One-Eyed Jack (The Deuces Wild Series Book 3)

by Irish Winters

  “I’m staying here with Officer Thurston, so report in on the hour.” Tucker interrupted. The man had a stare that could crack granite and Isaiah didn’t argue.

  He did withdraw his arm from the back of the couch, though, his focus on the deadliest sniper in the room. There really was no better protector than Tucker. Isaiah just hadn’t planned to be leaving so soon, yet this was the job and a man went where duty called. “I’ll pack my bag.”

  Tucker’s big chin hit his chest in one quick nod. “Say your goodbyes. The kids will miss you.”

  “Copy that,” Isaiah replied steadily as he lifted to his feet. Dazed from the vision as much as the sudden shift in assignment, he went to his room, grabbed one of several pre-packed bags from the back of his closet, and told Darrin, “I’ve got to leave for awhile.”

  “Aw, you can’t do that,” the boy said as he climbed to his feet from where he’d been brushing Nugget. He made that Nats jersey look good.

  “Sorry, Darrin, but I have work to do that no one else can do.” He couldn’t tell the boy he was going after Candace, but Isaiah suspected Darrin already knew. As an afterthought, he snagged a leather jacket from his closet in case evenings turned chilly. One never knew with stakeouts. “Don’t worry. Roxy’s still here and Agent Chase is staying, too. You’ll be fine.”

  Darrin nearly tripped as he barreled into Isaiah. He wrapped his arms around Isaiah’s waist, his head flat to his stomach. “But I want you to stay,” said the little guy who’d been lied to so much that he fully believed his father had deserted him when the truth was the exact opposite.

  Sinking to one knee, he took hold of Darrin’s shoulders and told him, “Until I get back, you’re the man of the house. Take care of your sister and make sure Nugget doesn’t get too tired. He needs plenty of rest. Can you do that for me?”

  “I will,” Darrin promised, blinking through his tears. “I’ll help Roxy, too.”

  Even the dog seemed to know this was goodbye. Nugget joined the party, his tail wagging. Isaiah disengaged before things got too tender.

  “When you coming back, Agent Zaroyin?” Darrin said stoically, one hand on Nugget’s neck, the other fisted at his side.

  Shit. Was this what fathers went through every time they went off to war? Was this how Tucker felt when he kissed Deuce goodbye, knowing that might be the last time he’d see his son? Could a guy feel any lower? Back to one knee Isaiah went. Just like Jack, Darrin needed something to believe in.

  “I know your mother hasn’t always been truthful with you, Darrin. I know she tried to hurt Kitty, but you need to also know this. I don’t lie. I’m taking you to the first Nats game I can get us into. We’ll eat as many hotdogs as we want, and we’ll buy a couple of those giant ‘We’re #1’ foam fingers, and we’ll sing ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame’ at halftime, and who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and catch a fly ball. Trust me, big guy?”

  Darrin’s brows furrowed deeper. “Um, Agent Zaroyin. Baseball games don’t have half times, and everybody sings ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame’ in the seventh inning stretch.”

  Chagrinned, Isaiah said, “See? I need you to teach me about baseball. Can you trust me?”

  Darrin certainly looked like he wanted to trust. His head bobbed, but the poor kid had been lied to so many times before, and Candace had done it so easily. Unclipping the FBI badge from his belt, Isaiah clipped it onto Darrin’s waistband. “There. Now it’s official. You’re my partner and partners never lie to each other. We cover each other’s back and we’re always straight with one another.”

  The cutest dimple dented Darrin’s right cheek then, and this time his eyes sparkled. His fingers uncurled from their defensive position. “Okay, partner,” he said softly. “I gotch’ur back, Agent Zaroyin.”

  Isaiah gave him a manly knuckle bump to his skinny shoulder. “And I’ve got yours, Agent Bratton. Now keep the women safe. I won’t be gone long.”

  There was no hug that time, just a brave little man and his faithful dog watching yet another guy leave them behind.

  Pressing on, Isaiah knocked at the guest bedroom, but when Kitty didn’t answer, he turned the knob and peered in. Apparently, the game had worn her out. She’d fallen asleep on the bedcovers, her hands folded under her cheek, and still wearing her Nats ball cap. The corners of her mouth were curled into the tiniest smile. She looked like an angel. Isaiah didn’t have the heart to wake her, just memorized the pretty face of another little girl who thought she had to be tough.

