“I need to take a break,” I said, heading out to the porch to call her.
She sounded tired when she answered. “Hey, Paxon.”
“Hey, Flynn. I just wanted to check in with you. Things with the investigation have heated up. I anticipate working some long hours over the next few days, but I wanted you to know I was thinking about you.”
“I was thinking about you too, Paxon.”
“Yeah?”
“Yep.”
“I sure wish we could sit on my porch swing and talk again tonight.”
“I wish we could too. Listen, I have to go, though.”
“Everything okay?”
“I’m not sure yet. My brothers have called a family meeting. We might have to find a way to cover up the fact that Buck might not make it back within forty-eight hours.”
“I wondered if you’d heard.”
“Maybe we can talk later?”
“I’d like that.”
“How is she?” Decker asked when I came inside.
“If you’ve got my phone bugged enough to know who I was talking to, why is it you don’t know what we discussed?”
Decker laughed. “I know you were talking to Flynn by the look on your face, Irish. I don’t need any fancy spyware to read you like a book.”
“He’s smitten.”
I glared at Cope, stunned he would say something like that. “We’re friends.”
“Right,” both he and Decker said at the same time.
The next afternoon, we sat glued to our computers and phones, waiting for word from the East Coast. Buck returning to the ranch in forty-eight hours became the least of anyone’s worries when we were alerted that both Rock and Ink were down and Stella had been kidnapped—not in DC, as we’d thought; it all went down in New York City.
Finally, Decker managed to reach Jinx Jenkins, who, even though he was chief of the DC Metro Police, was on the scene in New York. Decker put the phone on speaker.
“Johnson, Ryan, and TJ are fine. Nicholas Kerr is dead, as are the crew that nabbed her. I’m going to need a little help, Decker. First of all, I have no jurisdiction in the State of New York. Second, even if I did, cleaning up this mess would have the media in a frenzy.”
“Jinx, you said you’re on the scene?” Decker asked.
“Affirmative.”
“What’s the twenty on Stella and Buck?”
“Your whole team is on their way to the airfield.”
“Copy that. Help is on the way.”
When Decker ended the call, he looked at Cope. “How many cleaners can you get to New York City, and how fast?”
“How many do you need?”
“I’d say at least five. More would be better.”
“You got it.” Cope was about to make a call, but Deck held up his hand.
“You goin’ official on this one?”
“Affirmative.”
“Money McTiernan?”
Cope shook his head. “My dad.”
Decker chuckled. “Knew he’d be good for somethin’.”
Prior to the mission we undertook, Cope’s father was more of a liability to his son’s career. Since we read him in on our investigation last year, when both Cope and I almost died, the man’s role as chair of the Senate Intelligence Committee had proved to be a valuable asset.
Decker got up again and walked toward the window.
“How the hell is he getting these calls?” I asked Cope. He shrugged.
Seconds later, Decker returned. “That was Buck. Unfortunately, the only thing in the safe-deposit box was another key. However, this time, Stella believes she knows what it’s for. Once they land, they’ll make a pit stop here and then head out again.”
“Where to this time?” I asked.
“Back to New York City.”
“What a clusterfuck,” I muttered, thinking not just about the time that was being wasted but also the jet fuel. I was sure, though, that if there were any kind of loophole in Buck’s father’s will, Hammer would’ve found it.
I sent a text to Flynn when we agreed to call it a night. She probably already knew about her brother, but I’d tell her anyway, just in case she didn’t.
Heard Buck and Stella are on their way back, I wrote.
Me too. So relieved, she responded.
I sat and stared at the phone, not knowing what else to say. I was relieved when I saw the marching dots indicating she was writing another message.
Want some company?
More than anything.
32
Flynn
When I drove up to the cabin and saw Paxon sitting on the porch swing, I smiled. I’d hoped that was where he’d be.
I parked, and he stood and waited while I grabbed something from the passenger seat.
“What’s this?” he asked when I handed him the bag.
“Dessert.”
“Wow. You’re spoiling me.”
“Someone should.”
With those words, his eyes met mine. “Thank you, Flynn. It’s been a long time since…”
“Since what?”
“I don’t want to make it sound like Cope, Decker, and the other guys on my detail haven’t taken care of me. Each one has risked their life for mine.” He held up the bag. “This is…different.”
“I can promise you I did not risk my life making peach cobbler.” I smiled, and so did he.
“It means a lot.”
“Wanna share it?” I asked, knowing I’d brought plenty for two.
“I’d love that.”
I stopped him when he went to go inside. “Everything we need is in that bag.”
He pulled out two napkins, forks, spoons, and the cobbler. “It’s still warm.”
“Which means the ice cream on top is probably melted.”
He opened the lid and breathed in. “It smells so good.”
“Let’s hope it tastes good too.”
We sat on the swing and dug in with our spoons.
“I ate almost all of it,” Paxon said, pointing to the two or three bites that were left.
“I only wanted a taste anyway.”
“Now I feel bad.”
