In her experience, civilians were far less innocent than anyone wanted to admit, but she took a deep breath and let it out. Life in the world of international intelligence was way more complex than she cared to know about. All she really wanted to know, as cowardly as it sounded, was that she was safe enough to go home. Safe enough to spend some time with Garret when he didn’t feel the need to carry a gun. Safe enough to go on with her life. She wanted justice too. Justice for the assets who’d been killed and for Jonathon, who’d been framed. But that was beyond her control. In fact, it was all beyond her control.
“I hate this,” she said.
Garret’s head swiveled toward her and he smiled at her. “I know. But you’re doing great.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, it’s really hard to sit on my ass all day and do nothing.”
“It’s a very fine ass, though,” he said after a beat.
Her eyes lifted back to his, but this time with less frustration. “I’m just saying that it will be nice to be home,” she said, rising from her chair. Garret’s eyes tracked her as she moved toward him. He leaned back as she stopped in front of him and then lowered herself onto his lap, her knees straddling his thighs.
“It will be nice to just relax,” she said, draping her arms over his shoulders, brushing the nape of his neck with her fingers. His hands came to her waist and he leaned forward just a touch. She didn’t need more of an invitation than that; her lips met his eagerly.
She felt his hands tighten on her body and her own arms pulled him closer. Tugging her against him, her body came flush with his as he tilted his head and encouraged her to take their connection deeper. Happy to oblige, she met his demand as his fingers inched up under the sides of her sweater, caressing her skin.
She wanted him. In every possible way. Just like she had the very first time she’d seen him. She wanted him heart, body, and soul. And she knew he wanted the same from her.
And she also knew that, like so many things lately, now was not the time.
They eased away from the kiss at the same time and when she finally broke free, she let out a breath and laid her head on his shoulder. He ran a hand up her back and simply held her. She could feel his heart beating in his chest and realized that she didn’t think she would ever forget it, how his heartbeat felt against her, an indelible tattoo on her own body.
She was enjoying the quiet moment when Garret suddenly stiffened beneath her. Drawing back, she looked at him. His eyes were fixed out the window.
“We have company,” he said. And then she heard it too, the sound of a car making its way toward the house. Sliding from his lap, she said nothing as he rose, gave her a quick kiss, then headed downstairs with a warning for her to stay put until he or Caleb came for her. It was a warning she didn’t need, but nonetheless, she stood to the side of the window and craned her head, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever was visiting.
She wasn’t all that worried—anyone making as much noise as this visitor was wasn’t trying to sneak up on them. But she was being cautious, as she suspected Caleb and Garret were too.
“It’s Drew,” Garret called up to her, just as she saw the Mercedes pull into sight. She debated for a moment whether to go down and join them or just let Caleb, Garret, and Drew talk. It was a short debate; she pulled on a pair of thick socks and jogged down the stairs.
By the time Drew entered the kitchen from the back porch, stomping the snow off his boots, Kit, Garret, and Caleb were all there waiting for him, hot drinks in hand, with expectant looks on their faces. After getting most of the snow off his boots, Drew looked up and a flicker of surprise crossed his face. Then he allowed himself a rare smile.
“Waiting for something?” he chided.
Caleb rolled his eyes. “Well?” he said.
“Do you want some coffee or tea?” Kit asked. She was just as anxious to hear what Drew had to say as her brother and Garret were, but she wasn’t going to forgo her manners completely.
Drew shook his head. “We have the third man in custody,” he said simply.
Kit hadn’t realized how tense she’d been until she felt her body sag in relief. She smiled. “So I can get out of this joint, then?” she asked. Not that the house itself had been that bad. Actually, it would make a great writing retreat in the summer. It was just the enforced stay that had worn on her.
When Drew didn’t immediately answer, she darted her gaze over to Caleb and then to Garret. And then back to Caleb, who stood with eyes narrowed in thought and his arms crossed over his body.
Her chest constricted. Again.
“What? What I am missing?” she demanded.
“I don’t know,” Caleb said. “What are we missing?” He repeated the question but directed it to Drew.
Kit swung her eyes back to her old friend. He was watching her with a guarded, curious look. She didn’t understand either. “What?” she asked again, or more implored this time.
Drew let out a deep breath. “Neither of the two men captured alive have copped to hiring the hit on Jonathon Parker.”
Kit blinked at him, trying to sort out the significance of this statement. Because it was significant. That much she could tell from the way both Garret and Caleb’s eyes focused in on her.
She frowned. “I don’t get it. That doesn’t seem like that big of a deal. Criminals don’t confess to things all the time. I don’t find it all that surprising that they didn’t confess to hiring an assassin to kill one of their own agents on the streets of London. In fact, I’d be surprised if they did confess.”
Once again, she got the feeling she was missing something when all three men shared looks with each other.
“What?” She was beginning to sound like a broken record and it was starting to piss her off.
After a beat, Caleb answered. “They didn’t go through a regular interrogation, Kit. Not like what you see on TV.”