  Back in the hallway, he opened his gun safe and quickly geared up. Tate waited at the kitchen door. If he’d been alone with Roxy, there would’ve been a steamy goodbye kiss, but with his boss watching, Isaiah played it cool.

  Goodbye ended up being nothing more than a curt nod in Roxy’s direction and a, “Be seeing you around, Officer Thurston. Take good care of our, I mean, the kids.”

  She nodded back, and that was that. Isaiah drove off with Tate and didn’t look back.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  When the FBI moved, they moved like a well-oiled machine traveling a bolt of lightning. Isaiah and Tate were gone before Roxy knew it, but damn. When Isaiah fell into that trance, she’d honestly thought he’d had a heart attack right beside her. He’d all but stopped breathing, and his eyes went scary black, even the whites.

  If Tate hadn’t murmured, “Easy, Roxy. This is what we’ve been waiting for,” she would’ve called 911 and started CPR. Instead she’d held her breath until he’d snapped out of it seconds later. So that was a psychic vision. Damned gut wrenching to witness.

  This particular FBI group was vastly different from others she’d worked with. Tate was the quiet and steady big man in the shadows, content to play backup to Tucker’s superstar routine, or to spend nights on a rooftop standing guard while others slept. The guy could throw. The heel of her palm still smarted from the fastball he’d sent her way. Course, she’d never tell him that.

  Tucker was another story, all ego, as evidenced by his dramatic entrance and the showy gifts he’d brought. Yeah, the kids loved the attention, and they deserved to be spoiled. God knew they needed to feel good about themselves for a change. Tucker had certainly done that, but things did not a happy family make, and he seemed to understand that, too. Roxy’d seen the way he’d comforted Darrin back at the safe house. Tucker’s heart was bigger than he let on.

  But Isaiah? The man was the soul of the game, the willing beginner who hadn’t minded a ten-year old teaching him, yet the valiant protector who hadn’t taken his eyes off the kids until they were back inside. In only days, Isaiah had become everything. He was Darrin’s hero and Kitty’s first crush, and he’d gotten under Roxy’s skin, too.

  Besides the hotter than hot chemistry between them and her appetite for every last inch of his handsome body, something else was happening deep inside. She could feel the change. This was more than a crush driven by the high-octane FBI mission they were on. This was…

  No! Roxy gulped, her heart in her throat. She couldn’t say it, wouldn’t allow herself to think it. Once she admitted a weakness, she eradicated it. It was weakness that had led her into the restroom that night, but it was inner strength that allowed her to walk out with her head held high while Mario Forsythe crawled behind her. Weakness wouldn’t be tolerated.

  Yet here she was, facing the greatest weakness of them all. One so great she dared not admit it. Only this thing between her and Isaiah hadn’t exactly weakened her, had it? If anything, it had made her stronger in ways she hadn’t seen coming. Well, except for those times he’d been deep inside of her, and she turned to jelly. She was pretty weak then. Or when he breathed her name with that rumbling come-hither tone and every last cell in her body obeyed. Most men she could take or leave, but Isaiah? Once this joint operation was through, she needed to date him. Exclusively.

  But now? She was stuck with Tucker Chase.

  The guy had gone through the garage and back outside again. He’d al
ready walked the perimeter three times since Tate and Isaiah left. Because of Isaiah’s tight security, it wasn’t necessary, but Chase said he needed to know the lay of the land, so off he went. This made number four.

  He’d also moved Darrin and Nugget into the same bedroom with Roxy and Kitty. Said he preferred defending one objective rather than two. It made sense, but the cozy feeling in the house was gone. Roxy couldn’t shake the niggling sense of impending—something—headed her way. Storm clouds were gathering, She just couldn’t see them yet.

  So she cleaned her revolver while she waited, methodically broke it down and used the gun cleaning kit she’d found beside the gun safe in Isaiah’s hallway closet to ensure her weapon was in proper working order.

