Chapter Sixteen
In the morning, Maji felt like she’d been the one shot up with heroin and then brought back from the brink with Narcan. Everything ached, and her eyes felt gluey. Thank God for two days off from camp. Maybe she’d just float in the pool, staring up at the sky the way Rose sometimes did.
Rose’s gentle snoring prompted Maji to check her watch. Six a.m. She carefully rolled up her mat and sheet, tucked her pillow and bedroll under her arm, and slipped out of Rose’s room. No rest for the wicked, but maybe there was coffee.
As Maji walked into the kitchen, Tom looked up. “Wanna go for a run?”
“Nuh-uh,” she said and poured herself a cup of coffee. It tasted flat. She eyed the rarely used espresso machine but couldn’t work up the energy.
“How you sleeping these days?”
“Okay.” Though her sticky eyes told her she might have cried while sleeping. Still, at least no nightmares. The look on Tom’s face showed he wanted to ask more, but was holding back. “Well, as normal as on alert can be.”
“You really sleeping on her floor every night?” He blushed. “Ang said you’re by the door, asked if I knew why.”
Sweet Tom. Last thing he’d want was for her to think he was prying into her love life, or questioning her tactical decisions. She wondered which intrusion would bother him more. “Yes.” She peered into the fridge. “Why is there no half-and-half?”
“Frank missed the grocery run yesterday, in favor of that trip to the ER. He’s stable, might get released today.”
“Good. We know who did it yet?” Her money was on Ricky.
He shook his head. “Not yet. We got ears set up, but so far just the cops have been in. ’Course, Frank swears he was alone, and he can’t explain where the drugs went given the car was clean.”
“So it was a mean SOB who Frank will protect, even though they clearly fucked him up on purpose. That narrows it down.”
“Hey, you want some breakfast? I’ll make you something.”
She shook her head, and sat. “Not yet.”
“You need the calories, Ri.” To blend in as an average woman without all her muscles on display, he meant. “You were doing good there for a while.”
“Yeah, till I lost my appetite.” When she’d learned of Ava’s death, the high of being able to perform in the field again, having her strength and will back after months of recuperation, had vanished. “I’m working on it.”
“She eats all day long at the dojo,” Rose offered from the doorway. She had a light cotton robe on over the long T-shirt she wore to sleep in. “The host families rotate who brings snacks, and Hannah stocks the kitchen like she’s expecting a natural disaster.”
Maji realized she was staring and pulled her eyes away. Keeping the walls in place took too much energy, and her face was likely to telegraph how seeing Rose tousled and sleep kissed made her feel. She rolled her neck, stretching the tight tendons until a twinge made her wince.
Rose moved toward her, but Tom laid a hand on Maji’s shoulder before she was in touching range. “I got this,” he assured her. “Set up, Rios.”
Maji sighed. It was pointless to argue. “Fine.” She stood and flipped her chair around, then sat straddling the back, her forearms resting on the table. There were worse ways to start the day than a massage. “Just, go easy.”
“Right, then,” Rose said. “I’ll get the crepes started.”
Rose watched with satisfaction as Maji and Tom polished off an entire batch of crepes, with sausages and fruit and cheese sauce for fillings. She’d almost burned a few, keeping one eye on them as Tom worked his wide, powerful hands down Maji’s spine. The involuntary sounds Maji made as he released knots and found trigger points brought back memories Rose had worked hard to suppress. And if she didn’t know better, resentment. But that was ridiculous. Rose set two lattes before her guests—plain for Tom, and Maji’s with a sprinkle of cardamom.
“Thanks,” Maji said in her unfailingly polite way. But when she lifted it to sip, she frowned and set it down, looking almost alarmed.
Rose gaped. Were those tears? “I’m sorry,” she said. “Angelo said you liked cardamom.” She reached to take the mug back.
“No, it’s perfect. Really.” Maji squeezed the bridge of her nose, sniffing as if she could pull the tears back. Then she read the watch face under her wrist. “Shit. I gotta call Bubbles and cancel.”
“Don’t you dare,” Rose said before she had time to censor herself.
Tom gave her a look of approval. “We got things covered here,” he agreed. “Catch a break while you can, dude.”
“Maybe next weekend.” Maji sipped the latte calmly, her game face back on.
Rose’s temper flared. “Maybe,” she said, “you need a friend today. Maybe you are human, and last night was horrible. Maybe you want to be ready every minute for the next horrible thing.” She paused and steadied herself. “But I’m sure you’ll handle whatever it is better if you let yourself catch that break today. Dude.”