Kit’s eyes narrowed on her brother. She hadn’t given it much thought, but she supposed he was right. After all, the men they had caught were going to be tried for treason. Her mind flitted to Guantanamo Bay and she wondered if the British had anything similar. But even she knew that confessions gained through torture weren’t the most reliable. Then again, maybe that was the point. They hadn’t confessed. At least not to what had happened to Jonathon.
“Did they confess to anything?” she asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.
Drew gave a short nod. He met her gaze, not shying away, but she could see the crease of worry around his eyes.
She took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay, so if they confessed to some things, but not to what happened in London, what do you think it means?”
For a long moment, Drew just looked at her. Studied her, even. But what he was looking for, she hadn’t a clue. A wild thought entered her mind that he knew about her father and what she’d done and maybe it was somehow tied to what had happened in London. She felt a surge of panic that she tried to tamp down as she turned a questioning look at Caleb. He seemed to read her mind and he gave a small shake of his head—something she would have missed if she hadn’t been staring right at him.
“Has anything strange happened to you recently?” Caleb asked. She didn’t miss the subtle emphasis on the word “recently.”
She forced herself to breathe and held his gaze. His eyes, identical to hers, held a kind of comfort she hadn’t experienced in a long time. And in a rush, childhood memories came flooding back. Memories of Caleb helping her up and dusting her off when she was learning to ride a bike. Caleb meeting her at the schoolyard and walking her home when she was being picked on by the other girls for her gangly height and “weird” eyes. Caleb making her an ice cream sundae in their kitchen at midnight the night of the first school dance she never went to.
A sense of calm washed over her. She didn’t need him to take care of her anymore, but knowing that he could, that he would, gave her a new strength.
“Other than what happened in London? No,” she a
nswered. “Why? What do you think is going on?”
“We’re not sure,” Drew answered and everyone looked back to him. “It’s possible, they just didn’t confess. It’s possible that the man who wasn’t captured alive ordered the hit...” His voice trailed off.
“Or?” Garret prompted, as he took a step closer to Kit.
“Or maybe the shot was meant for you, Kit,” Drew said, meeting her eyes again.
Her stomach protested at the thought. More importantly, so did her logic.
She shook her head. “I can see why you might think that, but I have no idea why someone would be interested in killing me.”
“Not just shooting her,” Garret interjected, “but that shot was not a shot taken by amateur. I’d stake my life that it was a professional with a silencer who pulled that off.”
“Someone who’s hired to do that kind of job,” Caleb added, seemingly in agreement with Garret.
That statement was so far out of left field that it almost made her feel better. It was ludicrous to think she’d done something worthy of even becoming a target in the first place, but add to that the suggestion that a hit man had been brought in to do the job? Well, that just made the whole idea even easier to dismiss.
But having Garret and Caleb contemplate it so matter-of-factly made it difficult to completely deny the idea.
“Has there been anything?” Drew pressed. When Garret frowned, Drew gave him a dismissive wave. “We have to think about it, Cantona. Even if it’s unlikely. Even if we don’t like it.”
Kit was about to shake her head, but she forced herself to slow down and actually give it some thought. Then she shook her head. “Really, Drew, I can’t think of anything. I’ve been in Windsor most of the time in the last year or so. And mostly just writing and spending time with my friends.”
“Where else have you been in the past year?” he asked.
She frowned as she recalled her schedule. “I went to Europe last July—Barcelona,” she added, knowing Drew would want specifics. “I was in Boston for one night with Vivi, Matty, and Jesse when Jesse dropped Matt at college last August. I went to San Francisco for a week in the end of October, right around the time the Giants won the World Series, and then I was in New York City for a few days in January when The Times did an interview and photo shoot after I won that award.” She paused for a moment to run through the last year in her mind and make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. And when she knew she hadn’t, she shrugged. “That’s it. Other than those trips, I’ve been in Windsor.”
Drew kept his gaze on her but she got the sense he was looking into the empty space between them as he gave her recital some thought.
“And did anything strange or unusual happen on any of these trips?” he asked.
A smile teased at her lips. “Jesse actually got drunk in Boston. That was a first. Not falling-on-her-butt or puking-her-guts-out drunk but enough that she wasn’t looking her best the next day.” She knew, even as she said it, that this kind of information wasn’t what Drew, or judging by the intent looks they were giving her, Garret or Caleb were looking for, but honestly, it was all she could come up with.
She shrugged in frustration and a bit of tea spilled onto her hand. It had cooled enough not to burn, but she wiped her hand on her pants to dry it as she walked to the sink to dump the rest out.
“Sorry,” she said over her shoulder. “I know that’s not exactly what you were asking, but that’s it. Really.” She watched the nutty-brown liquid slip down the drain. “I was in Barcelona for five days at a conference and it was just like every other writers’ conference. I spoke on a few panels, had a few dinners, lots of drinks, and that was about it. San Francisco was a four-day trip that I didn’t plan well since the city was flooded with people celebrating the games when all I wanted to do was some basic research at the historical society. And as for New York, I did the interview and photo shoot, met with my agent and publisher, and spent most of the rest of the week in my apartment.”
