Chapter Eighteen
I’d no sooner parked in the driveway than Patricia burst through the front door.
“Graham! Those bastards—”
Her words stopped as she was intercepted by the careful hold of the FBI agent posted on the porch, and I was sure I was visibly flinching. Bastards? She’d used that word twice in one day.
In two neat moves, Mom twisted free, and rushed toward me again. “How dare they hold you for a day? They should be giving you a medal for what you did. And how dare they post a man to hold me hostage in my own house?”
Her arms tightly wrapped around me at my middle and I locked eyes with the Fed staring in naked frustration at the petite figure of my mother. Welcome to my world, Agent Dipshit.
I kissed Patricia on the head and stepped back. “I’m OK, Mom. And you’ve got to stop giving everyone a hard time. The Feds are just doing their job.”
Her brows shot up as her eyes blazed. “Keeping a mall hero in a detention cell—”
“It wasn’t a cell. It was a very nice conference room. It’s SOP after a shooting. I discharged a firearm in a public venue, Mom.”
“Well, they can SOP my ass,” she growled, and God help me, that one got through and I laughed as she looped her arm around mine.
As we walked up the pavement I knew I wasn’t doing myself any favors here. Shit, there was nothing funny about any of this and Patricia didn’t need anything egging her on. Her powder was fully lit already. What the hell had the authorities done to her? If they’d stepped out of line even a hair with my mother they were going to be hearing from me.
“I want you to get rid of that man posted on our porch, Graham. He’s rude and intolerable.” She halted mid-step to turn her outraged eyes on me. “He took away my car keys and they’ve done whatever nonsense they do so our cells or Internet won’t work. You know, they killed my vlog. So much for the Constitution. You can’t convince me that any of them have ever read it—”
“Mom, stop it,” I ordered—more like chided. It was better to change the subject than feed her tirade. “Is Ella all right?”
Everything about Patricia changed in the blink of an eye. “Poor dear. She was overwhelmed by all of it. And when they didn’t release you when they released us, it terrified her.”
Damn. I would have given my right nut not to have had Ella see what went down at the mall. Unavoidable, but it didn’t make me regret the day less.
As we entered the house I noted it was uncharacteristically quiet. I glanced into the living room. Empty? Gashing panic shot through my veins. “Where is she? Mom, you didn’t call Lee—”
“Stop.” With viselike pressure, Mom’s hands closed on my forearms, preventing me from hauling ass to Ella’s bedroom. “It took me hours to get her calmed down and asleep. You are not barging in there and waking her. Leave her alone. She needs sleep.”
I must have calmed—it didn’t feel that way—because Patricia’s fingers stopped digging into my skin. “She’s here? She’s fine?”
“Yes,” Patricia assured me, slowly shaking her head in front of my face. “I would never let anything happen to my granddaughter. She’s safe—no thanks to the Feds—and asleep in her bed. Where she belongs. Thanks to you.”
She hugged my arm to her and planted a kiss on my cheek. The last of my flash anxiety drained out of me on a long, slow exhale. “Crud, what a day, Mom.”
Her lips puckered, the corners downward. “Well, no one ever said parenting would be easy. At least they didn’t to me.”
I stared at her, dumbfounded. That was Patricia’s takeaway line for shooting up a suburban mall? Exhaustion and just fuck-it laughter spurted out. “I need a drink.”
I untangled myself from her and headed to the kitchen, hearing her following behind.
“I called Leland when we got home,” she said to my back—oh fuck, this is going to be good—and instead of two fingers of scotch I poured four. “I used the landline. The Feds must have overlooked it when they jammed our technology. Probably because no one has one anymore, which is pretty much why I keep ours—”
OK, Mom, are you going somewhere with this anytime soon? Move on to the part I want to know: Leland.
“—I’ve been trying to reach him for hours. That girl loves her daddies, and since there was no telling when those bastards were going to let you go, I hoped talking to Lee would help her.”
Those bastards—again. Christ, that one I’d tackle in the morning. I frowned. “You couldn’t reach Lee? He didn’t answer his cell?”
Her brows shot up. “No. I must have called twenty times. I’m very persistent and steady in a crisis—”
Persistent? Understatement.
