“I’m fine, sir.” At the general’s sharp look, he smiled. “I mean that. I’m not just trying to be comforting. I won’t say it’s been easy or that I don’t still flinch and have nightmares from time to time, but you hired me to do a job and I got it done. I did everything I could to take care of myself afterward. I started therapy as soon as I got home, and that’s been good. It helps that I chose to go through with it, really. Knowing I had that much control matters. When I work on reprogramming the memories in therapy, that’s what I hold on to. It was my choice.”
McClosky accepted his beer and set it aside, fondly stroking a hand over the soft, dark waves of Nico’s hair. “You’re a remarkable man, Nicolás Fernández. I regret what happened, and I owe you a debt that goes far beyond money. I can’t get into details, but what you did helped save a lot of lives. If there’s anything you need, anything I can do . . .”
Nico grinned and sipped his champagne. “Sure there is. You can come back with me to my apartment tonight after the bonfire and fuck me through the mattress.”
“I beg your pardon?” The general blinked, and Nico’s grin widened.
“Even though my mother hasn’t put me back on the list of active employees yet—not until we’re confident I won’t freak out with a client—my sex drive’s doing just fine. I’m horny as hell, but it just hasn’t seemed worth the bother to find someone. So what do you say? Help a guy out?”
McClosky looked genuinely caught off-balance, and after a moment, Nico realized he was blushing, of all the ridiculous things. That wasn’t a reaction Nico had ever anticipated causing. “I think we’ve already established that your mother is quite irritated enough with me,” the general argued.
“And I think we already established that I make my own choices. Don’t you start trying to make me into a victim, either.” Nico put some steel into his voice. “I know what’s best for me. Respect me enough to honor that.”
McClosky sighed and cupped a hand around the back of Nico’s neck, brushing his lips in a light kiss. “All right, then. Find me after the bonfire. For now, though, I should let you get back to your guests.”
Nico nodded enthusiastically, and he opened his mouth to reply.
That was when the world exploded around them and all hell broke loose.
Screams filled the air, and the scent of burning plastic was making Nico light-headed. Or maybe that was from hitting his head on a table as the explosion threw him. Thank God the bar had been at the very edge of the pavilion. He was lucky in that regard. The synthetic-silk blend of the large tent had caught fire and collapsed, melting and sticking like burning tar to everything it touched.
That was the cause of the screaming. Those who weren’t shrieking were running away, around the house toward the gates and the street beyond. Some of them were calling the fire department and paramedics.
As Nico lay on his back, slowly shaking the fog of unconsciousness from his brain, he tried to make sense of the carnage and assess himself for injury. He had no idea where General McClosky was, but he only had a moment to wonder before people in dark clothing with face masks and guns were moving through the smoke and debris, shouting at each other.
“Find the madam! Get the cameras ready!”
Ice flushed through his veins in a surge of fear, and Nico went still as one of the figures began humming off-key as he nudged unconscious or dead bodies. The tune was a popular hymn, one whose lyrics had been spray-painted at the sites of most of the Righteous Action League bombings.
The hummer was so busy checking the broken forms littering the ground—pausing periodically to kick or spit on one here and there—that he fell behind his comrades. Or maybe this was his job, to give the coup de grâce to anyone who survived the explosion. Nico lay very still, hoping the tone-deaf terrorist would pass him by. He tried not to grunt as a booted foot connected with his ribs, but he must have winced because he felt the man’s posture change as he took aim with his assault rifle.
Nico moved without thinking, flipping to wrap an arm around the man’s legs and yank them out from underneath him. The attacker went down with a startled cry, with Nico already rolling to get above him, aiming an elbow for the front of his throat. While the man gagged, Nico wrested the rifle from his hands. He used the stock of the gun to smash the guy in the temple, and his coughing and writhing stopped.
Pushing to his feet, Nico stared at the weapon in his hands, trying to make sense of it. The self-defense classes he’d taken since he was a child had all been hand-to-hand. Unfortunately, a black belt or three couldn’t stop bullets.
