by Brynne Asher
“I know you’re used to working for Crew. I don’t have control over shit he does. This is time sensitive and a matter of national security.”
He reaches for the control panel and flips what looks to be too many switches, but what do I know? I usually fly commercial. “I’m on it.”
“Let me know when it’s confirmed and where I’m landing. I need to arrange for a car when I get there.”
He starts rattling off enough letters and numbers to confuse a calculus teacher.
I turn back to my phone. So many calls but one is the most important and I don’t have the number.
Fuck me, I really need to download my contacts from the cloud.
I thank God for wifi on private jets. I google Homeland Security in Boston.
Bella
My head is about to hit the pillow when Ozzy’s phone finally vibrates.
Cole – Can’t talk, sweetness, and won’t be home when I thought. Fucking kills me to be away from you another night. I’ll call when I can. Love you.
I read the message again.
And then again.
Love you.
Kills me to be away from you.
I put my thumbs to the screen after I pull his pillow into my chest.
Me – Come home to me safely, Officer Carson. And I love you too.
I see bubbles and then nothing.
I know if he could talk, he would. And he knows I know.
Even so…
Being away from him was miserable. But now that I’ve admitted my feelings to him and to myself … being apart is excruciating.
I wonder how I managed.
Chapter 32
Stampede
Cole
The pilot worked his magic and got me to Burlington where I arranged a rental. I had no idea there was a car class below compact. It has so little kick in the pants I’m pretty sure I could’ve raced to the border faster on Red’s twenty-year-old self-propelled mower. Don’t even get me started on the leg room.
After a slew of phone calls, I finally got through to my buddy in Homeland Security. An hour later, Raji sent me his report—Nahas, Harb, and Crawley have made quite the trip around the world. From boats to barges to puddle jumpers. I guess you can travel with no paper trail. They must have paid a pretty penny because someone got them across Africa and through Europe, but Raji lost them in Ireland. That’s where his contact sniffed them out, but only after the barge had docked in Quebec City.
Now they’re headed straight for the Vermont border. And I doubt it’s to sample the maple syrup or cool off with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.
My phone barely rings once before I have it to my ear. “Carson.”
“Dude, I’ve never driven across a state so fast in my life. Where are you?”
I met Jesse Sheen when I first got to Langley. Our cases overlapped and we became fast friends.
“I’m right where you told me to be, though it took me too fucking long to get here in this Flintstones car. You contacted our neighbor to the north?”
“They’ve got National Defense on it. I work with them all the time. They’re monitoring thermal imaging cameras, and I’ve got drones in the air. I should be close, you can hop in with me.”
In my next breath, the road behind me brightens when Jesse winks his headlights. I turn off my clown car and climb out, groaning as I stretch my tight muscles. It’s after four in the morning. If this shit doesn’t go down soon, we’ll lose the cover of darkness.
He greets me after I slam the passenger door. “You look like shit.”
“Fuck you very much. I just made a roundtrip to Switzerland in under thirty-six hours. All I’ve eaten are peanut butter crackers and trail mix. I fucking hate raisins but I choked those suckers down anyway. I’m starving and I could really use a shower. I did brush my teeth on the plane though—you’re welcome.”
“Thanks, but I don’t plan on kissing you.”
“What’s the plan?”
“Border Patrol is on notice and Canada is surveying every move on their side.” He backs out from our meeting place, about two blocks from the border. When he flips a U-turn, he looks at me. “If this doesn’t play out per your intel, I’m gonna have a lot of people to answer to. Now that we’re here, tell me why am I pretending you’re not part of this op.”
“It’s complicated.”
He throws the car in park. “Looks like we’ve got time.”
I look around the darkened space. “Where are we?”
Jesse points out the front window. “See the dead-end street and trees beyond? That’s the line. There’s another on their side. This is one of the most barren pieces of land in the state. People talk … word gets around.” He points to the top of an old electrical pole. “Cameras and heat sensors for both countries. We work together.”
Chatter comes over his portable radio and he turns it down a touch.
“Now we wait,” I mutter.
“And now you have time to explain why you woke me out of a deep sleep to tell me about your unofficial-official case.”
I like Jesse but no way am I sharing. I do not need my shit or Bella’s to leak any farther into the world. “My boss isn’t crazy about my informant. Raji is flakey sometimes but still good. When it comes to shit like this, he’s always spot on. It’ll make it easier if I removed myself from the chain on this one.”
He’s about to say something else when someone speaks over the radio. “How many agents do you have out there, boss?”
Jesse picks up the radio and pushes the button. “Ten on my side. Why?”
“I’m showing a whole lot more red dots on the thermal cameras.”
Jesse looks at me and frowns, but speaks into the radio. “How many more?”
“Double at least, maybe three times. When I scan out, I keep counting.”
“What the fuck?” I ask.
“Are they moving?” Jesse asks.
“Negative. Could be a forestry party of bears and moose, but I doubt it. I think we’ve got company on our side.”
