“Who’d you buy it from?” Nic followed up on that revelation.
“A legit source.” Sugar started to straighten a pile of papers that were already squared off.
“You’re not naming names?”
“I’m not giving up my seller to some—”
“Sugar.” Cash nailed her with a watch-your-ass look.
She pursed painted lips and started again. “I’d rather keep my rifle rolodex to myself, thank you.”
Nic pushed her. “Your guy has connections you don’t need.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Smooth arrived in the U.S. three months ago. We’ve been mapping out his network.”
“I’m not part of his network.”
“Didn’t say you were, but I’d like to know who you know. We didn’t think he’d sell to legit sources.” Nic used air quotes around legit. Wasn’t that nice of her? “And we didn’t think it’d infiltrate this far south or this fast to consumers.”
“And who is we?”
Nicola paused. There’s no way she’d say CIA. “Titan.”
He didn’t expect that either. According to the look on Sugar’s face, neither did she. Nic wasn’t exactly Titan. She was contract help. But better that lie than no response. They should have worked out a little back story before they went in, questions ready to fire.
Sugar tapped pink nails on her desk, quick taps, one right after the other. “Cash, you two go out back. Take your pick from my private gun stash. I have a couple calls to make.”
“All right. Let’s give her a minute. Come on, Nic.”
Nicola dropped the huge black hole bag. Everything spilled out. Why’d the woman need all that stuff?
“Sorry. Sorry.” She scooped it without looking, shoving it all back in from where it came. “Sorry.”
He didn’t take Nic for the bumbling type, especially after the ladies had gone back and forth like that. A lip gloss-lipstick thing rolled under Sugar’s desk. “Oh, you—”
“I’m ready.”
“But—”
“Jesus, Cash. I got all my stuff. Let’s go.”
Oh no, she didn’t. The glimmer in her eye said oh yes, she did. Titan had their toys. The CIA had theirs. Nicola had a listening device that looked like a tube of fancy-dancy lip gloss.
Listening devices weren’t necessarily legal. Then again, when did he, Titan, or the CIA play by the national security rule book?
His gut re-twisted. This was Sugar though. He trusted her. Right?
Nic led the way out, and they shuffled to the outdoor course after grabbing a couple long rifles from Sugar’s stash-o-guns. He waved to a couple folks he knew and took every opportunity to catch Nic’s eye. She wasn’t having it, and he wasn’t talking about it. Who knew who else was listening?
They headed to the outdoor course. Manmade hills, swaying tall grass, and creative-assed obstacles that Cash knew exploded in colored smoke were dead ahead. Flags showed a mild, five mile per hour breeze. The sun had started to sink, but they had hours more of summer daylight.
He took position, loaded up a .45 that was eons away from as much fun as Miss Betty and fired. Blue smoke burst and billowed.
“Nice shot,” Nic said.
“Easy shot.” Her approval was completely unneeded, yet it tugged on his cheeks. Maybe now he could push her on the lipstick move. “Nice move.”
She squinted. “I haven’t gone to the line yet, crazy.”
“Yet you’ve already crossed it.”
Nic mouthed a dramatic oh. “’Cause she’s your friend?”
“Because I said she could be trusted.”
“I don’t trust anyone. Hazard of the job. I tried earlier today with you, and it bit me on the ass. I’m playing by my rules now.”
He ignored the jab and chambered another round. Aim. Shoot. Blue smoke.
He emptied the spent round and turned to her. “We need to do something normal.”
“Fine—”
“I gotta go home. I owe my mom a visit. Since you’re alive, you should see your folks.”
“I called them. Gave them the whole spiel, told them what Witness Protection told me to pass along since I’m out and about and want to keep mobster crosshairs off ‘em.”
“You don’t want to go home?” he asked.
She pulled down her sunglasses, stepped to the line, and fired off her weapon. Different target hit. Green smoke. She didn’t turn around, just stayed, staring down range.
“Nic?” He took a step forward and spoke lower. “Nicola?”