It would be in his way if he tried to fight hand-to-hand, but he didn’t want to leave it where his would-be assassin could get his hands on it if he regained consciousness. Grimacing, Nico slung it over his shoulder by the strap. Billowing smoke and fumes burned his eyes, and he snatched the assassin’s gas mask before he set off through the wreckage and groans, praying he’d reach his mother before their assailants did.
Suddenly voices crackled beside his ear, and Nico stopped where he stood. The mask had an open audio channel, a speaker nested in the strap that passed over his ears. Swallowing, he listened to the chatter.
“Any sign of her in the pavilion?”
“Negative. Our scout says he saw her head toward the house right before the bomb detonated.”
Nico turned and made his way toward the house before the voice that seemed to be in charge gave the command to do so. He was tempted to break into a sprint and try to beat them there, but he didn’t dare draw attention. In his black suit with a black shirt underneath, he could pass as one of them in all the smoke and confusion as long as no one got a good look at him.
The rest of the terrorists were heading into the house by the most direct route, up onto the deck and through the French patio doors. But Nico knew better than to look for his mother in the house. In all likelihood, if his mother was alive, she was helping direct her guests to safety. That meant she would be in front of the house, clearing the road and driveway for the emergency services. Would the assassins go after her when she was surrounded by innocents?
Nico snorted at his own foolishness. The RAL goons had just detonated a bomb in the middle of a midsummer party. Clearly they didn’t care about innocent lives.
Ducking around the side of the house, Nico pulled his mask up over his head, debating if he should keep it to listen in on the attackers or get rid of it so they couldn’t hear him. He couldn’t find any switch or button to close the two-way audio channel, and he wasn’t sure it was worth the risk.
He leaned against the outer wall of the garage and dug in his inner breast pocket for his mobile, breathing a sigh of relief to find it still working. He switched on the text messaging function and entered his mother’s code.
Get away from the guests. The bombers are after you.
His blood rushed in his ears as he sat there and waited, blocking out the chatter over the audio link. He was vaguely aware of his head throbbing, but he didn’t have attention to spare for that just now. He stared at his phone, praying his mother still had hers on her.
Apparently she did, because she answered right away.
Are you all right?
Yes. Get away from the crowd. RAL. They don’t care who they hurt.
Emergency services are at least another five minutes out. People are injured.
Leave them or they’ll be shot. RAL searching house for you now. Guest cottage?
Meet me there.
Nico shoved his mobile back into his pocket and began to pull his mask on again. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a shadow moving and spun around. Too late to block the attack. A large body slammed him against the wall. Powerful hands seized his shoulders and pulled him forward, bending him in half to meet the knee that rammed into his solar plexus. Those same hands shoved him up against the fieldstone wall again, and one fist drew back for what promised to be a killing blow to his nose or throat. It stopped just short of its target, and Nico�
�s gaze moved from it to Logan McClosky’s startled eyes.
He slapped one hand over the general’s mouth when he started to speak and stripped off the mask with the other, throwing it far away so it wouldn’t pick up their conversation.
“Are you all right, Nicolás?” the general asked when Nico took his hand away from his mouth. He began patting Nico down as if checking for injury from their brief struggle.
Nico swallowed against a wave of nausea from the knee to the stomach, and nodded. “Fine. They’re after my mother. I heard them talking about finding ‘the madam.’ I think they’re RAL.”
“I agree. Do you know where she is?”
“She’s supposed to meet me at the guest cottage. I told her to get away from the house so no bystanders get hurt.”
“Smart move. Let’s go. You know how to handle that weapon?”
Nico shook his head, looking over his shoulder where the assault rifle dug into his back, all but forgotten. “No.”
“Give it to me, then.” As Nico shrugged the strap off his shoulder, the general reached inside his suit and pulled out a small handgun. “Don’t try to shoot unless you’re point-blank and absolutely have to.”
