Single Malt

by Layla Reyne

  Aidan waited for him to glance over his shoulder before offering the apology he deserved. Before offering the truth. “I’m sorry for being a jealous prick.”

  “Operation Divide and Conquer. You were acting.” Walker closed the door behind him.

  Aidan tossed back the rest of his bourbon and whispered his truth to the night. “I said being, Jamie.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Pen twirling around his thumb, Aidan reviewed the papers scattered on the conference room table, searching for answers in the data Walker’s overnight searches had produced.

  Emily Richards died five years ago, the summer after she and Jo Ann Richmond graduated from Tulane. Why had Jo Ann assumed her best friend’s identity? Who or what was she running from? Was her past connected to the present security breaches at GNL? Who was she with Tuesday morning?

  Familiar voices in the hallway grew louder as they approached. Aidan’s gut clenched. Laughing, Walker and Torres walked in, their heads close like they had been last night. Aidan had set this farce in motion and he liked it less and less by the minute. “Sampling more of the local cuisine?”

  Walker withdrew the arm he’d started to extend, curling the cardboard cup he held toward himself instead. “I’d picked up this Mexican coffee for you, but I think I’ll keep it for myself now.” He took a sip and sat across from Aidan.

  Torres claimed the chair next to him. “Any luck, Agent Talley?”

  “Striking out, like you.” Aidan stared down the other man.

  Ignoring them both, Walker opened his laptop. “Let’s see if Magnum’s had better luck.”

  Disregarding the ridiculous, adorable fact that Walker had named his computer after a fictional detective—albeit a very hot one, in his prime—Aidan kept his attention on Torres. “No one at the nursing home had any idea Jo Ann wasn’t Dale Richards’s real daughter?”

  “As far as anyone there knew, Jo Ann Richmond was Emily Richards. She’d arranged Dale’s admittance and visited twice a week. Staff said she sometimes looked a little frazzled, but no more than the kid of any other patient with early-onset Alzheimer’s.”

  “And he played along with it?”

  “By the time she admitted him, he couldn’t remember his own name. If he slipped up and called her Jo Ann from time to time, no one thought anything of it.”

  “I may have something,” Barnes interrupted from the doorway.

  Aidan gestured to the seat beside him. “Let’s hear it.”

  Agent Hipster eagerly took the offered seat and placed a thin orange file folder on the table. “We received Jo Ann’s foster records this morning. I’ve been going through them to see if she crossed paths with anyone local.”

  “Any hits?”

  From the file, he pulled out a grainy black-and-white copy of a Louisiana driver’s license. “Eric Hamilton. He was Jo Ann’s foster brother in her last home before she moved on campus. Eighteen months ago, Hamilton was discharged from the navy. Six months ago, he got a job at the Port of Galveston.”

  Aidan rifled through the meager contents of the background search. In addition to the driver’s license were copies of Hamilton’s Port employment application, his union card, and a list of known addresses. There were no military discharge papers. “What was he discharged for?”

  “His file is sealed.”

  Aidan slammed the folder shut. “We’re the fucking FBI.”

  Barnes rolled his chair back a bit. “It’s classified. Gary’s working on it.”

  Across the table, Walker cleared his throat and gave Aidan a look that said “calm the fuck down.” Reining in his temper, Aidan channeled his frustration into the pen he tapped against the table. “Was Hamilton on shift yesterday?”

  “Yes, swing shift,” Barnes answered. “He’s on again at three this afternoon.”

  Aidan glanced at the clock on the digital display of the conference room phone. “That gives us three hours. You two—” he pointed the pen at Barnes and Torres “—call the Port foreman back. Get us a list of all Port personnel on shift during each breach. Let’s see if we’ve got any more connections.”

  “Or,” Torres said, “you could help Todd with that and I could help Jamie. Two hackers are better than one.”

  Aidan looked to Walker, who met his steely gaze head-on. “He’s right.”