“Shit,” Jesse mutters, picking up the radio to call his Border agents. “We’ve got company interspersed in the woods on our side. I have no idea who they are.”
“National Defense to Homeland,” the radio scratches. “We’ve got three bodies moving through the woods heading southeast.”
Jesse speaks into the radio. “How far out and can you tell where they’re headed? Give me their coordinates.”
The Canadian rattles off a slew of numbers and Jesse enters them into his phone. “If they stay the course, we’re not far off.”
“Not far seems far when we have company.” I holster my Glock. “This isn’t good—couldn’t be any more opposite than working off an op plan.”
“Welcome to enforcement, Mr. Intelligence,” Jesse quips as he inserts an earpiece and climbs out of the car.
“You have one of those for me? Or some night vision goggles?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Sorry. I don’t exactly have a tech room at home and you gave me no time to run by the office.”
I guess I’m going in blind. I hate not being in charge. I follow as Jesse coordinates with his Border agents. We move to the edge of the tree line, only a wire fence separating the two countries, with Canada a few yards away. I know the agents are at our backs but so are a bunch of strangers.
Jesse presses his finger to his ear and motions to me. I unholster my gun and we move south through the forest, trudging over ground cover, brush, and weeds, which I am not dressed for.
“What the fuck?” Jesse mutters under his breath and his eyes dart to me. “How many?”
“What?” I mouth.
Jesse presses a button on his earpiece and responds, “Please tell me they know we’re here.” He waits for an answer and motions to the woods behind us. “DEA. Looks like your case collided with theirs. But at least they’re on our side, as long as we don’t get caught in the middle. They know we’re here.”
The next few seconds h
appen too fast. Jesse and I are chests to the earth when it happens.
One moment there are only sounds of the forest—bugs, a few birds who want to catch the first worm, leaves rustling in the night breeze.
Then, like a bulldozer, feet hit the earth, branches crack and break, and low voices mutter through the humid, pre-dawn air.
Feet hitting the earth is an understatement. The sounds turn into a stampede. The Royal Mounted Police have appeared out of nowhere on the other side of the wire fence.
Voices in two languages bellow through the air. Shouts come from behind us, announcing the presence of the Drug Enforcement Administration and Border Patrol.
About ten feet to our right, two men appear from the darkness and do what they can to get through the fence. The barbed wire catches their clothes and skin but they keep pushing through with the galloping beasts approaching.
One guy doesn’t take on the barbed wire. He stops and juts his arms in the air, yelling in English to stop, he’s giving up, and begging for his life. This only adds to the commotion of the two tearing through the fence, the DEA, the mounted police, patrol agents, and Jesse and me.
A mounted officer arrives and takes down the one on the Canadian side while the other two are yelling in another language—I think Persian, one of the few Middle Eastern languages I’m not fluent in.
“Get down!” I yell, reaching to grab one by the collar, dragging him through the rest of the barbed wire. He twists and contorts, reaching for his pockets. I put a knee to his back, wrestling with one of his arms, still fisting my Glock in my other. I hear Jesse grappling behind me.
A black boot comes down on his loose arm, trapping it to the ground as another pair of hands reaches down with a set of cuffs. I’m surrounded by agents, outfitted in full-on black tactical gear with helmets and rifles.
“Who the hell are you?” one of the agents grits, as a sea of black descends on the guy who’s yanked out from under me to restrain and pat him down.
“Dammit!” Jesse yells. “Carson!”
I turn and Jesse is on the ground, struggling for a gun.
Shit.
I throw my weight toward them, closing the distance between us, bringing my other knee down on the guy’s forearm.
He yells but his hold on the pistol is iron tight.
Jesse curses.
And that’s when the gun discharges.
Chapter 33
Gray
Bella
“You said Daddy would be back this morning.”
I look down into the eyes Cole gave to his daughter. Only hers aren’t sharp or cunning or worldly. Abbott’s deep browns are innocent and worried.
“I did,” I confirm. “But he texted me last night to let us know he had something come up on one of his cases. He’s been a bit delayed, but I’m sure he’ll be home as soon as he can.”
She picks at the ends of her long, curly strands hanging far past her shoulders. I’ve done what I could to distract her inquisitive brain since Cole left. She wants her father, she wants to see for herself what happened to her home, and she wants to know what’s next.
I wish I had answers. She does not deserve what’s been brought down on her little shoulders.
“Did you help your grandpa in the barn?”
Her shoulder lifts and her feet fidget. “He’s fixing Crew’s tractor.”
I wonder if Crew’s tractor actually needs fixing. “Have you eaten anything? How would you like some eggs?”
“I’m not hungry. Grandpa and I had cookies and milk before you got here.”
My smile might as well crack my face in two. “Do you and grandpa often have cookies and milk for breakfast?”
She nods unapologetically. “Unless we’re out of cookies, then we have cereal.”
“It’s obviously brain food since you’re as smart as a whip. Maybe I need to switch up my brekky routine.”
This wins me a sweet nose crinkle. “You talk so funny.”