“—but I finally stopped calling him because I think not reaching him was worrying Ella. I decided the best course was to hole up and wait for you. What do we do now?”
I put the bottle of Jameson away and grabbed my glass. “Go to bed. It’s after midnight. That’s what I intend to do.” I dropped a kiss atop her head. “Go to bed, Mom.”
Halfway to my bedroom, I turned back to find Patricia standing in the doorway looking confused. I wasn’t sure about what and wasn’t going to ask her. “Hey, Mom. Thanks for today. I’m sorry I had to put you through that, but you are one hell of a kickass woman in an emergency. As good, if not better, than any man I’ve ever served with.”
Her eyes sparkled and her face glowed. “I’m the widow of a Marine and the mother of a war hero. They picked the wrong family to fuck with.”
I winced at the way she said fuck—I’d never heard her use that word before, indication that she still had combat adrenaline pumping through her veins—but I smiled also. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too, son.”
I quickly closed my bedroom door, set down my drink, and sank down on my bed. The way I felt, sleep would be impossible, and I was more than a little alarmed, considering the day’s events, that Patricia hadn’t been able to reach Lee by phone.
He was Ella’s father and deserved to know what had happened today. Still, I was dreading that call for a multitude of reasons.
My gaze did a lazy float around my bedroom. So the landline still worked, but there wasn’t a fucking extension in my room. No, not going back to the kitchen and making the Leland call in front of Patricia.
I took my cell from my pocket. No signal. Dead. Fuck you, FBI. Firing up my laptop, I waited for the programs to load. No Internet. Wi-Fi obliterated. I couldn’t even patch in and steal the signal from Skyler if I had the password.
Ah, Patricia wasn’t paranoid.
We were on cyberspace lockout.
Great.
Taking the grab bag of my gear from under my bed, I rummaged through the case and took out my burner cell. I was surprised when it fired up. Jena was right. The Feds were idiots. They’d disabled only the technology they knew about. Hadn’t gone to the effort of the high-tech option and jammed the signals in and out of the house. Went low-tech, shut off what our records showed we had, to save a buck, probably. What’s new?
I shot off a fast text to Jena—we need to talk— then punched in Lee’s number and listened to the rings. Voice mail? He never sent me to voice mail. True, it was the middle of the night, but we hadn’t talked today, and there was one thing I could always count on from my man: his taking my calls any time of the day or night.
I redialed and waited again. Nothing.
Cautioning myself against leaping to conclusions on the tail of a day when I didn’t need more shit to worry about, I attached the phone to the charger, took my drink, and stretched out on my bed.
Two days passed and that feeling that something wasn’t right became unshakable.
Between being kept prisoner in my home by the agent posted at the front door, and Leland MIA and out of phone contact, no one was going to make me believe everything was as it should be.
Not caring if it was irrational, I started robocalling my contacts. That Jena didn’t take my calls wasn’t a surprise at this point. She’d ignored me before the mall incident and told me to butt out. Then I called Jared and he was MIA, when he had nothing to do from eight to five but sit in that cushy leather office chair, shooting the shit by phone. I also struck out reaching my best friend, formerly under my command in the military and current Black Star employee, Dillon Warrick.
Then, on a whim, I phoned Jamal, another ex-military man who worked for me and was part of Dillon’s team at the gig providing security at Alan Manzone’s.
Voice mail. Again.
I could feel it. Something was pulling at me the way it did when it warned serious shit was about to go down. Yes, that might seem a giant leap of logic—going from not being able to phone a friend to having an impending danger alert—but, remember, some things you just know if you listen to your internal antennae.
After attempting to reach Jamal, I was in full-blown worry and confident I wasn’t being paranoid. It was the law of fours. First time something out of the ordinary happened it was a random occurrence. Twice it was a coincidence. Three times: a pattern. Four times: cause for alarm.
The pieces, not fully put together in my mind, were disturbing nonetheless: mall shooting; Leland off the grid; my closest associate at the CIA staying out of contact; and two of the five men—Dillon and Jamal—who made up my unit when I went out on contract for the CIA were missing as well.
I didn’t know how those four people fitted together—Leland was the odd man out—but I was positive they did, though I wasn’t sure for what or why.