  “Fine.” He threw the pen down and headed for the door. “Barnes, I also want you to walk me through that first responders list.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Stopping in the hallway, Barnes, who was on his heels, let out a gruff, “Sorry, sir,” when they almost collided.

  “I need to make a call,” Aidan said. “Grab your laptop and the first responders list, and bring them back to the conference room.”

  “Maybe we should work someplace else.” Barnes’s gaze drifted to the side and Aidan’s followed.

  Torres’s laptop was booting up next to Walker’s, and while the too-smooth agent waited, he’d slung an arm over the back of Walker’s chair. His partner leaned back into the other man’s arm, his legs crossed in Torres’s direction. Blood boiling, Aidan struggled not to growl. As it was, his voice was rough, the Irish brogue irrepressible, when he ordered Barnes to meet him back there in five.

  Reading the warning signs, Barnes scurried away, and Aidan stomped down the hallway in search of another empty conference room. Three doors later, he found a small room with a round table for four. He’d just sat down and pulled out his phone when Walker snuck in behind him.

  “Who are we calling?” Walker closed the door and sat next to him.

  Aidan scrolled to the contact he needed and dialed, turning the speaker on. “Laying it on awfully thick with Torres, aren’t you?”

  “This was your idiot idea.”

  “Aidan’s got an idiot idea. Must be Tuesday.” The dig from the other end of the line was shouted over a racket of background noise, and Aidan couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Love you too, baby bro.”

  “Sorry, Ai, had to be said. And sorry for the noise. I’m standing on a cargo ship in Oakland trying to figure out why we’re short containers.”

  “You’re the COO. Isn’t that someone else’s job?”

  “You want something done right...”

  “Do it yourself, yeah, yeah, yeah. Dad taught us all the same. Need a favor, Danny.”

  “Of course you do. Give me a second to find someplace quiet.” There was a half-scraping, half-groaning sound, followed by a thunderous boom, then complete and utter silence until Danny spoke again. “You’re gonna have to deal with the echo.”

  “Is he in a shipping container?” Walker asked.

  “I am. Is that the new partner?”

  “Daniel Talley, Jameson Walker. Whiskey, my brother, Danny.”

  “Jamie. Nice to meet you, Danny, and please, tell your mom I said ‘hi’ next time you see her.”

  Aidan shoved Walker’s shoulder. “No ganging up on me.”

  “Mom says he’s cute. You’re hosed, bro,” Danny mortifyingly supplied. Walker’s answering smile was nothing short of smug, but before either of them could say more, Danny asked, “What’s this favor you need?”

  “You still tight with that admin at the Port of Galveston?”

  Danny’s voice lowered. “If by tight you mean I know how tight certain—”

  “Great first impression you’re making.”

  His brother laughed, the sound full and boisterous. “Says the original man-eater himself.”

  “Danny,” Aidan chided halfheartedly. His brother’s good humor never failed to brighten his mood.

  “Favor, Ai. I’ve got a company to run, remember.”

  “If I send you a few time windows from the past two weeks, can you see if your admin friend remembers anything off
about the shifts during those times?”

  “What are we looking for?” Even though he was ten years Aidan’s junior, Danny had always been a willing coconspirator.

  “We aren’t looking for anything.” Aidan didn’t want Danny anywhere near a potential bioterrorist attack.

  Undeterred, his brother tried cajoling his partner. “Jamie, what are we looking for?”

  Walker snickered, as Aidan threw Danny’s words back at him. “Don’t you have a company to run?”

  “Please, I can run the company in my sleep. This sounds way more interesting.”

  No sooner had he brushed off his day job than someone banged on the container door, shouting, “Mr. Talley!”

  “Sounds like someone disagrees,” Aidan said.

  “Unfortunately.”

  “You’ll call your Port contact?”

  “As soon as I free up.”

  “Thanks, Danny.”

  More banging. “Duty calls.” The earsplitting sound of the container door opening drowned out everything again for a few seconds, then Danny was shouting over background Port noises again. “Nice to meet you, Jamie. Hope we can do it in person soon.”