Based on the look that passed between Tom and Maji, Rose had only managed to amuse them both. Tom said something to Maji in Arabic, and her hint of a smile faded.
“You want to say that in English, akhi?” She looked at Rose. “Sorry. You’re probably right, but I can’t just waltz out the front door on my own today. It would look bad.”
Tom smiled conspiratorially at Rose. “I said we got you covered. I moved your bike off the grounds last night, to a spot you can reach without the cameras picking you up.”
“Sounds like another parkour lesson,” Rose said. Maji didn’t smile at that, but at least she didn’t argue.
Maji caught her breath in the boathouse. Following Tom’s directions brought her to the cool, dim interior in only a few minutes. She’d not realized how easy it could be to circumvent the security cameras, if you thought about it from an infiltrator’s perspective. And she’d do just that later today, sneaking back in. Then have a chat with Angelo about tightening up security. For now, she took stock of the building. It was uninsulated, just a wooden shell to keep rain or snow off any boats and gear inside. Neatly coiled lines lay by the cleats closest to the pulled-down garage door that stopped two feet above the waterline. Miscellaneous boating gear—life jackets and spare line, predominantly—hung between the support beams that tied the roof and exterior walls together. And overhead, crossbeams with an occasional square of plywood. If you put a ladder up, it would be a handy place to store larger items. Maji wondered if the building had been used for more than an occasional visit from Uncle Lupo and his motor yacht, back when the Benedetti family was intact.
Making sure not to get her riding boots wet, Maji swung herself around the outside edge of the chain-link fence at the property’s edge. She landed next door, still shielded from the security cameras by the boathouse. Much too easy. They should put a perimeter alarm in the area.
She found her bike in the underbrush, her helmet and a spare clipped on. Who did Tom think she would take with her? Rose came immediately to mind, and Maji mentally praised her teammate. Push came to shove, this would be an excellent extraction route. She started the electric motor and drove nearly silently to the property’s back entrance to the road, escape scenarios flowing through her mind.
On her approach, Bubbles’s place looked exactly as it always had—cozy, and well-kept by the estate’s owners, old friends of Hannah and Ava. The little guest cottage tucked out of sight of the road enjoyed easy beach access and a water view. But strangers would never find it, and it didn’t exist as a separate address. Maji wondered if Rey, like Bubbles, would have his mail delivered to a PO box in town. Might be a wise choice for an FBI agent.
Inside, the house looked the same, only slightly cluttered now with the addition of Rey’s belongings. Maji sat next to Bubbles on the little slipcovered sofa, paging through three photo albums of Rey’s family, the four abuelos and five sets of tíos and primos, Rey’s brother and two sisters, and so many of the siblings’ and cousins’ children that Maji lost count.
When Maji yawned, Bubbles asked, “Are you bored? We can stop.”
“No, it’s great. Just a rough night.” Maji thought about telling her friend about Frank, but decided against it. She was already worried enough about Rose. “I’m happy for you. Looks like your dream family.”
“And they all live close enough for holidays together,” Bubbles agreed, a note of wonder in her voice. “They have these huge, buffet-style meals where they run out of chairs—it’s crazy.”
“And you, the poor gringa in the middle of the chaos. They make you sit on the floor? No, wait, I know—they fight over who gets to fuss over you.”
Bubbles bumped her playfully, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the couch. “Brat. How’d you know? The tías are the worst. They drag me into the kitchen to roll tamales and make me eat all day long. Even you would gain weight.”
“Viva tamales! But I’d have to sneak outside, go look at the primos’ low riders.” She’d been fussed over this morning almost more than she could handle. A houseful of loving aunts and grandmas would be overwhelming in about five minutes. “What about Rey? Does he join you? You said he’s gone a lot.”
Maji felt her friend’s shoulder lift. “He is. Sometimes he works holidays, and a lot of weekends, too. But when he’s home, he’s a hundred and ten percent. And he won’t be a Fed forever.”
“No?”
“He’s got some feelers out. Other kinds of work. I just don’t want him to grab something easier to make me happy, and then feel stuck in some boring cubicle land, or something.”
Maji remembered what Rey had said about the day-to-day feeling…flat after his tour of duty. She nodded. “Smart to not push him.”
Bubbles snorted. “You trained me.” She jumped up and pulled Maji after her by the hand. “C’mon. I’ll show you the patio we put in.”
By sundown, they were pretty much caught up. Watching the sun turn the undersides of the clouds over the Sound pink and orange, feet dangling off the dock, they sat quietly.
