The Fixer

by Jessica Gadziala

  That was it.

  Otherwise, he was a rock.

  "We have a problem," Miller said, jerking her chin to the hall as she waved the keycard to her room around, making Lincoln and I move to follow, all of us almost running into Smith as we moved into the hall.

  There was tension in him as well, a ticking of the muscles in his jaw, a metal rod in his spine.

  It seemed that Miller was the only one holding it fully together. And I think I knew why.

  "Alright," she announced as we moved into her room across the hall, her clothes scattered about the bed, makeup all over the counters in the bathroom. She might have been a certified badass, but she was a girls-girl through and through. "So, we now have two clients," she announced, reaching into her pocket, pulling out a folded, well-worn and soft piece of paper, one that had been kept inside a pocket for a while.

  I reached for it, unfolding it, and found two words inside.

  Help me.

  "The wife," I guessed, looking up at her, feeling my body go tense as well.

  "She handed it off to Kai after she was paraded around with all her many, many bruises. And, judging by the way she was folded to one side, a few busted ribs as well."

  Shit.

  Well, that explained it.

  Kai felt guilty for leaving her there, for allowing her to stay even five more minutes with her abusers.

  But this, this was tricky fucking business.

  Getting them to stop trying to kill Fenway was going to be hard enough, but likely could be accomplished if there was enough money thrown at the whole thing. The same went for the guy who owned the yacht. And the cops in the town where he crashed it.

  But this?

  This was going to be a long-game kind of project.

  We would have to handle the Fenway situation, then pretend like it was over, let them let their guards down.

  And then we would have to set up an extraction.

  This went from a two-week project that was pretty cut-and-dry to a month or more one that was going to be ugly, messy, and require we fly in Finn and maybe even Ranger, as much as he would kick and scream about it.

  Honestly, we needed Gunner too. But I couldn't leave Jules to hold down the fort and babysit Fenway.

  We would need guns and city plans and a fuckload of surveillance equipment.

  Luckily, we were smack dab in the middle of a country filled with ex-KGB operatives who would sell anything to someone whose pockets ran deep enough.

  "We have to get her out," Smith said, voice steel.

  My eyes went over to Miller, finding her face somewhat impassive.

  See, the men freaked when they saw a woman battered and abused. As they should. As I would expect from the kind of men I employed.

  But it had always been different with Miller and Jules.

  They hadn't gone red with rage when a client came in beaten and crying and begging for help. They didn't pace like wild animals, just waiting for the chance to go off and exact justice.

  There was always an almost troubling calmness to them in the face of a battered woman.

  Once, about a year into taking her on the team, I asked Miller about it.

  "To you, this is shocking," she had said, shaking her head at me. "Men using their strength against women. As it should be. You are good men. You abhor the idea of someone attacking someone weaker than yourselves. But you have to understand, Quin, none of this is fucking shocking to us. Women. We take runs and carry sticks to beat off anyone who might jump out of the woods. We keep keys between our fingers when we walk to our cars because any man we pass could turn into a predator, could try to make us their prey. From the moment we become aware of the fact that we have, historically, been open game for the male sex, it is something we have to constantly think about. Should we go into that bathroom in the movie theater when the movie lets out after-hours? What if someone is hiding in one of the stalls? Was that just the house settling, or was someone outside my window? You get to walk this earth not constantly worried that someone will attack and rape you. We don't get that luxury. So when it happens, because we know it could happen at any time, it doesn't surprise us. It is a grim, ugly reality we are aware of daily."

  "What do you have to say?" I asked her when she said nothing about the wife.

  "I say it is the right thing to do. But that we don't go into this half-cocked. I know Kai wants to charge in there tomorrow, guns blazing, and get her out. But, honestly Quin, the abuse is likely long-standing. I think that was how she saw Fenway as an escape. I'm sure it is worse now with the betrayal. But I'm sure she can withstand it for a few weeks while we get a real, concrete plan in place that doesn't end up with half of us dead by Russian bodyguards."

  I took a breath, nodding. There was one thing you could count on Miller for, and that was a level head.

  "Alright, well, then we stay here until the Fenway deal is done," I agreed, looking around at the team. "Then we need to find a place to rent out with no questions asked. We need to find supplies. And we need to get Finn and Ranger here. Once the Fenway deal is over, it needs to look like we left the country. They need to go back to their status quo. Then we can go in. I hope no one had any plans for Christmas."

  That was more or less a joke.

  None of us had any plans for any holiday.

  What little family we had between the lot of us generally didn't want us at their dinner tables. And that was okay. That was the life we chose.

  "Christmas in Russia," Miller mused, sighing out her breath. "Well, at least it will be a white Christmas. And New Year. And fucking Easter."

  "Who is going to talk to Kai?" Smith asked, jerking his head toward my room across the hall.

  "It'd be the perfect job for Jules," Miller suggested, smile pulling slightly at her lips. "But since she's not around, I will do it. It might sound better coming from me," she announced, moving past me, swiping my keycard out of my breast pocket as she did so.

