On her second pass down the aisle, a flight attendant had handed Randall an envelope addressed to him; inside, a note from Chase telling Randall how good it had been to once more work with him. At the end of the letter was a request to pass along the CIA man’s phone number to Faith.
“I love you like a brother, Chase,” Randall had mumbled to himself. In the next breath, he crinkled the note while regarding Faith. “But there’s no way I’d let you anywhere near a woman I cared about.”
After the threesome’s jet had landed at Ronald Reagan Airport, they then relinquished custody of Michael Crane to a team of agents from three different agencies—the Marshals Service, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and Homeland Security.
Not knowing how deep loyalties for the former deputy director were within the Marshals Service, and not wanting to risk another escape attempt, Deputy Director Thorn had set up the joint detention detail.
For the returning trio, the remainder of the morning had consisted of debriefings and periods of waiting at district headquarters while Thorn had worked with officials higher up the command chain to keep relations with Norway running smoothly.
At noon, after having accepted a dinner invitation from Devlin, Randall and Faith had left the government building to find hotel rooms and get some sleep while Devlin had gone home to her family.
Her stocking feet transitioning from carpeting to hardwood flooring, Cassandra never slowed.
“Who the heck,” wearing her brown hiking boots with blue jeans, a baggy, dark-colored t-shirt draped over the Colt 1911 on her hip, Faith scooped up her niece, “are you?”
Cassandra beamed. “I’m Cassie.”
Faith shook her head. “I don’t think so. The Cassie I know isn’t as big as you. You must be what...ten years old?”
The youngster whipped her head back and forth several times.
“Nine?”
Another shake of the head.
“Eight?”
“I’m,” five tiny fingers on one hand and an index finger from the other shot into the space between the two females, “six.”
“Six, huh? Well, you’re a very mature girl for only being six.”
Pouting, “I missed you, Antie Fay,” Cassandra laid her head on Faith’s shoulder.
Her heart melting at how her name had been pronounced, a holdover from when her niece had started speaking, a holdover that had since taken root, “Aw,” Faith patted Cassandra on the back, “I missed you, too, Squirt.”
Standing just inside the doorway, on Faith’s nine o’clock, Randall smiled at the heartwarming display. Good with children, too.
“There’s my baby girl.”
At the sound of a familiar voice, Faith pivoted away from Randall.
Still wearing his work attire, black pants, black shirt, and black shoes, the sixty-one-year-old Martin Mahoney kissed his daughter on the cheek before hugging her and his granddaughter at the same time. “I’m so glad to see you, sweetheart.” He pulled away to regard Faith. “When are you moving back to Alexandria?”
Her shoulders slouching, she lifted a corner of her mouth. “Come on, Dad. I just...”
Closing the door, Randall frowned at the older man’s Roman collar and white clerical tab. Dad?
“...walked through the door. You have all night to lay that guilt trip on me.”
The Catholic priest grinned. “I like getting early starts.”
She nodded. “Uh-huh.”
Beaming, Ashford emerged from the kitchen while stripping off a red-checkered apron to reveal a white dress shirt and black tactical pants. “Hey Faith.”
She faced him. “Hey Curt.”
Sporting a matching apron over a black, knee-length dress, Devlin followed her husband into the living room, stopping when she noticed Randall. Her focus went from him to her sister. How nice? She came WITH him.
Ashford curled his left arm around Faith’s shoulders and gave her a half hug while planting a kiss on her cheek. “You can’t simply drop by for a visit, can you? You have to get kidna—” he eyed his stepdaughter who knew nothing about her aunt’s ordeal, “you have to get involved in some drama, don’t you?”
Faith nudged him with her shoulder. “I like to make an entrance.”
“That you do.” Ashford pecked the side of her head and rubbed a hand up and down her back. “It’s good to see you’re all right, Faith.”
“Thanks Curt.”
Mahoney and Ashford turned toward the third man.
Devlin and Faith followed suit a moment later.
Randall’s gaze went from Devlin to Faith to Devlin again before he stepped forward. “Well,” he glanced at the women, “since neither of you are going to introduce me,” he stuck out a hand toward the eldest man, “I’m Noa—”
“I’m so sorry. What am I thinking?” Devlin ducked out of the apron and tossed it over a chair before skirting around Ashford and taking him by the elbow. “Dad, Curt,” she motioned, “this is Noah Randall. Noah,” she faced Mahoney, “this is my father, Martin. And this,” she laid a hand on her mate’s left pectoral muscle, “is my husband, Curt.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, son.” Mahoney clasped the newcomer’s hand.
“Likewise,” Randall hesitated while spying the man’s Roman collar, Father? Martin? Mr. Mahoney? “sir.”
“Martin...please.”
“Thank you.” Randall pivoted his hand toward the other male.
Ashford seized the man’s proffering. “You can call me Mister Ashford.”
Randall’s eyebrows ticked higher.
Devlin playfully smacked her husband on the arm. “Oh, stop it.” She faced her work partner. “He’s kidding. Call him Curt.”
Unconvinced, Randall withdrew his hand from Ashford’s. In the next instant, Randall glanced down and gestured toward his clothing. “Thanks for picking these up for me. I appreciate it.”
Ashford shrugged a shoulder before tipping his head toward his wife. “What she wants...she gets.”
Devlin turned her back on Randall to have a two-second nonverbal conversation with her man.
Ashford’s features softened, and he tossed a truncated nod in Randall’s direction. “You’re welcome.”
After an awkward moment, Randall aimed two index fingers at the girl in Faith’s arms. “And this must be the lovely Cassandra that I’ve heard so many wonderful things about.” He held out a hand. “I’m Noah.”
The young one brought her arms in close and nuzzled deeper into her aunt’s body.
Devlin’s voice went lower. “Cassie.”
Hearing
