by Layla Reyne
Cradling his face, Jamie swiped a thumb over the corner of his grim smile. “I love you too, I know your kiss, and I know what goodbye tastes like.”
Aidan stretched up and pressed their mouths together again. Lips parting, their tongues tangled in the same slow, miserable waltz.
“Tastes like that,” Jamie said, once they parted. “Why?”
Aidan rested his forehead against his temple, nuzzling his cheek. “Because as much as I love you, I’m angry as hell. At you, at Mel, at Gabe. I need to get away from everything for a while.”
Including me.
Jamie realized he’d voiced the sentiment when Aidan framed his face in both hands. “Because I want to be able to come home to you,” he said. “If I stay, my anger will ruin this.”
Jamie wrapped his fingers around Aidan’s wrists but didn’t pull his hands away. “Space doesn’t usually work out for couples.”
Aidan’s thumbs brushed over his cheeks. “Good thing we’re partners.”
“But I’m not going to be there to have your back, wherever there is.”
Aidan rested back against his bent leg. “Undercover.”
It was Jamie’s turn to tense. His back straightened, lifting his torso off the headboard, until his chest met Aidan’s palms, seeking to calm him.
“Low-level financial crimes,” he said. “Regulatory compliance. Local place I’ve been embedded before. I’m not at any risk.”
Jamie wasn’t convinced. Trouble followed them everywhere, Renaud-related or not. And Renaud was still out there. His mind rebelled at the thought of Aidan in the field alone.
Aidan curled a hand around his neck, caressing his hammering pulse. “It’ll be fine, Jamie.”
The “Jamie” again made him feel a little better. So did the brogue that had crept back into Aidan’s voice as they’d talked. He hadn’t locked all of himself away. Aidan still loved him and intended to come home to him, eventually. Maybe they could do this. But as his partner, in every way, Jamie wasn’t sending him out into the field without backup.
He thumped Aidan’s thigh. “Give me your phone.”
Brow furrowed, Aidan climbed off the bed, dug through his jeans pockets, and dropped the phone into Jamie’s waiting hand. He headed to the bathroom to clean up and Jamie swung gingerly around to the edge of the bed, casted leg outstretched. He accessed his remote server on Aidan’s phone and downloaded the needed apps.
Returning with a warm rag, Aidan sat beside him and cleaned him off. Jamie’s eyes rolled back at the gentle touch that lingered, along with Aidan’s warm breath on his neck. Both eventually, regretfully, disappeared.
“What’ve you got for me?” Aidan asked, as he tossed the rag aside.
Jamie blinked, saw Aidan’s eyes as dark as his must be, and fought to focus. “I loaded the monitoring program from my remote server.” Aidan stood and moved about the room, getting dressed as Jamie continued. “If anything goes wrong, send a message. They won’t find it this way. And you can log in remotely. I’ll send you an encrypted email with instructions.”
“Thank you.” Standing between his spread legs, Aidan pocketed the phone and withdrew his cufflinks. “You hold these for me.” Aidan dropped them into his palm and curled his fingers around them, something he’d done before.
When he’d been walking into danger.
“I thought you said this assignment wasn’t dangerous.”
“It’s not,” Aidan assured him. “But just in case. I’ll come back for them. And for you.”
Jamie swallowed hard and nodded, despite his unease.
Aidan ran a hand through his hair and tilted his face up for another slow, haunting kiss. “I love you, Whiskey,” he whispered against his lips.
“I love you too, Irish.”
Aidan turned to leave, was halfway across the room when something on the dresser caught Jamie’s eye. “Aidan, wait!”
Jamie limped over to the dresser, and Aidan rushed back to his side, helping to balance him. He snatched up the Chevelle keys and pressed them into Aidan’s hand, their fingers entwining around them.
“Jamie, what—”
“She doesn’t belong in my garage, if you’re not here too. I can’t bear to look at her there, until you’re back in my bed.”
“I can’t.”