  "This is going to be one for the books," Lincoln announced, moving to pile all Miller's shit to one side of the bed so he could sit down.

  It would, too.

  Luckily, we came into the country with fake IDs and passports claiming we were from Florida. It might not work forever. The cover likely wouldn't hold up to too much scrutiny.

  But, if we were going to do this right, that meant we were going to have to clean house.

  Meaning everyone inside the Korol compound would likely end up in a bath of lye before New Years. If anyone was left alive, they could come digging. If they dug deep enough for long enough, they would find us. And that was something we couldn't allow.

  "Doing a lot of good this year," Lincoln added, fiddling with some torture-looking device he found on Miller's nightstand. Chicks with their beauty gadgets. "I don't think I have ever known you to be quite so philanthropic, Boss."

  He wasn't wrong.

  This was my business, first and foremost.

  I did it because I was good at it.

  And because it made me a shitton of money.

  I did things here and there when they crossed my path for the greater good, but no one would call me some white knight sweeping in to save the world.

  "Think maybe your time with Aven has softened that cold heart of yours, man," Lincoln added, smirking.

  Lincoln, a lover of women, an unapologetic serial dater, looked a lot harder than he was. In reality, he was the kind of fuck to hold your purse while you tried on clothes. Without complaining. While the rest of us, thus far, have proven pretty committed to non-commitment with the opposite sex - Miller and Jules included - Lincoln had had half a dozen girlfriends in the two years since I took him on.

  If I wanted just a fuck, I would have a fuck. I don't want that. I want someone in my bed when I get home who gives a shit about my hard day. Someone who'll make me pancakes on my birthday.

  That was what he'd told Gunner when he'd been ribbing him about his latest breakup, none of his women ever able to put up with his li
festyle, his erratic schedule, the worry, for more than a few weeks or months. He took the breakups well, seemingly maybe liking the idea of a girl more than the actual girls themselves, jumping from one breakup into the next relationship without really doing any mourning.

  There's gonna be a woman someday, Lincoln, that is going to make you do a full-stop. And, what's the best part, she isn't going to fall at your feet like all these others. I can't wait to watch you have to work for it, Miller had teased him when she rolled her eyes at him announcing a new girl just two weeks after the last one took all her shit back. And I would bet good money that she won't even know how to cook pancakes.

  "Don't be ridiculous," I said, shaking my head.

  Me, soft-hearted.

  No one would ever claim that.

  Least of all my team.

  Lincoln said nothing but shot a raised-brow look my way before I turned to leave.

  It wasn't until later that night, Miller convincing Kai to go back to his own room, that my mind was quiet again.

  And when it was quiet, it seemed, she found room to sneak in.

  It was better this way.

  Gunner was right.

  I had no business going there with her.

  I had never been the kind of man who wasn't able to control himself before.

  But I hadn't been able to with her.

  And as I loosened my tie, and dropped down in bed, a whiskey sitting on my knee, my phone seemed to taunt me from the nightstand.

  Before I could think about it, and therefore talk myself out of it, my hand reached for it, scrolling through the contacts, going for Aven's entry, both her burner and her personal cell listed. I had no idea what kind of time was left on the burner, so I hit her personal one instead.

  You didn't say goodbye. - Q

  It seemed to take hours for the response, but it was maybe only a few minutes, but in that time I realized that while its was only around eight in Moscow, it was closing in on noon back in Navesink Bank.

  - You were busy.

  Not that busy. I came up to talk to you, and Gunner was stripping the bed.

  - Hold on. Let me let that image sink in for a minute. How is Russia?

  - Fucking cold. Vodka everywhere. It's a nightmare.

  Send some snow this way. I've been waiting. Wearing my pajamas inside out and everything.

  Alone in a hotel room in Russia of all places, I felt a smile pulling at my lips, realizing it was another small piece of her I wouldn't get otherwise.

  My fingers hesitated over my keypad, not sure what to say, not sure what there even was to say.

  Gunner shouldn't have told you to get lost.

  - While I completely believe he is capable of being that brash, he actually made some good points. And I knew that what you had going on was pressing.

  Pressing, yeah, but we had some shit we needed to discuss.

  - What? Just because we slept together? I'm a grown woman, Quin. And, contrary to what you might think of me, I'm not naive either. I knew exactly what I was getting myself into with you.

  I never called you naive.

  It actually bothered me that she thought I would think that of her, when in reality, all my thoughts that pertained to her were positive. She had been resilient and strong and determined. She hadn't completely lost her shit in the middle of a situation that would make anyone feel like the world was spinning off its axis. Hell, even with a busted face, she found reason to laugh and smile. She was stronger than she gave herself credit for. And I had never thought anything less than that.

  - Why are you texting me, Quin?

  That was blunt for her. I wondered if it was simply the wall that was up thanks to communicating in a way that allowed you time to gather your thoughts. Or if maybe she was simply a little off-put, no matter her claims to the contrary, and it was making her more bold.

  Unfortunately, I didn't have a good answer for her.