On the third morning, I rose from my bed, done fucking around in a holding pattern obediently in my Newport Beach containment cell. I needed intel ASAP.
As I strode toward the kitchen, I admitted to myself—reluctantly—that I had only one next move: Skyler. Though I was sure God was messing with me that the doofus, ex-stalking cock too frequently lately was my only phone a friend.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
The world was out of whack when the only man I had on my team was Skyler. But I couldn’t deny that he could find out what I needed to know before you could say hacker, and he had the added benefit of living next door. Maybe the Fed would let me go there and not grow suspicious that I’d done it.
Oh, fuck it, I wasn’t letting the agent stop me.
I was momentarily diverted when I found my mother searching in the pantry, shoving things around and grumbling. Poking my head in, I asked, “Everything all right, Mom? What are you looking for?”
She halted, planted her hands on her hips, and her lips pursed into a hard line. “Anything. We’re practically out of everything. No coffee. Cereal. Milk. Flour for pancakes. If the FBI was going to put me on lockdown, the least they could have done was take me to the grocery store first, don’t you think? They treat the prisoners at Gitmo better than this.”
I did an alert study of the shelves. They looked well stocked to me, but what did I know? My gaze narrowed as my thoughts sharpened. “What do you need, Mom?”
She perked up. “Coffee, for starters.”
“Hand me the can.”
“No, I’ll write you a list if you’re going to make a jailbreak for the grocery run.”
Jailbreak—ah, no.
I leaned around her to get the can. “No jailbreak. I’ll just pop over to Sean’s and have him put some in this.”
My mom shook her head, aggravated. “Well, that’s good for us, but what about Ella? She’s out of milk.”
I headed to the door. “Write me a list. I’ll take it over tomorrow, but right now, the coffee will do.”
She glared at me. “Maybe for you, but what about your daughter? Poor nutrition is the leading cause of poor performance academically. Don’t you read parenting magazines? You need to know a lot, keep current, to raise a child.”
“I’ll get right on that, Mom, once I’ve fixed our problem with the food,” I replied over my shoulder and wondered if Patricia intended to follow me out onto the front porch.
Pausing at the door, I told her, “I’ll be back in five,” and was stunned that it worked. She returned to the kitchen.
The agent rose from his folding chair when he saw me. “Sorry, Captain, you know the drill. Can’t let you leave.”
I held up the can and pointed. “Listen, we’re out of everything. My mom is being difficult. Trust me, the best course for both of us is to let me get her some coffee. I’m just going next door to the neighbors.”
His gaze shifted to the can then back to my face. “I’ll do it.”
I laughed. “Fine, you leave the door unmanned and I won’t be responsible for what happens. I do know the drill, Agent King. I’ve followed the orders of my country my entire life. You’ve got no problem with me. However, my mother is another story.”
The moment that one hit him registered on his face.
Thank you, Patricia, for being you.
“Five minutes,” I added. “In and out. Coffee. If I’m not out in five, you can come in after me.”
Agent King took a moment to debate that.
He squared his shoulders and locked me in a hard glare. “You are back in the house in under five minutes or I’ll call the bureau and have them pick you up for a one-way trip to a holding cell.”
For what, Agent Dipshit? Going on a coffee run?
I had to force myself to nod compliantly, but it was insulting to be guarded by this FNG—and yes, I could tell he was a short-timer at the bureau otherwise this weak ploy wouldn’t have had a chance in hell of working.
“I’m just trying to keep my mom happy and from being too much of a problem for both of us.”
He checked his watch. “Five minutes, Captain.”
I marched down the pavement and cut across Sean’s yard. With a fist, I pounded loudly on the door. Couldn’t waste time. Agent Dipshit might really do something stupid like locking me up for being tardy. Clearly he hadn’t thought ahead and realized that would leave him alone dealing with Patricia…
The door was jerked open and there was Skyler.
Hallelujah—and fuck my life, but that was the word in my head when I saw him.
“What’s going on at your place?” he asked in an anxious rush. “I haven’t been able to reach Patty for days. Is she all right? Has something happened to her?”
His extreme concern was touching, annoying, and untimely. I brushed past him into the house. “Everything’s good. No time to explain. I have to be back inside my house in four hundred seconds.”