  A right fine Liberty, the safe boasted steel construction and heavy-duty welds. Mechanical and electric locks. Anti-pry tabs. Spring-loaded external relockers should some savvy thief breach the primary locking mechanisms. Too bad she didn’t have the combination to this masterpiece. She was curious to know what Isaiah kept in there besides weapons and ammo.

  Personally, she kept all of her valuables in her gun safe. Not like she owned much, but what she valued, she locked up. Her mother’s gold wedding band, legal documents, her passport, insurance policies, three rifles, one magnificent AR, two NVGs, a collection of well-used pistols. Enough ammunition to ward off a zombie attack. Important stuff like that.

  But Isaiah wasn’t the typical federal gunslinger, was he? He seemed—smarter. Less inclined to shoot first. More inclined to ask questions. Always thinking. What kind of guns would a thinker own? How many?

  With her revolver cleaned and once more locked and loaded, she tucked it into her hip holster and put the cleaning kit back where she’d found it. The more Roxy thought about Isaiah’s safe, the more she wanted to know what was in it. Did he have a secret gun fetish, a collection of weaponry so significant it made hers look weak? This bad boy was a good four feet wide with solid steel doors, and large enough to store an arsenal. She wished she’d gotten a better look inside when he’d geared up, but she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off Isaiah then.

  She knew the laws of the jungle. The last time you saw your partner might be the last time.

  Yet again, Tucker entered through the kitchen door, which meant he knew the code into Isaiah’s garage and she didn’t. Once again Isaiah had neglected to share critical information with Roxy. For a smart man, he certainly was forgetful.

  “Grill’s warming up,” Tucker said on his way to the refrigerator, where he pulled out a hefty package wrapped in white butcher paper.

  “What’s for dinner?” Roxy asked, pleasantly surprised he’d taken the initiative to fix dinner instead of assuming she’d automatically jump at the chance to cook because of her gender. Although she would have if Isaiah’d been there. Just because she wanted to.

  Tucker cocked a brow as if the question surprised him. “Steak. What else? Is there something around here to go with it?”

  She waved him out the door and back into the garage. “Go burn the meat. I’ll see what I can find.”

  “Pull over,” Isaiah told Tate before they’d gotten more than a mile from his place.

  Tate brought the SUV to a full stop. “What’s up?”

  “You do realize that Tucker just kicked me out of my own house, don’t you?”

  “So? He’s right. We’ve got work to do.”

  Isaiah drew in a deep breath. “But we don’t need to leave to do it.”

  “That’s not what the boss meant and you know it.”

  Isaiah cocked an eye at his partner. Tate might be quiet, but still waters ran deep, and with Tate, they grunted a lot. People often underestimated him because of his less than companionable silence, but the man was no idiot. “I know I’ve been distracted on this operation, but—”

  “You think? That little lady’s got you turned inside out.”

  Shit, am I that obvious? Isaiah thought.

  That time Tate came through with the grunt Isaiah expected. “Yes,” he hissed out loud. “You are that obvious, Isaiah. You can’t keep your hands off Thurston, and the mission’s suffering because of you, man. You.” Tate’s meaty fist bumped Isaiah’s shoulder. Hard. “This is all on you. Either you pull your big head out of your rear pocket or you’re off the case. This is your last chance. Don’t you get it?”

  Isaiah nodded, surprised Tate had heard what he was fairly sure he hadn’t spoken out loud. “Copy that. I’ve been…”

  “Whipped,” Tate provided the missing—and perfect—word.

  “Yeah, okay. I’m whipped.” He stalled. “Your skills are growing, Tate. You can hear me even when I’m blocking you, can’t you?”

  Tate pursed his lips and nodded. “Animals,” he muttered. “I hear a lot of pain from animals. Some nights I can’t sleep. Mankind needs to stop what he’s doing to them.”

  Isaiah hadn’t expected that. “Like what?”

  “Like… Never mind.” Tate shook his head. “Not here. Later. After.”

  Good to know. One unsolvable problem was enough. “The bottom line is… I’m not leaving. We do this right, and we do this now. You’re right, Tate. I haven’t been on my game since this mission began, but there’s no way I’m leaving my home and my woman.”

  Tate cocked a brow. One eye closed. If Isaiah hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn there was mischief in the dark eye now zeroed on him like a sniper’s crosshairs. “Your woman? Yeah. You’ve got it bad. Do what you have to do.”