Nicola cleared her weapon and turned. “Look, I can’t handle seeing their faces. Okay? I talked to them. They know it all. They had the same reactions you and Roman did. I’m devil daughter. I get it. I don’t need to see it.”
“Don’t you miss—”
“Of course I do. I’ve missed them every day. Just like I missed you and Roman.”
She turned back toward the last of the wafting colored smoke. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Let’s go see them.”
“I can’t.”
“Yeah—”
Spinning fast, she stabbed him with a glare. “I’m not strong enough. You happy? Is that what you want to hear?”
“I don’t believe you.”
Nicola glared at him. “They deserve better than me.”
“I know your folks—”
“No you—”
“How about this? I’m going to go see them. You’re welcome to join me. Then we’ll go do something boring and normal, like catch a movie or something. You need to chill, and I’m gonna help.”
“I don’t know.” She looked terrified.
“We’ll go after this. You can sit in the truck while I do the parental drive-bys if you want to hide. Then we’ll go make s’mores or something. Something nice and normal and boring.” They both heard Sugar’s heels before she announced herself. Cash smiled. “Or you can always stay here with Sugar.”
Sugar held Nic’s lip gloss listening piece high overhead. She looked… not pissed. What the deuce?
“All right, Nicole Whatever-Your-Name-Is.” Almost her name. Sugar was in the same ballpark as Nicola. It was progress. Sugar continued, “Cute. Very funny. I respect the effort. Cash, scram. She and I have business.”
Maybe not progress.
Nicola looked at him. “See ya. Have fun at Mom and Dad’s.”
Garrison’s Creed: Chapter Eighteen
Cash took his sweet time leaving, dragging one boot in front of the other. Nicola and Sugar watched. Maybe he hoped they’d call him back. Maybe he was concerned about pitting two lady bulls against one another with no one to enforce ground rules.
Sugar cracked a piece of gum between her teeth. “So, you and Cash?”
“Or is it you and Cash?” Nic pushed back. This was why Cash wanted to be here. Chick fight and dirt digging.
The plastic smile on Sugar’s face softened a flicker, then went back to its tough girl routine. “You’re still going to call ATF, aren’t you?”
“I might.”
Sugar cracked her gum again. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“I’m not sure if it’s in my best interest yet.”
Sugar didn’t look convinced. “Well, it’s definitely not in mine.”
Nicola eyed Sugar, for the moment, restraining the urge to slap the lipstick off her face. “So we’ve got something in common.”
“You mean besides banging Cash?”
And, back to her casino-worthy poker face. She would’ve smacked Sugar if there was anything to be gained by it. Nic felt Sugar analyze her reaction for a lightning strike of jealousy and knew she’d given nothing up. Thank you, CIA.
“What’s the deal with you two anyway? Last name’s Garrison. You were married? He doesn’t seem like the type.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Not going to explain anything?” Sugar asked.
“We’re old news.” Nicola shrugged through her lie.
“Not accordi
ng to that I’m-dreaming-of-lights-out look he gave you. Anyway. You left this in my office.” Sugar held out the listening device. Odd that she could pick it out. It looked like any other tube of Clinique gloss. It was also more than noteworthy that she transitioned from Cash without batting a false eyelash.
“You don’t care about Cash and me?” Nic asked.
“Not really. Cash and I were just fun. Nothing special. But I did like trying to make you squirm.”
“You certainly made him.”
“Fun, right? I like fucking with him. Keeps his boots on the ground. He’s a cool dude. I didn’t pick him for a one-gal kinda man, but what do I know?” Sugar cracked her gum again. Annoying habit. “Back to your super not-so-secret bug. Spill it, and I might give you something on the ammo.”
“It was the best I could do when you stonewalled me. I hadn’t planned to be here anyway.”
“And?” Sugar raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow.
“And?” Well, shit. She had to give Sugar something, or this was pointless. “And I’m tracking Antilla Smooth. Cash isn’t necessarily thrilled that I’m on the hunt. He’d rather handle it for me.” Word hadn’t hit the street yet that Smooth was six feet under with a clean shot above his nose.