I laughed and stood when he did. “Don’t waste the energy.” I’m not sure what possessed me to do it, but I put my hand on his arm, reached up, and kissed his cheek.
The reaction I got couldn’t have been worse.
33
Irish
My only explanation was that Flynn had caught me off guard. When she kissed my cheek, instead of kissing her back or even smiling, I took an abrupt step backwards.
“Sorry,” she mumbled as she ran down the porch steps and over to her truck. She was inside, with the engine started, before I came out of my stupor enough to go after her. By then, it was too late.
When Cope texted me the next day, shortly after daylight, asking if I was ready to get to work, I told him I wanted to be on my own this morning. When Decker knocked on the door shortly thereafter, I told him to go the fuck away.
“Open up, Irish. You know if you don’t, I’ll come in anyway.”
“Do you have no respect for personal space?” I asked, flinging the door open.
“None whatsoever.” Instead of coming inside, he stood on the porch. “We’re going to work at the other cabin this morning. That way, Ali won’t be on her own all day.”
“Go right ahead. I can get just as much done from here.”
“Knock it off. Whatever happened, get over it, and get your ass next door.”
I didn’t remember much about my father. I wasn’t even in double digits when he died, but the tone of Decker’s voice sent me straight back to being a little kid. Instead of arguing with him, I grabbed my laptop and followed him next door. It didn’t dawn on me until we were walking that he’d realized “something” had, in fact, happened. That made me feel more like a child.
Ali opened the door, and instead of stepping aside so we could both come in, she only let Decker pass.
“You
need a hug.” She stepped closer and embraced me.
“Yeah? How can you tell?”
She let go and cocked her head. “Honestly, Irish, I think you need one every time I see you.”
I put my hands on her shoulders. “How are you feeling?”
“Morning sickness sucks donkey balls.” She rubbed her stomach. “But it’s so worth it.”
“I don’t really know what questions to ask.”
Ali laughed. “I’m about eight weeks along. We weren’t trying, but we weren’t not trying, if that makes sense.”
Being of Irish descent, my skin was pale, which meant I flushed easily, as I was now.
“I’ll stop embarrassing you. Cope has been digging into this Xander thing since last night.” She motioned to where he sat at the table, head propped on his hand.
“Did he sleep?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Hey,” I said, walking over and squeezing his shoulder. “Find anything?”
“Probably nothing more than you did. Here’s what I don’t get. What’s with ‘Xander’? His middle name is Clark. William Clark Harris.”
I hadn’t given it any thought, but as soon as Cope said it, I had a guess. “Alexander the Great.”
Decker raised his head. “The defender of the Argead.”
“Or it isn’t related at all,” Cope grumbled.
“It is. I’m sure of it,” said Decker. “There wasn’t time for a briefing, but I…uh…have a recording of Stella and Kerr’s conversation.”
It was Decker’s hesitation that made me raise my head. “She was wired?”
More than his hesitation, the flush of his cheeks told me that Stella hadn’t been aware she was. Now wasn’t the time for me to get high and mighty about it. In fact, there’d never be a time for me to question Decker’s means or motives. I trusted him, and he’d kept me alive. Not just me, countless other agents. I would never doubt his intentions were for the greater good of just that—the good. Like everyone I’d worked with on the Invincibles’ team, I believed their agenda was the same as mine: to rid the world of as much of the evil we could as long as we walked the face of it.
What we heard was similar to what Burns had told us about Nicholas Kerr, except Stella’s conversation with him made chills run up and down my spine.
“Tiffany Joy, at last we meet.”
There was silence as if he was waiting for a response.
“So much like your aunt. You’re weak like she was. Your only power is in your pen. Otherwise, you are mute.”
“You didn’t know her very well, and you don’t know me at all.”
“Ah, she does have a voice, but where is the reporter, eh? Are you too afraid I’ll kill you to ask me any questions?”
“You’re going to kill me whether I ask or not, just like you did Barb and Nancy.”
“Yes, well, that is probably true.”
“Does your wife know you killed her aunt like you did mine?”
“She knows I had no choice.”
Stella continued to prod him. It was evident in the change in the tone of his voice that Kerr was getting angry.
“Your aunt believed she could take on the world, that once she exposed the corruption she thought she’d found, that would be the end of it. What she—and you—and people like Veronica Guerin failed to recognize was that it is the very corruption they railed against that keeps the world spinning. Bribes, power plays, deals negotiated in back alleys, that is how it really works. You see world leaders on television, shaking hands as they sign agreements, flashbulbs going off around them—all of that is for show. The real deals were made months, even years, before the stage is set for the public to see. In that time, those who threaten to tear down the carefully mastered plans of men like me, are eliminated.”
“Eliminated? As in agents around the world being assassinated?” Stella asked.
“You are so sure they were the good and I am evil. Your naivete is so common, so typical. Without men like me, you would be nothing.”
“Because I’m a woman?”
“Because you’re a stupid woman.”