“Thanks for coming,” Bubbles said, looping one arm through Maji’s and scooting closer to her. “I half expected you to cancel. Not that I’d blame you wanting some alone time with Rose.”
“We avoid alone time.” Maji wished like hell she could tell Bubbles the whole story. “And Rose insisted I come see you.” She paused. “Don’t tell her, but I won’t risk coming back here.”
“Your friend Angelo’s in some serious shit, huh?”
Maji chuckled. “Yeah. You could say that.”
“But you’ve got his back.”
“Best I can. There’s only so much I can do.”
“You know, Rey might be able to help. I could ask him.”
“No. Seriously, Bubs—no.”
The silence stretched out, and the deepening blue of the sky turned to purple. It was cooling off, but Maji didn’t want to move. Behind them was Bubbles’s little hideaway, now a home for two, and their grown-up lives. Out here they could still be fourteen, sixteen, eighteen. For just a few more minutes, she could hold on to the feeling of peace, and forget the changes 9/11 had wrought.
“Maj?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Don’t get yourself hurt again, okay?”
The spell broken, Maji pushed up from the dock and offered Bubbles a hand. “I’ll do my best.”
Bubbles rocked herself up by their clasped hands and looked her in the eye. “Rose will be okay, right?”
“I’d rather she was off in some safe house. But, you know.”
“That she’s got you whipped? It’s pretty obvious.” Bubbles smiled and danced back, out of Maji’s reach. When Maji just stood stiffly, she dropped the act. “Oh, come on. It’s about time somebody got to you. Hell, if I was sleeping with her, I’d be whipped, too.”
“It’s not like that. We’re not even dating.”
“No, you’re just living together.” Bubbles searched Maji’s face. “And didn’t you…you know, that first night?”
Maji sighed. “I went home with her, yeah. Now it’s different. All that counts is keeping her safe.”
“Safe from who? Them, or you?” Bubbles’s look reminded her how pointless it was to bullshit her best friend.
But both were true, really. “From any and all threats. I can keep her alive, but I can’t make her happy.” Maji pushed past a worried-looking Bubbles and headed for the cottage.
Inside, they found Rey standing at the kitchen counter, eating the rest of the dinner that she and Bubbles had thrown together earlier. He didn’t look pleased to see Maji.
“Hey,” she said. “Don’t worry. I was careful getting here, and I won’t be back.”
He nodded. “Good call.” He smiled at his wife, in the doorway behind her. “Hey, guapa. Thanks for supper.”
“You’re home!” She gave him a hug and a kiss. “Can you stay awhile?”
“I got tonight and tomorrow off. Didn’t know you had company.”
Maji gathered from his tone that Bubbles still didn’t bring friends home. Or maybe it was just disapproval—he couldn’t know how careful she’d been to ensure no one tailed her. “Well, I gotta scoot. One of these days we’ll all hang out, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Bubbles echoed, squeezing her husband as she looked up at him. “And you have to meet Rose, too.”
“I’ll try, baby.” Rey kissed her by the ear, apparently unfazed by the stink eye he got for not agreeing outright. “You know I want to.”
But, Maji thought, that could blow his cover. When Rose meets you, best she has no idea that you’re mixed up in the mission, too. Her respect for Rey rose another notch. And with it, a touch of envy. He could work undercover, come home to his wife, and manage to keep her safe. And happier than Maji had ever seen her. She looked away, almost embarrassed to intrude.
Bubbles pushed away from Rey and shook her head. “You two are so alike. Can’t live with you, can’t shoot you.”
“You missed another fabulous meal, courtesy of our private chef,” Tom said to Maji as she entered the living room.
Rose looked up from her book. “I made them prep and clean up, promise. No spoiling the crew.” Barefoot, with her legs stretched nearly the length of the couch, Rose looked content.
“Good.”
“You’re glad you went, aren’t you.” Rose delivered the nonquestion with a pleased look, and Maji felt herself color. Damn Bubbles for being right—Rose did get to her. And she liked it.
“Well, I’m going up,” Tom announced, rising and heading for the stairs. “Gotta get some rack time in before my watch.”
Rose laid her book down and drew her long, tanned legs up on the cushions, leaving room for Maji to sit.
Maji glanced at the armchair Tom had just vacated, then took the open spot on the couch. She draped an arm over the back of the plush cushions, making the cotton of her T-shirt stretch across her chest. Suddenly self-aware of her braless breasts outlined so clearly, she put her hand back down. It came to rest on Rose’s foot. “So, what’d you make? For dinner.”