When she’d finished talking, she turned to find three sets of eyes staring at her. She leaned back against the counter, crossed her arms, and sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said again with a shake of her head, “I don’t know what to tell you. I haven’t done anything that I know of that would make anyone want to hurt me, let alone kill me.” She paused for a moment; a strange sense of vertigo washed over her as she said those words, words no normal person should ever need to say. “I haven’t done, or seen, or heard anything strange,” she repeated.
Drew regarded her, and for a moment it looked as if he was about to say something, but then he seemed to change his mind, switching his gaze to Garret. Some sort of silent conversation took place—it wasn’t difficult to guess it was about her—then Drew turned back to her.
“I had to ask,” he said simply. “It just didn’t make sense that they wouldn’t say something about the hit considering some of the other things they did talk about.”
“At least as far as MI6 told you,” Caleb interjected, noting that it was possible that MI6 hadn’t shared everything with the CIA.
Drew inclined his head, not so much in agreement but in acknowledgement. “Regardless,” he continued. “Given what you’ve told us, it’s probably likely the man who died ordered the hit and you’re not involved at all, Kit. But not being able to confirm that bullet was meant for Jonathon, not for you, is a loose thread I don’t like.”
“What does that mean?” she asked. She had to admit she was on the same page as Drew on this one. She would much rather have confirmation that whoever had shot at them on the streets of London had intended to hit someone other than her. As callous as that sounded.
Drew shook his head and shrugged. “We have no reason to keep you here,” he said with a gesture to their surroundings. “But I would ask you to be careful and maybe keep thinking about whether or not there is anything you might know, no matter how insignificant, that might lead someone to want to prevent you from sharing it.”
That sounded like such a nice way to say someone may want to kill her. And she might have laughed if Drew and the other two men hadn’t looked so serious. It was such a preposterous idea, but for their sakes, she nodded.
“Of course,” she said.
Drew seemed to believe her and with one last look at Caleb and Garret, he walked over to her and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “You’re free to go on with your life now,” he said. And she didn’t miss the way his eyes lifted just a tiny bit in the direction of Garret. “But please be careful, and let me know if you think of anything. Anything. I would be greatly disturbed if something were to happen to you, Kit.”
And she knew he would be. He was a good friend and had been for years. Yes, they worked together, but she knew their relationship was deeper than that of colleagues.
“You too, Drew. Stay safe and I’ll let you know if I think of anything,” she said.
He held her gaze for a moment, then looked up at Caleb and Garret. With a brief nod to each of them, he made his exit.
Kit let the gust of cold air that flooded the room as he left wash over her. She kept her eyes on the door for a long moment, not wanting to turn around and face Garret and her brother. She knew they’d both be staring at her, concerned. And she wasn’t quite sure what to do with that. She understood what Drew had been saying to her and why he’d asked what he’d asked, and she wasn’t being dumb or willfully ignorant, she just really couldn’t think of any reason why anyone would want to kill her. Her life was in Windsor, with only a few side trips each year. And those trips, even her short stays in New York City, were made up mostly of visiting friends and conducting business.
“Kit?” Garret said from behind her.
She let out a breath and turned to face the two men. “Yes,” she answered.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
She glanced at the clock and realized she’d been staring at the door for almost five minutes. She shook her head. “Nothing, really,” she said. “O
ther than I don’t think there’s any reason to worry.” She paused and looked at each man, then added, “I think I’m more worried about how you two took the news than about the news itself.”
A ghost of a smile touched Garret’s eyes. Predictably, Caleb’s narrowed.
“I think we need to come up with a plan to figure this out,” Caleb said.
Kit rolled her eyes and moved back to the stove to make another cup of tea. “There’s nothing to figure out.” She put the kettle on, rinsed her cup, and grabbed a new tea bag. She was staring at the kettle, thinking of nothing in particular when she realized her brother had been silent for too long. She looked up at him, but it was Garret who spoke.
“Why don’t we go spend a few days in New York? I need to meet my new employer, get up to speed on the job—”
“Figure out where you’re going to live,” Caleb interjected, clearly not liking the thought of Garret moving in with Kit. Come to think of it, she wasn’t sure what she thought of it either. She liked the idea of being able to see him, of having him around, of knowing where he was and what he was doing. But living together seemed a bit overwhelming.
She looked over and met Garret’s gaze.
“Figure out the living situation,” he added with a small nod meant for her only.
It didn’t escape her notice that he’d said “the” living situation rather than just “his” living situation.
The kettle whistled and she turned her attention back to her tea. After adding honey to the green tea steaming in her cup, she sat down at the small kitchen table. The table wobbled under her forearms as she set her mug down, and a few drops sloshed over the side.
“New York might not be such a bad idea,” she said. She could see the surprise in both men’s expressions—closely followed by a look of hot anticipation from Garret and one of suspicion from Caleb. She let out a long sigh, wondering just what it was in her brother’s life that made it impossible for him not to be suspicious when things went his way.
Frailty of Things Page 15