  Isaiah hit the down window button on his armrest and drank in the scents of spring and Mother Nature. Now that Tate was aboard with the plan, Isaiah did what he should’ve done days ago. Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back on the neck rest as he sent his unparalleled psychic talent into the world. And beyond…

  It took a specific frame of mind to summon his inner X-Man to the game. That was who he felt like, Charles Francis Xavier of Marvel Comics fame, yet his skill was neither as fantastic nor as far-reaching as that fictitious character’s.

  Lifting his chin, he drew in another lungful of cool spring air and his journey began. He’d touched Jack Fillion’s mind. He knew the man suffered. The evil Candace had caused was unrelenting and fierce. The time had come to get real.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “So where is he?” Roxy wanted to know. After the kids had eaten dinner and left the kitchen table, she’d poured two mugs of coffee. She and Tucker had things to discuss.

  He’d fixed an excellent dinner. Rather, he’d burned half a beef on what had once been Isaiah’s shiny steel grill. After one helluva grease fire, which Tucker handled as expertly as if he’d put plenty out before—which Roxy didn’t doubt he had—she had to admit that the ginormous rib-eyes were done to perfection. He’d scorched the thick cuts of succulent beef with just enough char, and she couldn’t recall ever enjoying a better steak.

  Unfortunately, Isaiah’s poor grill would never be the same. Tucker had left it as charred as the meat. Apparently, the higher the flames, the better the steaks. Who knew?

  She’d pitched in with smothered baked potatoes, while Kitty put together a pasta salad that was a meal all by itself. Darrin kept Nugget company under the kitchen table, playing quietly, until Tucker stormed in from the garage with a heaping, sizzling platter and bellowed, “Come and get it!”

  “If he’s smart, he’s doing what he should’ve been doing all along,” Tucker replied. “You’re a distraction, Officer Thurston. I need him on his A-game. You saw him during that vision. That’s what I need him to be, too busy to play around with you.”

  “He’s been working,” she pointed out, “and we’ve been damned busy.” Not one of her smartest comebacks. They’d been busy all right, just not enough that they hadn’t also gotten busy with each other.

  Damn. The gleam in Tucker’s dark eyes said it all. He knew how much Isaiah meant to her. Roxy didn’t bat an eye. “I meant where’s Chester Bratton. Wher
e is he? If he’s got the money from that armored car robbery, why isn’t the Bureau searching for him?”

  “And where should we begin looking?” Tucker asked as he lifted his coffee to his mouth and took a sip, his dark eyes on her. “The man’s been a ghost since he left town after the heist.”

  “The FBI has no idea where he went? They can’t find a paper trail? No digital footprint?” Roxy nearly snorted. That seemed unlikely, given the Bureau’s vast resources and big opinion of itself. “Then how do you know he left town?”

  Tucker’s gaze narrowed. “I don’t. That’s why I’ve got two other psychics combing through the physical evidence from the heist right now. If there’s anything to find, they’ll do it.”

  “So tell me about the psychics working for you,” Roxy said, glad to get the focus off of her and Isaiah. “How long has the FBI been into all this” —she waved one hand— “paranormal stuff?”

  His lip curled as if he didn’t like that word. Paranormal. “There’s more to these agents than meets the eye, Officer Thurston.”

  She nodded, willing to give him that much. “Are you psychic like Isaiah? Can you read minds?”

  Tucker’s gaze lowered to the last of the beverage swirling in the bottom of his mug. “They’re the smart ones, not me. I’m just muscle. I know how to get things done.”

  “Like what? Blowing things up?” Why she baited this supreme alpha, Roxy had no idea. The man was just so full of himself.

  “If that’s what it takes,” he said softly. “Isaiah and I have been through hell together. He saved my ass, and I’d like to think I saved his, too. Back then, I never thought the day would come I’d be saying this, but he’s a top-rate asset to the Bureau, maybe one of the best we’ve got.” Tucker raked his fingers over his head, ruffling his thick dark hair like a stiff wind on a summer day. “Tate’s just as good, though he doesn’t believe in his gifts as much as he should. Ky Winchester and his wife, Eden, now there’s the real deal. Those two are every bit as good as Isaiah.”