As Rose described the meal, Maji stroked her foot lightly, almost absentmindedly. Rose’s breath caught and Maji froze. “Sorry, I wasn’t—”
“Censoring yourself?” Rose looked wryly sympathetic. “I never asked you to. So stop or go, but don’t tease me.” She lifted her foot and placed it in Maji’s lap.
Maji looked at the foot, up the bare calf to Rose’s top and shorts, and finally at her face. It didn’t hold any recrimination, and no challenge. She wasn’t being played. What the fuck are you doing, Rios? “I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted, feeling as scared as she sounded.
“Why should you? It’s a ridiculous situation, playing pretend every day.” Rose pressed her instep into the denim on Maji’s thigh and gave her a friendly nudge. “You should have a few minutes now and then to just be yourself. For sanity’s sake.”
Maji exhaled and gave her a crooked grin, then started kneading Rose’s foot. “Who said I was sane?” She worked the tiny muscles under her fingers on autopilot. “I left my family and my friends, a nearly finished master’s degree, and a job offer from the UN. All because the Army convinced me that I could help people. Uniquely fucking qualified.”
Rose blinked, looking like the profanity cut through the pleasure of the foot rub. “And did you? Help people?”
Maji thought about the ops she’d worked, the dozens of individuals she had extracted from places and situations that would surely have killed them. She could remember all their faces, all their names. Right up until that last night in Fallujah. Her hands kept moving of their own accord. “Yes. I did.”
“Because you can,” Rose said, with Hannah’s words but also, what? A tinge of sadness? Or understanding?
Maji set Rose’s foot back across her lap and met her eyes. “Because I could.”
“If you’re not sure you can anymore, you should talk to someone. Maybe Hannah?”
Maji’s eyes prickled, and she looked down, noticed Rose’s other foot, and placed a hand on it. “I was counting on more time with Ava.” She shook her head to clear her fugue and gave Rose an apologetic half smile. “Other foot?”
Rose gave her a teasing look, half sultry, half playful. “You make this one feel as good as the other one, and I’ll show you where I hid the last piece of tiramisu.”
“You made tiramisu? From scratch?”
Rose smiled again, eyes twinkling. “Baked the cake, brewed the espresso, whipped the mascarpone. I did not milk the cow, I admit. Don’t tell Martha Stewart.”
“Oh. My. God.” Maji closed her eyes and waved her fork like a conductor. “You get tired of teaching, you could be a chef, you know.”
Rose sipped a glass of red wine, shook her head, the smile in just her eyes. “Too much work, and takes all the fun out of cooking. I’d rather only feed people to show my love, like a good Italian mama.”
Maji looked at her speculatively, no quip to keep the banter light. Rose blushed, and blinked. “Speaking of which, how’s Bubbles doing? I know Ava’s loss was hard on her, but I hate to bring it up at the dojo.”
“Yeah. It’s been a rough ride for her and Hannah both. I wish I’d come home sooner.”
“Well, you’re here now. You’ll be here when Bubbles needs Aunt Maji on hand, right?”
Maji nearly dropped her fork. “What?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Bubbles said something about having to take a break from teaching when she gets pregnant. I got the impression they were trying. I may have misunderstood, of course.”
Maji looked pensive, ran her fork around the plate and licked it clean. “No, I bet you’re right. It just didn’t come up.” Why? Because I’ll be gone again by then?
“Do you think they’ll name it Maji,” Rose asked, “if it’s a girl?”
Maji twisted around to look at her. “Why? Did she say something?”
“No, sorry—I was joking. I get a little silly about babies. Seems like all my friends are having them.”
Maji cocked her head. “Did you hear that?”
“What?” Rose followed Maji’s gaze, wariness clouding her features.
“I swore I heard a loud ticking.” Maji gave her an impish look. “Could it be a biological clock?”
Rose straightened up on her kitchen stool, set her wineglass aside. “I’m not your girlfriend, remember? Let’s stick to safe ground, like Bubbles and Rey.” She slid smoothly off the stool, walked her wineglass to the dishwasher, then paused. “I forgot. Angelo asked me to tell you. See him in the morning. Something about Hannah contracting with a reporter. Does that sound right?”
Maji’s face went blank. “No, it doesn’t. Are you sure?”
Rose thought a second, brows drawn. “Maybe it was bringing that journalist on board. Could he mean the one you all got captured trying to rescue?”
“Definitely not.”