  That's a good question.

  And that was it for the night.

  I wondered if when she climbed in her tub or onto her couch later - because I doubted she had graduated back to her bed yet - if she could get any sleep.

  Me, I didn't get a wink.

  And it was a habit that lasted for the next week.

  Once plans were underway, there was no time for luxuries like rest. We had to perform a military-style operation on foreign soil without getting killed or caught. This was, undoubtedly, one of the most dangerous operations in any of our careers.

  Occupied as I was, my hand twitched toward my phone in those minutes right before sleep, wanting to check in, wanting to keep contact, despite knowing it was a bad idea.

  It wasn't until eight days had passed when I finally scrolled through my contacts to her name.

  It was a shit day.

  Miller had Sergai Korol screaming in her face for hours, making her come back pissed off and in a drinking mood. Kai had been sullen, telling me that the wife had been paraded around them again, likely with new injuries to report.

  And on top of that, Fenway was pissed at their demands. The man might have made a fortune, but he didn't stay rich by dolling out double-digit millions to some greedy Russians.

  We were at a standstill with negotiations.

  And we were already into the first week of December.

  It was going to be a long month.

  Or more.

  And it was weighing on me.

  I guess I just needed something good.

  And that something, for me, was her voice.

  As cheesy as that shit was.

  "'Ello?" she grumbled, voice groggy, only half-focused, prompting me to glance over at the clock on the TV. If it was almost 5AM here, it was only around nine at night there. And she was already asleep?

  "Hey, babe," I said, reaching for one of the laptops Smith had picked up since we landed, opening it up, and looking around.

  "Quin?" she asked, sounding alert, but confused.

  "Yeah."

  "What time is it?" she asked, and I heard shuffling.

  "Nine there. Five here."

  "In the morning?" she hissed, and there was a small crash. "I know you're an early riser, but this is taking it to the extreme."

  I smiled at that, already feeling some of the tension slip from my shoulders. "I haven't been to bed yet."

  "Why not?" she asked, and I could hear water running, likely, I figured, her making some coffee.

  "Long day. I couldn't settle down."

  There was a pause as she carefully chose her words. "Things aren't going as you hoped?"

  "Things are a lot more complicated than I planned on."

  "That sucks," she said, making a clicking sound, and in the background, I could hear Mackey's nails on the floor as she, I imagined, let him outside.

  "You got Netflix?" I asked after I heard the door open and shut, then the muffled slam.

  "Ah... yeah?" she half-declared, half-asked, likely thrown off by the question.

  "Bring it up."

  "Bring up Netflix?" she repeated. "Why?"

  "Just tell me when it's up."

  "Bossy," she grumbled under her breath, but I could hear her hands on the keys of her laptop as she plugged it in. "Okay. It's up."

  "Wanna watch A Good Day to Die Hard with me, and bitch about how unrealistic the action sequences are?"

  "You... want to watch a movie with me?" she asked, tone almost hesitant, like she was worried that by clarifying it, I might change my mind.

  "Yes."

  "Oh, um, okay," she agreed, and I could hear clicking as she typed it in. "Okay, say when."

  Then we spent the next two hours ripping apart a movie that was a vague, pathetic facsimile of the first in the series.

  "You can't be serious," I said, smiling out the window at the sun, blinding bright against the white snow. There had been another dusting the afternoon before. "You can't possibly think Live Free or Die Hard is the second best in the series."

  "I like Justin Long. I
know, I know. That is an unpopular opinion, but I find him believable here." She ended on a long yawn that made me realize it was getting late for her.

  "You should catch some sleep, babe," I said, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice.

  "You're the one who needs sleep," she shot back, but she sounded groggier by the moment.

  "I'll catch a couple hours before the day gets started again."

  "This was fun," she said after a long, strained silence.

  It was that.

  I was actually surprised how much I enjoyed something as silly as watching a movie with a woman. A woman that I couldn't even touch. She was half a world away, and yet this was one of the most enjoyable nights I had had in ages.

  "Maybe we can try it again with the Taken franchise," I offered.

  "I think I can find some space in my schedule."

  "Sounds good. Goodnight, Aven."

  "Good morning, Quin."

  Around three in the afternoon Russia time, my phone dinged, and I found an invite to join UrGwnDwn in a game of Monopoly.

  And right there, in the middle of a strategy meeting, I joined her game.

  She wiped the floor with me on round one.

  Then two.

  But I finally got my revenge on the third try.

  She had been the one to text me that night, telling me the story about how Mackey handled his first trip to the dog park, seeming to do anything in his power to piss off the other dogs. Namely, tipping over the water bowls, and snatching the tennis balls that didn't belong to him.

  Two days later, two nights of random talking later about everything from her old Christmas traditions when her father was alive to how I spent holidays while I was in the service, Miller and Kai finally came to an agreement with the Korols.

  Four-point-five.

  Yes, million.

  Fenway could spare it; the Korols were willing to settle for it. All that was left was to wire the money.

  And me and my team were 'leaving.'