God, it was amazing she didn’t pull out her gun and shoot him right then. I would’ve.
“You say that men like you are the real deal makers. Is that how you justify lining your pockets with millions of dollars? You say that all you do is for the greater good, but when your day of reckoning comes, you know as well as I do that you were nothing but a thief. A common criminal. A murderer who only ever knew how to steal, never how to earn your way in the world.”
“So like her,” he mumbled. I assumed he was talking about Stella’s aunt. His next words confirmed it.
“What Barb found was merely the tip of the iceberg. As if anyone in the world truly cares what goes on at Interpol. It serves merely as a clearinghouse for those of us in the intelligence business to burn evidence before it lands in the hands of someone like your aunt. Or you.”
“Are you saying Operation Argead goes beyond Interpol?”
Kerr’s laughter at Stella’s question could only be described as maniacal. “I’m saying that without the voluntary contributions that come through Interpol and countless other organizations like it, the intelligence community, even entire governments, would crumble with lack of funding. No, little girl, our reach is global. Even the most powerful countries—the United States, Russia, China—all rely on Argead. Without us, they would be nothing.”
“Sounds like you’ve let a little power go to your head. You can’t really believe that you and your little group of intelligence has-beens truly affect world governments.”
“As I anticipated, this is all too much for your small mind to comprehend. I’ve grown weary of your tedium. Hand over the evidence now so I don’t have to dirty my hands with your blood in order to retrieve it.”
We heard the sound of guns being fired in the background and then Stella say, “You know what? Fuck it,” followed by a close-range shot.
Decker hit a button on his laptop. “The rest is the team coming in, along with the aftermath, none of which provides information we don’t already have.”
Cope stood. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I need a drink.” He looked over at Ali. “Sorry, baby.”
“It’s okay,” she said, smiling. “I’ll get it. How many glasses?”
When Decker and I both nodded and thanked her, she brought a bottle and three glasses from the kitchen and set them on the table.
“I don’t know whether to have a shot because I need one after listening to Kerr’s diatribe or to toast the fact that we might, truly, be getting to the end of this,” said Cope.
“Both,” I responded.
Ali poured two fingers in each glass, and we downed it without a word. She refilled them, and Decker stood.
“I vote for three because I have to insert a toast of my own.”
We raised our glasses to his.
“Here’s to the two of you. Without your bravery, tenacity, resourcefulness, selflessness—I could go on and on—Kerr and everyone who came before or after, would continue.” He looked directly at me. “Irish, you have given your all more than anyone in this room. I only hope that someday everyone in the world will know what a true hero and patriot you are.”
I couldn’t fight the tears his words moved me to. Even after enduring so much hatred, it wasn’t easy to accept his praise.
“Thank you,” I said when my emotion eased enough for me to speak.
“Buck and Stella are in the air now,” said Decker, looking at his phone. “Our esteemed visitors should be arriving within a couple of hours as well. If you need some time, you’d be wise to take it now.”
I wasn’t sure if Decker was speaking to Cope and Ali or to me. Either way, that was my cue to head out.
“We’ll meet at fourteen hundred hours,” he added when I stood and picked up my laptop. “At the main house.”
“Roger that.”
The way Flynn left the other day had
been weighing heavily on my mind and not because of anything she did. It was all me. She’d given me an innocent kiss on the cheek, and I’d behaved like it was a snake bite.
I was getting damn tired of not having a way to get around the ranch on my own. “What’s somebody gotta do to have access to a vehicle?”
“Here,” said Cope, tossing me a set of keys.
“Where are you off to?” asked Decker.
“You still my fucking nursemaid?”
Decker laughed. “No, I wanted a ride, asshole. But in the mood you’re in, I’d rather walk.”
“I’m going to the dining hall. Either get in the truck now, or figure it out on your own.”
“That’s what I like to see,” he said, walking past me and squeezing my shoulder. “Irish takin’ charge.”
When I pulled up, Decker walked in the direction of the main house and I went the opposite way.
“Can I help you?” a man who looked vaguely familiar asked.
“I’m looking for Flynn.”
“She’s not in today.”
“I see.”
“Can I tell her who stopped by?”
“Paxon.”
34
Flynn
I waited until I was sure Paxon was gone before I came into the kitchen from the storage room where I’d gone to hide when I saw him drive up.
“Thanks, Paco.”
“Man, Flynn, don’t ask me to lie for you again. That guy looked like someone kicked his damn puppy.” Paco rubbed his chest and winked.
“I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to talk to him right now.” I felt my eyes fill with tears like they did every time I thought about Paxon’s reaction to me attempting to kiss his cheek. I’d suffered through a lot of humiliation in my short life, but that had to have been the worst. It was like I was a six-year-old and giving him cooties.
“Come here,” said Paco, motioning to the chair he’d pulled away from the table. When I sat, he did too.
“I’ve seen you with him. What’s his name? Paxon?”
Irished (The Invincibles Book 7) Page 14