“Macho prick.” Sugar smiled.
Nicola laughed. “Indeed.”
“Good in bed though.”
No, she didn’t. “And back to Cash. You sure it’s all, ‘I’m cool, he’s cool, we were just having fun’?”
Sugar studied her. “You play by some kind of rule book? Don’t kiss and tell? Don’t leave home without a bug?”
As a matter of fact, nope. She was flying by the seat of her Seven jeans. “Maybe it’s more a matter of decorum.”
“Well, decorum this: that man is good with his hands. And his—”
“Sugar!”
Sugar shrugged, laughing. She extended the lip gloss tube. “You’re cool, Nicola Garrison. This shit’s expensive. You can have it back. I like the ballsy move, and I hate getting messed with. If I sold Smooth ammo, and it sounds like I might’ve, let’s just say, I believe in retribution.”
Retribution, Nic could work with. Maybe even Sugar she could work with. Cash wouldn’t like this, and Sugar wouldn’t follow any kind of plan. Nic could tell. This was one of those the-higher-the-risk-the-greater-the-reward moments.
Nicola pocketed her Clinique bug. “What would you say if we smoked the bastard out together?”
Sugar blew a bubble and chewed in silence, bright red lips pursed in thought. In the background, someone fired through a magazine. Nic pushed her sunglasses into her hair and stared back at Sugar.
Finally, Sugar smirked. “I could do that and stomach you.”
“Marvelous, Sugar. So glad to hear it.” Just when Sugar’s bitch level dropped below intolerable, she pumped it back up. “I have to work an assignment out of the country, but I’ll get a hold of you. And as a matter of good faith, I won’t listen to whatever you said in front of this.” She held up the lip gloss.
“Doesn’t matter. I have a jammer. You didn’t get crap.” She jutted a hip, planted a hand on it, and grinned like she saw Nic coming straight from Langley.
Sugar had a jammer in her office? What else did that woman sell? Nicola looked at Sugar’s outfit, thought of Cash, and decided she didn’t want to know. “I’m going to regret this.”
* * *
David had no time or patience for the hand-holding required to secure his financial future through the new and improved Smooth Enterprises, sans Antilla Smooth. They still moved illegal weapons. They still supplied the ammunition to half the world’s terrorists. Nothing but the leadership was new. But his client required it, just like he required code names. Maybe Mister Mars was afraid to jinx their project. Whatever the reason, David still had to answer when called Mister Nero, and he still had to kiss ass until the final exchanges were complete.
He surveyed his notes, smiling at his anticipated profit. David’s decision to pad his pockets while Smooth Enterprises experienced a turbulent changeover was risky but had a huge payout. He studied the stacked boxes of products piled in his home office. Ammunition and automatic rifles were the easiest to sell. No one had noticed that he’d removed the high-powered inventory. How uncomplicated had it been to steal? After all, most everyone within the organization had thought he was a butler. Butlers organized. They cleaned. They directed. They did trivial tasks, and no one paid attention to them, especially as he had box after box loaded onto a truck and driven to his home.
Every cent he made selling Smooth product was one hundred percent profit. Those gun show rednecks had bought everything he’d tried to sell on his first venture into the local market. They couldn’t pass his prices. He needed to troll the local papers and see where the next meet up would be. All he had to do was forget to shave in the morning, slap on some POW paraphernalia, and he was legit. Morons. Every last one of them.
But the biggest bunch of morons? Titan Group and their ridiculous reputation. Big money. Big guns. Big balls. Just a big load of bullshit. David would kill the fucker who’d punched his face. The blond-headed asswipe. That man would get his due.
David clicked through the address book in his cell. Nicola. She’d get hers too. That bitch. He hit okay, and the line rang.
Voicemail. A generic message given by a robot operator.