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes “This is a joke, right?”
“Do I look like I’m fucking joking?” I shoved the can into his hands. “Start filling that with coffee. I’ve got a list of things I need you to do. Whatever you’re working, you drop everything. This is top priority.”
He stared at me like I was talking gibberish. Worse, he had morning wood trying to pop through the slit in his boxers, telling me he’d just climbed from bed and would be less mentally quick than usual.
“Move to the kitchen. Now, Skyler. Fill the can.”
“You don’t have to be harsh,” he grumbled, but my tone of voice got him moving. “You’ve got a lot to learn about how friendship works, Graham.”
“And you’ve got a lot to learn about being an employee and following directions. But we can do that another time. You got something to write with and paper anywhere?”
He pointed at a drawer then leaned into the fridge. Post-it note and pen in hand, I scrawled out a list in priority order. Leland Jensen. Jena Garret. Jared Mathews. Dillon Warrick. Jamal Jabari…
“I need your magic hacking skills, Skyler. I want you to hack every account you can find belonging to anyone on this list. Then search the data using these words: Mexico. Grupo Azul. Cartels. Terrorist. Terrorism. Jihad. Drugs. Weapons. If you can figure out a way to get an eye in the sky on them, GPS, fucking anything, do it. Then crossmatch e-mails, phone records, anything against each other.”
He leaned over my shoulder, scanned the list, and his eyes went wide. “Jena Garret? You want me to hack into the CIA? Not doing it. Do it wrong, you end up disappearing.”
I moved my face within a breath of his and locked eyes. “You’re doing it. In fact, you’re doing nothing else until I pull you off this.”
He froze, like a deer in headlights, fixed on something on the page. Then he had that I’ve got a thought Skyler look about him. “Jared, huh?”
The way he said that ran like a nail down my spine. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His eyes continued to read—too slowly, I might add—and then I saw something in his expression that landed like a punch in my stomach.
He shook his head. “How did you know that Jared assembled a team and went out on a contract two days ago? He ordered me not to tell you. Did he call you? Has something gone wrong? Is that what this is about?”
A team?
A contract?
Oh no, that was why no one was in communication contact with me. Jena was in the field with my former Black Ops contract team for the CIA, and not only had she not told me, she didn’t want me to fucking know.
I seized Skyler by the shoulders and lifted him toward my face to focus on me. “What do you know?”
His brows furrowed. “Nothing. Only that every man on that list who works for Black Star shipped out with Jared.” His frown lowered. “Why the hell are you still here? Don’t you usually go out with that crew?”
“Listen, Skyler, this is critical. Don’t fuck it up. Get as much information as you can. Don’t try to call me. Don’t try to text. I’ll figure out a way to contact you so you can deliver whatever information you’re able to get.”
Releasing him, I did a fast check of my watch. Fuck, I was out of time. In fact, I was over.
“Fill that can now, Skyler. I gotta hotfoot it back home.”
Bag in hand, he searched under the counter and pulled a grinder from a cabinet.
Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.
“Just give me the coffee beans. I’ve got to go.”
When he didn’t immediately hand them over, I snatched them from him and hurried to the door.
“Listen. Learn. Remember, Skyler. Don’t try to contact me. I’ll contact you. And don’t fuck it up or we’re all going to disappear.”
I slammed the door behind me and sprinted to my porch, holding up the coffee beans and powering past Agent King and through my front door.
“Graham, is that you?”
“Yes, Mom. You can make coffee now.” I set the bag on the counter and promptly changed direction for my bedroom.
Pacing in a circle, I updated the status report in my head.
Leland was MIA, and I still wasn’t clear how he fitted into the Skyler intel, though I was positive he did.
Jared and the four other men from my team had been put on contract with the CIA for something by Jena Garret and I’d been deliberately left out of the loop. I also suspected Agent King was assigned to my house to sit on me and not Patty at Jena’s request.
Terrorists.
Cartels.
Leland.
My team.
CIA.
Me cut out of the assignment.
What the hell was going down?
This had to be about Lee.
He was in the CIA’s crosshairs.
My heart contracted as my stomach turned. Why else would Jena have excluded me? She didn’t want me in the way or trying to protect Leland.