  “Likewise.”

  “Ai, love you. Be safe.”

  “Love you too, baby bro.” Said in jest before, Aidan spoke the words sincerely now, forced out over the lump in his throat. He was close with all his siblings. They’d never been bashful about expressing their feelings for one another, even in front of others. After the accident, those expressions of love took on new significance. His siblings had rallied around him like never before, letting him know he was loved and wasn’t alone.

  “He sounds like a character,” Walker said once the line went dead.

  “He’s the youngest of six; he had to be. Danny came out wailing. Never heard lungs on a kid like that before or since.”

  “And he’s running the company now?”

  Aidan nodded. “Our father’s still CEO, but Danny’s COO, and my oldest sister, Siobhan, is General Counsel. They run the day-to-day operations.”

  “You think he can find out more than we can?”

  “Danny can be very charming.”

  Walker leaned over the arm of his chair, deep into Aidan’s personal space, that damn attractive smile bordering on a seductive leer. “And I can’t be?”

  Oh, he was charming all right. Between him and Danny, Aidan had been charmed out of his bad mood and into a comfortable new place. A place that, if he were honest with himself, included Walker fitting in with his family, maybe better than Gabe ever had. At the moment, the promise of that comfort, and the other comforts Walker could provide, felt hot enough to melt the blanket of icy guilt and fear he’d wrapped himself in since Gabe’s death. It also had the potential to burn him alive. The lure of the fire, though...

  A knock on the door sent them reeling apart. Torres didn’t wait before barging in. “Everything okay, agents?”

  “We’re fine.” Aidan stood. “Just checking in with SAC Cruz.”

  “Todd’s waiting in the conference room with the files you requested.”

  “We’ll be right there, Oscar,” Walker said.

  Torres hesitated then relented, leaving them alone again.

  Aidan glared at the open door he left behind him until Walker clasped his shoulder and lowered his voice. “Rein it in, before you go in there and scare Todd off. He’s good. We need him on the team.”

  “I can’t help that Agent Hipster’s jumpy. Do you think he’s a suspect?”

  Walker shook his head.

  “Then why do I scare him?”

  A soft smile played across Walker’s face. “Because he admires you.” His hand trailed down Aidan’s arm, all the way to his wrist, tweaking the gold and emerald cufflink there. “You’re more of a force than you realize.”

  “I don’t scare you,” Aidan said, once he found his voice again.

  Cobalt eyes clashed with his brown ones. “You scare me, Irish. More than you know.”

  * * *

  Suffocating in one of the Port’s mobile offices—read: glorified trailer—Aidan stood by the narrow open window and let the foul-smelling harbor breeze waft in over him. The mix of stagnant water, diesel fuel and machine exhaust would turn most people’s stomachs, but growing up in a shipping family, he’d become immune to the nauseating blend. And at the moment, the need for air circulation reigned supreme, especially with the Walker-Marge showdown behind him heating up.

  “I understand it’s a big place, ma’am,” Walker drawled, attempting to cajole the stern-faced receptionist. “But if you could please try locating Mr. Hamilton again, we’d appreciate it.”

  Marge was not Danny’s playmate. With gray hair and weathered skin, the surly-tempered woman had likely been at this post most of her life, a seasoned shieldmaiden who provided the last line of defense against outsiders.

  And outsiders he and Walker were, having already been treated, over the past several hours, to the tight-knit, tight-lipped, closed communities that were ports. They might have gotten further faster if they’d used his name—Talley Enterprises still did a fair bit of business here—but Aidan didn’t want to disrupt his family’s interests or Danny’s information gathering. They’d agreed Walker would do the talking while he flew under the radar and observed.

  Marge, however, seemed as immune to Walker’s charm as Aidan was to dock stench.

  “As I told you twice already, Agent Walker, you should have called ahead and made an appointment to meet with Eric.”