He cleared his throat. “This is David. I’m excited to work with you and clear the past between us. Misunderstandings happen. We’ll move on. Turkey is fabulous, and this will be an easy in-and-out. Our flight leaves tomorrow morning. But I’m sure your handler has filled you in. Looking forward to this job. Good-bye.”
Their assignment was basic. Transport a document, and while in Istanbul, arrange for a run-in with an undercover needing a back story confirmation. That would be simple. A quick, “howdy, how are the kids?” The undercover would have another layer of history. The undercover’s contacts would think the run-in happened by chance, and David would have a way to find out what the CIA knew about Smooth Enterprises.
Damn if this wasn’t getting easier. There were so many opportunities to diversify his portfolio, with a much better return than a 401(k). How smart the Farm boys thought they were. They didn’t have a clue.
Garrison’s Creed: Chapter Nineteen
When Nic bounced back into Cash’s ride, she wasn’t the woman he’d left with Sugar. She had a glimmer in her eyes that warned of trouble. She pushed past her seat, grabbed him by the shirt, and nailed him with a kiss that might’ve peeled the leather off his boots. If he hadn’t been positive there was a security camera aimed at his truck, he would have undressed her and gotten down to business in less than twenty seconds. Hell, less than ten.
Making a dumbass excuse to himself for not fucking her in the parking lot, Cash hit the road. With Nicola tucked under his draped arm, he needed to focus on anything but the swell of her breasts. She hadn’t moved far when he’d said they had places to go. Even now, her hand traced invisible patterns on his thigh.
She smelled of burnt gunpowder mixed with the flowery scent of her shampoo. Who didn’t like a woman who could hit a shot three hundred yards away with an unfamiliar long gun and still remind him of the shower where he’d made her moan his name?
“Was that your peace offering?” He had to know what brought about the smoking kiss that still burned on his lips.
She paused her finger on his thigh, and Cash wished he hadn’t opened his mouth. “I thought we weren’t fighting. Peace offerings aren’t needed for work disagreements.”
Her laugh made him want to pull her closer. “I don’t care what you call it. As long as you do that after every I’m-right-you’re-wrong moment.”
Nic laughed again. She went back to connecting imaginary lines and dots on his leg, and he sent up a prayer of thanks. With her under the crook of his arm, the radio playing some summertime tune, and the open road reaching away from the outskirts toward the mountains, Cash was sure this was what p
eople wanted in life.
Life was a long-assed time. Since Nic had tumbled into his line of sight, his clusterfuck of broads and blow jobs seemed pathetic. What’s done is done. This was one of those fuck it and drive on moments. He had to let go of that lost time and embrace life with the safety always off.
He’d given up the idea of a woman to kick it with lifelong when she’d died, when he had that ring and no one to give it to. Was it even possible for him to think long-term, or rather, think about someone other than himself long-term?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
He’d boxed up that part of his brain ten years ago and shipped it off to some unknown address.
Whatever. Nicola wasn’t going anywhere. She also needed to chill out, completely forget about work, and he’d make sure that happened. Downtime was a Cash Garrison specialty. He intended to make sure she knew the full reach of his getting down skills.
The sun sank into the Virginia hills. His truck powered and growled around another bend. The straight-to-the-skies incline disappeared into a green canopy of trees. Truth: he loved this truck almost as much as he loved his new digs. Not that his last place was bad, but the new one was badass.
He flicked a glance down at Nicola. A pang of pride exploded in his chest. When he’d bought the place, he had no idea she’d ever see it—her being dead and all—but now she was about to and that was… unexpected. It was pretty damn cool.
They hit the driveway. Gravel spun in the wheel well. She’d been sniper quiet, her finger tracing stopped, exhausted into a simple hold. Her gaze fell absentmindedly out the windshield. That private Sugar convo must’ve been a heavy one. Or a bitchy one. Nothing telling either way.
Finally, they arrived. A world away from Winters’s madhouse, Tyson’s Corner, and Sugar’s House of Guns.
“This isn’t your folks’ place.” She looked out the window. Her eyes were wide, her tongue flicking over the bottom of her lip.
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