“What?”
“She’s half my age, she’s Buck’s little sister, and as soon as I possibly can, I’m leaving.”
“That’s three things, and here’s the way I see it. First, she isn’t half your age unless she looks really old for seventeen.”
“It would be eighteen, asshole, and she’s twenty-one.”
“So legal. Way beyond legal, actually.”
“If three years is way beyond.”
“Second, Buck didn’t seem the slightest bit fazed when I asked who the woman was I saw coming out of your cabin.”
“Because he knew she was delivering supplies.”
“Right. And third,”—he waved his arm in the direction of the view—“this place is un-fucking-believably beautiful. Where are you in such a hurry to go?”
“I’d like to be a free man at some point in my life, Cope.”
“I hear you there.”
I looked over and saw Buck was back inside, talking to Decker, and Ali was head-to-head with Stella. “We should join them.”
Cope got right to the point when we did. “I’m still not following how this directly connects to Fisk,” he said. “Or how you’re linking Kerr to Barb’s murder.”
“I located travel records indicating Kerr flew from London to New York City two days before Stella found Barb dead,” I told him.
“I’ve been watching facial recognition feeds,” added Decker. “So far, I haven’t gotten any hits, but Kerr would know how to avoid being picked up.”
“Are you saying we don’t presently know Kerr’s whereabouts?” Cope asked.
“That’s correct,” answered Decker. “Although we have reason to believe he hasn’t left the States.”
Cope stood and walked around the table. “Unless anyone here objects, I’m going to go to Money McTiernan with this.” He turned to Stella. “That’s if you truly believe your aunt has the evidence you think she does.”
Stella’s mouth opened and shut.
“Asshole,” I muttered on her behalf.
“Well?” Cope asked.
“It’s either in the safe-deposit box or whoever killed her took it,” she said, standing and walking over to the window.
“I’m not involving Money unless we’re sure.”
Ali reached over and put her hand on her husband’s arm. During Cope’s original investigation, it was Money who’d brought in Ali, a CIA internal affairs officer, to determine whether Cope was also a double agent working with me.
Once Money found out the nature of the mission we’d conducted on our own and that we suspected Fisk of leading a ring of double agents responsible for the deaths of some of the CIA’s best operatives, he backed us with the full force of the agency, all under the auspice of internal affairs—which was how he was able to hide it from Fisk. Not to mention with support from the Senate Intelligence Committee, chaired by none other than Cope’s father, Henry Clay Copeland, Senior Senator from the State of Louisiana.
I knew none of this at the time, of course.
If Cope planned to take this to Money, it had to also mean he hoped to secure funding to keep the mission going—something his senator father would certainly approve.
“No objections?” Cope asked. When no one spoke up, he continued. “Deck, err…and Stella, do you have the next steps determined?”
Stella looked at me.
“What?” I asked.
“What happened with China?”
“What about them?”
“You were on trial for spying for them. Was that part of the cover?”
I looked at Cope and then Deck. “They’re pretty easy to make a scapegoat for just about anything,” I said.
“To confirm, there was never an official connection to China?”
“Nothing concrete enough to base a case on. That doesn’t mean they weren’t somehow involved,” said Cope, putting her off as easily as I had. It had become second nature to us both. Our suspicions about China, and maybe even Saint and Dr. Benjamin, hadn’t changed, but like he said, we couldn’t make a strong enough connection to do anything about it.
We talked more about Interpol’s current executive committee, agreeing to continue researching their backgrounds as well as their known affiliations in intelligence.
I felt a migraine coming on. I’d give anything to return to my cabin and sleep. When I closed my eyes momentarily and thought about it, I realized that more than sleep, I wanted to see Flynn.
26
Flynn
I had absolutely no reason to feel guilty about the conversation I’d had with Paxon earlier, but I did. I drove up to the cabins, but one of the men standing watch told me the meetings were still going on.
I noticed one of the other guys near the grill. “Do you need any help with that?” I asked, walking over to see what he was cooking.
“We’ve got steaks, chops, and chicken.”
“What are you serving with it?”
The man at the grill looked at the other guy, and they both shrugged.
“Tell you what, I’ll go to the dining hall and bring back some stuff to go with all that meat.”
I was loading everything when my cell buzzed with a text.
I’m sorry I screwed up.
Reading Paxon’s words almost brought me to tears. He’d tried to apologize several times, and while I’d said I accepted it, I really hadn’t. And why not? I was dancing with another guy when he left—even if it was just Paco, who was practically like another brother to me. If he’d done the same thing to me, I probably would’ve left too.
I’m sorry I screwed up too, I texted back.
You’re forgiven.
So are you. BTW, I’m on my way there now.
Can’t wait to see you.
When I walked in, our eyes met, and we both smiled. I wished so much that I could sit down and eat with them or, better yet, that he and I could leave and go someplace we could talk.
I’d just gotten to the dining hall when my cell phone rang.
“Where’d you run off to?” Paxon asked.
“You looked busy.”
“Not busy anymore.”
“No?”
“I was hoping we could talk, Flynn.”
“I’d like that. Where?”
“Easiest if you come to me. If you don’t mind.”
I was in my work clothes, my hair was its usual mess, and I probably smelled like potato salad. “Give me an hour?”
“See you then.”
27
Irish
There was no question whether what I was
