hopefully Ian felt the same way.

  Sigh. She was so not cut out for this part. Give her a vampire of the Old Order and she’d have no problem fighting him until her last drop of blood had been spilled; playing politics, though? Hell, no.

  Clearly, neither Ian nor Sprague—who were currently standing and leaning against a bench outside the building—seemed too concerned about the whole ZSJ-taking-command thing. As soon as she and Matt walked up to them, Sprague jumped to attention, albeit with a huge smile on his face. “At your service, ma’am!”

  She frowned. “You’re hilarious.”

  Ian, still clearly unhappy from before, did at least smile a little as he straightened up. “I’d tell you I don’t mind taking commands from you, but then Matt would say I’m acting like I’m twelve again.”

  “And Matt would be right,” Matt snapped, using that old referring-to-himself-in-third-person bit that was always popular. And then he smiled at Ian in a way that even Lyndsey could tell was going to be even less of a hit. “So you do realize that if you’re going out into the field then I’m in charge of this op and short of your quitting, I get to control every aspect of your life for the next three weeks.”

  The tension kicked up a notch as Ian crossed his arms. “And?”

  “And since you don’t mind taking orders from her, you’ll be on Lyndsey’s team along with Brooks and Malek.”

  Um… What? Forget that Lyndsey had no freaking clue which one of the guys Malek was, or that there was clearly some longstanding thing between Ian and Brooks that Ian still refused to talk about. Because beyond all that, it seemed a little…

  “Don’t you think that’s a bit unprofessional?” Ian asked. Well, more like, hissed, but why quibble? Especially because Lyndsey wasn’t any happier about this than Ian, albeit for completely different reasons.

  “I’m sorry—what would be unprofessional about it?” Matt raised his eyebrows with a look of complete innocence, clearly having gotten Ian’s message earlier. “I mean, given that there are no ulterior motives for you going into the woods with your extremely incendiary ex.”

  By incendiary, Lyndsey would have liked to think he meant smoking hot, but, considering it was Matt talking, she had a feeling he was thinking more along the lines of ‘has a tendency to make things go boom in a very unpleasant and potentially treaty-breaking way.’

  After a very uncharacteristic glare from Ian, Matt just nodded. “If you have a problem, you can take it to the General, but I can guarantee he won’t overrule me.”

  “So much for the ZSJ power grab,” Lyndsey muttered. Because even if that had been the plan, it clearly wouldn’t have made a damn bit of difference.

  Obviously not in the mood to get into it, Ian just looked at her. “Are we waiting for Tom?”

  Matt answered before Lyndsey could. “He’s doing damage control. We’re on our own.” He held his hand out and gestured toward an SUV parked on the next corner. “Shall we?”

  Although Ian walked right next to her, he didn’t say anything. And, it was obvious, he wasn’t going to; not at the moment, at least. Lyndsey supposed that was fine—she wasn’t exactly interested in getting into another fight, or, for that matter, causing another one. At the same time, as uncomfortable as the conversation might be, it was one she was going to have to have. You didn’t go out on a job without knowing where your weak links were. If Ian was going to be one of them, she needed to know.

  Ian was quiet in the car, mostly looking out the window. With Matt and Sprague in the front seat, Lyndsey figured it was safe to reach out and take Ian’s hand. All he did, though, was give her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and a quick squeeze before letting go and turning away.

  She leaned back against the seat. “So how does this work?” She let the question hang in the air for whoever wanted to answer. “If the girlfriend is there—”

  “Annika,” Ian said, curtly enough for Lyndsey to snap her attention to him.

  “Annika,” Lyndsey repeated. Right. She wasn’t usually on a first name basis with the various people involved in the jobs she worked on. It was a reminder that this was a whole new side of things, one with which she was completely unfamiliar, just like the political one.

  Ha. Check that out. It turned out she was the weak link on this one. Wonderful.