Those words had haunted Jamie for days. With a renewed spark of hope, he could do something about them now. “Yes, you can,” he said, and leaned in for another kiss. This one was quick, firm, and with a dash of promise and hope infusing the goodbye. “When you’re ready, the both of you come home to me.”
Chapter Four
Six weeks of desk duty and Jamie was ready to shoot himself. How had he sat here behind a computer every day for three years? He glanced around the Cyber Division cave, empty but for him this lunch hour. Not wanting to see or hear the bullpen gossip about Aidan’s absence, Jamie had avoided the main floor office they shared and reclaimed his old desk in the cave, an interior boardroom filled with server racks and Cyber Division. He’d spent his recovery time here, investigating hacks and other cybercrimes. It was a logical use of his agency hours while relatively immobile, and Cyber’s work was important, but after five months in the field, after climbing to the top of the FBI’s clearance board, it wasn’t enough. Jamie wanted back out in the field, but he couldn’t go there without a partner, and he wouldn’t ask for a new one.
Not yet.
Aidan had wanted a clean, temporary break while his anger subsided, and Jamie had given it to him, hoping to salvage their personal and professional relationships. But with each passing day, Jamie worried the temporary separation would become permanent. Not even the monotony of Aidan’s daily routine—to and from an office building near Moffett Airfield, tracking courtesy of the special business card he’d slid under the Chevelle’s floor mat before shipping it out here—was enough to soothe Jamie’s anxiety. Every night, he’d stare at the ceiling, worrying about Aidan and their future, or he’d stare at the backs of his eyelids, dreaming about smoke and fire. Something had to give, soon.
Jamie’s cell vibrated, startling him, and for the two seconds it took to dig the phone out of his pocket, hope flickered. Then died at the unfamiliar East Bay number.
“Hi, this is Jamie,” he answered.
“Jamie, Taggert Kline here.”
Jamie smiled at hearing his former teammate’s deep Southern drawl. Originally from Mississippi, Tag’s accent was even thicker than his. “Tag, good to hear from you, though I didn’t expect it to be so soon.” Out of his hard cast and in an advanced conditioning brace, Jamie had been mobile enough to spend the weekend with Cam in Atlanta at the Final Four. There, they’d eaten their weight in Georgia peaches and met with old coaches and teammates, including Tag, who was now an assistant coach at St. Mary’s across the Bay. They’d swapped cards with a promise to get together. “Glad for it, though,” Jamie added. Any and all distractions were welcome.
“Listen, Whiskey, something’s come up here I could use your help with.”
A case? At St. Mary’s? Maybe he could field this one solo, since it was local. And a friend. Jamie picked up a pen and twirled it around his thumb. “What’s that?”
“A coaching position.”
Jamie dropped the pen. Still spinning, it skittered off the desk, taking a pile of KitKat wrappers with it.
“Jamie, you there?”
“Yeah, just a bit surprised.”
“Come on, dude. I can’t have been the only call like this.”
He wasn’t; not after Jamie’s attention-grabbing undercover stint as a basketball coach at Charlotte University. There’d been numerous voicemails from athletic directors waiting when he’d returned to work. He’d ignored them, clinging to the hope Aidan would be back at his side, sooner rather than later. But later had arriv
ed some time ago, and this was a Division I offer, here in the Bay Area.
“No, it’s not,” he admitted. “But you didn’t say anything about it this weekend.”
“Because I only found out about it an hour ago. One of our other assistants took a head coaching job. I immediately thought of you for our opening. Wanted to float it by you before I bring it up to Coach and the AD.”
“Tag, I’m flattered.”
“That mean you’ll consider it?”
Someone cleared their throat, and Jamie’s gaze darted up. A young woman shifted on her feet at the opening of the server racks. Petite, with long brown hair and big blue eyes, she looked barely old enough to drive. The lines around her eyes and mouth and her rigid posture indicated otherwise. “Agent Walker?” she mouthed.
He nodded and held up a finger. “Tag, how about we schedule a time to meet next week?”