I slide my phone into my back pocket so I don’t miss a call. I’m accustomed to being in the middle of the action, not left back at home wondering what the hell’s going on. I had a restless night waiting for Cole to check in but I know how good he is at his job. If he hasn’t called it’s because he can’t.
Addy and Crew took their girls to town. Aimée had a check-up at the pediatrician and Addy said she was going to take the opportunity to drag Crew furniture shopping. I cannot imagine Crew Vega in any store—more power to her. Abbott and I need a distraction, so I hold out my hand. “I need to move. Let’s find the cows and feed them treats. Then we’ll dig back into your French lessons. Oui?”
Abbott sighs. “S’il vous plait.”
I smirk. “Such lovely manners. Please try not to be too excited. Daisy’s new toys should be here tomorrow. You can spend the day spoiling her.”
We’re almost to the small shed where Addy keeps the treats for the cows and I’m quizzing Abbott on her numbers and colors in French. I never really thought much of it when Cole said Abbott was gifted. Most parents think their children are exceptional but Abbott does love to learn. She’s lucky Cole recognizes it in her at such a young age.
I give her hand a squeeze. “I’ll get the molasses. You run and find your grandpa to tell him where we’ll be. I don’t want him wondering where you are.”
“Okay,” she sing-songs and skips off.
The day is one of the hottest we’ve had since I’ve been here but I don’t sit idle well. My pastimes have been doing laundry for the Vegas and chasing cows around a vineyard, all while doing what I can to have Abbott accept me. If she simply doesn’t hate me, I’ll take that as a win. Later, we can work on her liking me, or who knows, if I’m lucky, something more.
My pockets are stuffed with enough molasses to attract a small herd when a scream—shrill and high—cuts through the heavy summer air.
Ignoring the pain in my gut since I have yet to start jogging, I run to the barn where I sent Abbott mere moments ago. If something happens to her on my watch, I’ll never forgive myself.
Another scream, this one even more pained, mixed with desperation.
“Abbott!” I yell for them. “Where are you?”
“Bella!”
I follow her voice to the back of the barn where Crew keeps his old truck and tools. I stop in my tracks when I come around the hood and find Abbott on the ground next to Red.
“No,” I breathe and rush to them.
Red has collapsed. He’s lying face-down on the barn floor and Abbott is shaking his large frame, calling for him with tears streaming down her face.
“Grandpa!”
“Move away, love.” I have to physically drag her away so I can roll him to his back. I press my fingers at his neck. “No, no, no, Red.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial nine-one-one, putting it on speaker and start chest compressions. I’m no medical professional but I couldn’t find a blip of a pulse.
When a dispatcher answers, I can barely hear for Abbott’s cries. I manage to explain where we are and what little I know about Red. She offers to stay on the line with me until EMS arrives but it’s hard to pay attention to her.
Abbott is clutching Red’s bicep, her beautiful eyes that were so innocent only minutes ago are now anything but. Replaced with terror and fear as one of the only humans she’s ever been able to count on during her short time on this earth is lying before her lifeless.
Pump.
Pump.
Pump.
I continue with compressions, looking between Cole’s father and his child. The redder her face gets, the grayer his turns.
And Cole—I can’t bear to think of him at this moment.
Chapter 34
Dog Years
Cole
It’s been a fucking day.
No, it’s been a fucking month, even though I haven’t reached the end of my thirty-day bet with Bella. It feels like a year.
Dog years.
When shit started goin
g down in the forest, it went fast. Sometimes my cases overlap with another agency, but this one ended with the biggest bang.
It’s also not the first time I’ve been shot or caught a knife or had my bell rung. But today has been the most annoying of them all.
“Where is my stuff?” I demand.
I’m at some community hospital in the middle of a maple syrup forest in Vermont. I had to empty my pockets in the back of the rig since they cut my damn jeans off to work on me. The asshole didn’t catch an artery or bone, but my calf will now have a bite out of it for the rest of my days.
It doesn’t matter as long as I can walk out of here and go home to Bella, Abbott, and Red. I’ll do it with one more scar. Bella and I will be quite the pair.
“My phone and wallet?” I ask again. I cannot lose my credentials.
“Your friend went out to the ambulance to look for them,” the nurse says. “You’re almost done. I think I found a pair of scrubs long enough for those legs of yours. You can’t walk out of here in those boxers, as much as I do like plaid.”
I look back from where I’m lying on my stomach on the gurney so they can stitch me up. “Are you almost done?”
The doc doesn’t look up at me and mumbles, “Almost. You can’t hurry perfection.”
A curtain barely offers any privacy, so there’s no stopping three DEA agents from stalking into my bay while I’m in my underwear.
The one in the middle lifts his chin, and like the frown set on his face, his words are not flowery at all. “Glad you’re not dead.”
I frown back at Mr. Congeniality. “Thanks. Me too.”
He can barely cross his arms over his vest. “Cruz. Brax Cruz, DEA out of New York City. Who knew, yeah?”
“Yeah, who knew,” I agree, assuming he’s talking about our run-in. And he still hasn’t introduced his friends.