  Well, whatever. She still had a job to do. Asking a question or two wasn’t exactly going to stun them. “I thought you said she hasn’t been responding to your calls. She finally agreed to talk to you?”

  “Hell, no.” Matt laughed as he glanced in the rear view mirror. “But we may as well do a drive by and see if she’s home. And if she is, Ian will get her to talk. He has a way with the widows and orphans. They know he’s one of them.”

  Ouch. Lyndsey was surprised at Matt’s harsh phrasing. It didn’t seem to bother Ian, though. At least, he didn’t react one way or another.

  No one spoke another word until they pulled up to a small house in a pretty little neighborhood right along the canal. A cute, compact bungalow, freshly painted with bright, white daisies in the garden. The look was marred by a yard full of overgrown grass and empty beer bottles on the front porch.

  It was clear where all the bottles had come from—a woman was sitting in a deck chair with her feet up on the railing, a cold Heineken in her hand. Her appearance was like that of the house—good foundation, not so good upkeep. She had long, vibrant red hair messily pulled back from her face, with porcelain skin set off by deep, black circles under bloodshot eyes. As she saw the car approach, she looked at them warily and stood up, never dropping her gaze.

  Lyndsey’s hand was on the door, about to open it when Ian stopped her.

  “Give me a minute,” he said.

  She nodded and sat back, watching as he got out. Neither Matt nor Sprague had moved—they’d clearly done this before. She had to admit, she was a little jealous of how well they all seemed to understand each other. It was like someone had pulled each one of them aside and taught them the steps to the secret dance.

  Well, geez, Lyn. That’s what happens when you miss sixteen years of someone’s life. He moves on.

  It made her sad, though, as did the connection Ian felt with this woman—one that was obvious from the way he approached her with a deference and solemnity Lyndsey hadn’t before seen. It was a totally different level—an automatic bond between two people; completely unlike what he had with Lyndsey.

  So now she was unhappy because he was compassionate? To someone who, yes, had the supermodel looks underneath the grieving shell. He probably hadn’t noticed that, though.

  Sure.

  Just to be safe, Lyndsey slid over across the seat so she could see better.

  “Annika Willett?” he said, a reminder to Lyndsey he’d never actually met the woman before.

  “Did you find him?” The hopefulness in Annika’s voice was heartbreaking. Almost enough so that Lyndsey thought about rolling the window up so as not to intrude.

  Thought about it. Didn’t do it, of course.

  Annika sank back into her chair when Ian shook his head. Her hand trembled as it went to her mouth. It took a minute before she regained enough composure to speak. “You’re the one who’s been calling me, ar
en’t you?”

  Ian nodded.

  “I’m glad you caught me,” she said. “I know you’ve been calling…”

  “No worries,” Ian answered. His back was to Lyndsey so she couldn’t see his face; she could picture it perfectly, though—friendly smile, understanding eyes you could lose yourself in… “I’m sorry we’ve been bothering you,” he continued. “I know this has been a horrible time.”

  “I meant to call back. The time just…” Her voice trailed off as she started crying softly.

  Ian took off the cap he’d put back on somewhere along the way; held it in his hands. “I know. It’s a real bitch.”

  She let out a harsh laugh. “That’s the first reasonable thing anyone’s said to me in three weeks.” She nodded at the car. “They send you ahead to soften me up?”

  Glancing back at the car, he grinned. “Yup.”

  “It worked.” She smiled and stood up. “Tell them to go ahead and come in. I’d like to change my clothes. I’m afraid the house is a lost cause.”

  Speaking of clothes, Lyndsey’s were entirely inappropriate given the general mourning atmosphere. But that was neither here nor there. This next hour was clearly not about her. She hurried after the guys, right behind them as they entered through the… Kitchen.

  Wow. ‘Lost cause’ was an optimistic description. Plates were piled upon plates, all of which were full of untouched food. It looked like Annika hadn’t eaten in days.