“All right, then,” Tag replied, a smile in his voice. “I’ll email you a few dates. Okay if I invite Coach and the AD?”
Jamie glanced at his laptop screen, at the red dot signifying his partner’s location. So close yet so far away. He needed a contingency plan in case the distance could no longer be bridged. He swallowed hard, forcing out the words. “Set it up.”
“Great! Look forward to seeing you again soon, Jamie.”
“Likewise. Thanks for the call.” Jamie lowered the phone, still half in a daze.
“Sorry I interrupted your call,” his visitor said.
“It’s fine.” He closed his laptop and gestured at the chair across from him. “Come in.”
She approached, noting the other empty desks. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Lunch.”
Head tilted, her gaze swung back to him. “You didn’t go?”
“I’ve got those,” he said, with a nod to the bag of peaches on his desk he’d brought back from Atlanta. “And why do you care?”
“I’m an analyst with a psych degree.” Seated, she crossed one leg over the other and laid a file folder atop her knees. “It’s what I do. Sorry not sorry.”
He chuckled, the first real laugh anyone besides Cam had drawn out of him in weeks. “Does the analyst have a name?”
“Oh, sorry, for real this time. I scroll ahead sometimes.” Leaning forward, she extended a dainty hand. “Lauren Hall.”
“Jamie Walker,” he said, shaking it. “What I can do for you?”
“It’s more what I can do for you. Or your partner.” Her gaze flicked to his wrist, to where he’d been absently rubbing a thumb over Aidan’s cufflink. “But he’s UC and I can’t reach him.”
Jamie straightened. “Tell me what it is, and I’ll see if I can help.”
She drummed her short silver nails on the file folder. “Well, see, it was supposed to be on the DL when Agent Talley came to me about it a few months ago. I’m in no position to ask whether you have clearance, but...” She blushed, voice rising an octave. “Do you have clearance?”
A few months ago Aidan had consulted an FBI analyst to try and date the picture of Renaud in a desert bazaar. Could this be that analyst? Aidan had said “she.”
“Hold that question.” He rooted around in his desk drawer until he found the bug sweeper he’d brought with him from the other office.
“What’s that?”
He raised a finger to his lips, stood, and made a quick sweep of the area. When he was sure it was clear, he tossed the device back into the drawer.
“A sweeper,” she said. “You think that’s necessary?”
“If this is concerning the whereabouts of a certain pale, blond, green-eyed man last scene in Morocco, then yes. And yes, I have clearance.”
She blew out a huge breath. “Thank God. No more doublespeak. I suck at it.”
“You were doing pretty well.”
“For now. Generally, I talk too much for it not to bite me in the ass.”
“Yet you’re an analyst with a psych degree, a trained observer.”
She made a circular motion with her index finger next to her temple. “Issues.”
Jamie smiled, as he thought back to his and Aidan’s brief conversation. “Limited details,” Aidan had said. Which also summed up Jamie’s weeks’ worth of digging into Renaud’s operation, searching for his “home.” Despite the terrorist’s French passport, Jamie didn’t buy France as Renaud’s “home.” Or Morocco, for that matter. Recent aerial footage from Interpol showed the site of Renaud’s African operation wiped clean. The same was true for several of his other suspected bases, including Cuba. Jamie sensed his endgame was near. He was dismantling his operations and consolidating resources for a final attack. At “home,” wherever that was.
Maybe this analyst had a lead...
“What’ve you’ve got, Ms. Hall?”
“Lauren, please.” She tossed the file on top of his closed laptop. “You’re what, thirty-one? That’s only three years older than me.”
Yes, older than she looked. “Jamie, then, please.” He flipped open the file to the familiar picture. “This is the photo Aidan had you date?”
She nodded. “I also programmed an alert for anyone matching the description of whoever that guy is—” she waved a hand at the picture “—coming into the States.”
Jamie’s head whipped up. “He’s here?”
“Next picture,” she replied.