  “We did call ahead, three hours ago, and again when we arrived at the main office.”

  “That’s not enough time. I need it the day before so I can put it on his time card. That way he’ll know to be here.”

  “I’ll take it from here, Marge,” came a deep, commanding voice behind them.

  Turning, Aidan knew at once the tall, muscled man standing in the doorway was Eric Hamilton. The crew cut hair and rigid posture screamed military, as did the lightning bolt and bomb tattoo on his right arm. Explosive Ordnance Disposal Unit. The navy’s own bomb squad.

  “Eric, I told these men they needed an appointment to speak with you.”

  “It’s fine, Marge.” He stepped into the office. “Paul needs you in Trailer Two.”

  The silver-haired crone gave them one last hassled look on her way out and slammed the door shut behind her.

  Hamilton’s clear blue eyes flickered to Walker then back to Aidan. “I understand you’re looking for me.”

  “Eric Hamilton.” Walker took the lead, striding forward. “I’m Special Agent Jameson Walker and this is my partner—”

  “Aidan Talley.” Hamilton didn’t take his eyes off him. “I know who you are.”

  “How’s that?” Aidan propped himself against the wall, the trailer seeming half its size all of a sudden. “I haven’t introduced myself yet.”

  “Main building called ahead. Gave me your names.”

  Something in Hamilton’s icy stare convinced Aidan his explanation was a lie, but before he could follow the hunch, Walker inserted himself between them. “We need to ask you some questions about Jo Ann Richmond.”

  Hamilton’s gaze held Aidan’s a moment longer, then slid to Walker. The two big men stared each other down, and Aidan watched, fascinated. His partner was impressive, didn’t give an inch, even in the face of a highly trained combat vet.

  “Ask away,” Hamilton finally conceded after several long seconds.

  Walker gestured to the single visitor chair. Disregarding his suggestion, Hamilton moved behind the desk and claimed the seat Marge had vacated. Not letting it rile him, Walker smartly took the rejected visitor chair and sat casually back in it, unbuttoning his coat and resting an ankle on his knee. “How’d you know Jo Ann Richmond?” he a
sked, once situated.

  “She was one of my foster sisters in New Orleans.” Hamilton leaned forward, placing his forearms on the desk. “Now, let’s skip to the questions you don’t already know the answers to.”

  “When’s the last time you saw her?” Walker asked, unfazed.

  “The day I shipped out with the navy.”

  “Have you seen her here in Galveston?”

  Hamilton didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, just replied flatly, “Jo Ann’s in Galveston?” He knew she was in Galveston all right, but he wasn’t going to admit it. Maybe they could get him to admit something else. The timing lined up...

  Aidan pushed off the wall and came to stand behind Walker. “Did you know Emily Richards?”

  “Jo Ann’s best friend.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “They had a falling out?”

  Was he playing them? Aidan went for shock and awe, seeing if he could get a telling reaction out of the other man. “Emily died, the summer after they graduated from Tulane.”

  Zilch. Another blank stare. No reaction.

  “We’re looking for Ms. Richmond,” Walker said. “She didn’t report to work today, and we need to ask her some questions. You have any idea where she might go?”

  He shrugged. “Like I said, I haven’t seen her in almost ten years.”

  “You didn’t visit New Orleans between tours? Didn’t want to check on your siblings?”

  “The home with Jo Ann was my tenth. I didn’t make it a habit to get attached.”

  “Tattoos can symbolize attachments.” Aidan braced his hands on the back of Walker’s chair, leaning forward. “You were EOD?” He nodded to Hamilton’s tattoo. “Based where?”

  “Usual hot zones.”

  “EODs are in high demand.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So why’d they discharge you?”

  Hamilton shifted back in his chair. Finally, a reaction. “You’ll have to ask the navy. That’s classified.” Aidan made a mental note to have Cruz expedite those discharge papers.

  “Why’d you decide to become a longshoreman?” Walker asked.

  “Needed a job. Was used to the water.”