He flipped over the first photo and examined the second. A grainy still from a security camera, but Lauren’s alert had rung true. The man in the photo, the pale blond one standing taller than everyone else, looked a hell of a lot like Renaud. Jamie widened his study to the people milling around him, many with rolling bags.
Suitcases.
An airport.
He widened his scope more, to the dining options on either side of the concourse.
Vino Volo, The Plant Cafe, Peet’s Coffee & Tea, Napa Farms Market.
Alarm arrowed up his spine. “He’s here.”
“As in here, here,” Lauren confirmed.
“When was this picture taken?”
He knew the where but needed the when.
“Last night, at SFO’s Terminal 2.”
San Francisco International Airport. Located on the Peninsula.
Halfway between him and Aidan.
* * *
Reprising the role of Hayden Talbott, Legal Compliance Officer for Pearl Investments, was harder than Aidan anticipated. Not because Pearl, the financial services industry or the investment banking game had changed much in the two years since his last UC stint here. “Work hard, play hard” pretty much still covered it.
Half the same i-bankers remained, supplemented by a fresh crop of burnout-victims-to-be, all of them regularly inviting Hayden to lunch and Friday happy hours. They wanted to be on the good side of the home office’s auditor. In reality, it was the Department of Justice, not the New York home office, conducting the audit, a routine requirement after Pearl was accused of investor fraud. With his business and law degrees, Aidan had been tapped for the job. He understood the lingo and the industry from his schooling and from his marriage to a successful i-banker.
That’s what made this so hard. Being reminded every day of Gabe, the world he used to inhabit, and the game he’d played so hard he’d walked right into a terrorist’s trap. As proud as Aidan had been of Gabe’s ambition, he cursed it now, knowing it had led to his and numerous other deaths. And Aidan himself had been targeted, along with Danny, Mel...and Jamie.
Jamie.
Aidan missed his partner. Granted, he’d been the one to ask for reassignment and to put his and Jamie’s relationship on hold. He’d needed that separation, the betrayal and anger raging so hot it would have burned everything to the ground. He didn’t want that, and he wouldn’t go home again to Jamie until the fire was c
ompletely contained.
A fire his late husband, not Jamie, had lit. Jamie was the one trying to put it out, according to Cameron Byrne. Jamie’s best friend knew the gist of what was going on, with Renaud and with Aidan and Jamie. Per Byrne, who’d taken his role of carrier pigeon between them the past several weeks seriously, Jamie continued to dig into Renaud. Aidan felt odd being disconnected from the investigation, but it was for everyone’s safety. Once he finished at Pearl, once his anger was fully doused, then he’d dive back into life and work with Jamie.
“Hey, Hay, what do you say?”
Nate Caldwell, one of Pearl’s barely twenty IT guys, stood in Aidan’s doorway. Citing confidentiality, Legal Compliance garnered an office rather than a bullpen desk. Aidan still sat out there occasionally, eavesdropping on the chatter, but the “Hay” nickname made Aidan long for his sidearm.
He gnashed his molars and hoped his plastered-on smile didn’t look menacing. “What can I do for you, Nate?”
Hyped up on God only knew what energy drink, Nate didn’t notice his tension, just bounded into the office with a caffeinated smile. “Need to reset your Aurora key.”
“I thought those were only reset at month’s end.”
“Usually, but we had a warning message last night. Emergency reset protocols are in effect.”
Aidan moved out from behind the desk to the guest chair, while Nate went to work updating the encryption key on his Pearl-issued laptop. The Aurora secured messaging system was the primary focus of Aidan’s audit. He was at Pearl to determine whether secured communication via Aurora violated Federal regulations adopted after the last market crash, during which bankers had used a precursor system to share information.
With Aurora, each user had a unique encryption key, and only Aurora encryption keys recognized each other, a secret handshake of sorts. If a handshake didn’t line up, if an encryption key had been spoofed or fabricated, then the encrypted user on the other end received a warning message to—in laymen speak—shut the fuck up before spilling protected information. So far, Aidan hadn’t witnessed any evidence of regulatory noncompliance. But this tripped security incident...