Nico tucked the gun into his waistband, knowing he’d be far more effective using his fists if it came to that. They moved together through the darkness, hunched down and trying to keep to the shadows as they crossed the wooded lawn to the small guest bungalow. He swallowed a surge of bitter anger as he considered the poverty and prejudice his mother had overcome to obtain all this. She’d built an empire from nothing but her own charm and acumen in a world that did everything in its power to handicap her, and now these RAL assholes wanted to kill her for it.
The cottage was dark as they approached, and Nico could see no activity to indicate his mother had arrived yet. Silently, he and McClosky slipped in through the back door. If she was here, she would be someplace well hidden and defensible.
“There’s a utility room between this hallway and the kitchen,” Nico whispered, leaning close to the general’s ear. “It has doors at both ends, so she wouldn’t be trapped.”
McClosky nodded, and Nico followed as the general went first. Nico didn’t dare take the lead and come between McClosky and anyone he might aim that rifle at.
When they reached the door to the utility room, it was closed. McClosky gestured Nico over and against the wall, probably in case anything hostile lurked on the other side. Then McClosky opened it carefully.
Peering cautiously around the edge, Nico saw a glint of light off the jet beading of his mother’s shadowed figure. She stood with her back to the wall at the far end of the room, beside the other door, which was also opening but with considerably less caution. Shots exploded in the stillness, driving McClosky back. Common sense fled as Nico imagined the attacker discovering his mother there, flattened against the wall he’d just charged past.
Nico broke cover, diving into the room in time to see his mother grab the assailant’s outstretched gun arm. The snap of bone breaking and a startled masculine scream pierced the tense silence, and Silvia bent forward, using the leverage to throw her attacker over her shoulder. The floor vibrated with the impact. She kicked his gun away as he struggled to recover, then she dropped, her elbow drilling downward. Nico heard the crunch as the man’s larynx collapsed.
For a moment, all he could do was stare at his mother, unable to grasp that he’d just watched her kill a man. Her dark eyes were wide and bulging. She had two more black belts than Nico did, and over the years she’d had to deter an abusive client once or twice. But never had she done anything like this.
He wasn’t certain which of them was more astonished and horrified.
In the distance, sirens screamed. Help had arrived.
“Are you all right?” he asked his mother. He couldn’t seem to rip his shocked gaze away from hers. She nodded, her bronze complexion gray and peaked, so Nico spoke over his shoulder. “General, we need to get her out of here in case there are any stragglers the police haven’t—”
Ice crept into the pit of his gut as he heard only silence behind him. He turned to find McClosky lying on the hallway floor, blood wicking through the fabric of the white shirt under his suit jacket.
“Shit! General! General!”
LATE JULY
“. . . Today was the first court appearance for the Righteous Action League fundamentalists who bombed a midsummer celebration last month . . .”
Nico froze, his fingers poised midsentence. Almost against his will, his eyes moved to the projection on the hospital-room wall.
“. . . a number of guests were injured and killed in the explosion. One attacker was killed at the scene, and seven others apprehended. All have refused to answer questions and all have pleaded not guilty to multiple counts of murder, calling their actions justifiable. Families of the victims of the attack are calling it terrorism and have threatened a civil suit against the RAL.”
He wanted to turn it off but couldn’t quite break the compulsion to keep listening. The news was his window to the world as he might have experienced it if not for his mother’s brilliance and determination. He’d been feeling more cut off from reality than usual since the bombing, having spent several weeks in protective custody after the RAL all but put a bounty on his and Silvia’s heads, posting a series of vids urging their followers to complete the job the assailants at the party had failed to accomplish.
“In related news, Reverend Maurice Houtman, spokesman for the Righteous Word Party and a newly declared candidate in next year’s Senate election, posted a video update to RWP supporters this afternoon, protesting the ongoing investigation into any possible connection the RWP might have with the Righteous Action League or the so-called Midsummer Martyrs. He calls the inquiries ‘persecution,’ reiterating his party’s commitment to returning the United States to its spiritual roots. The RWP exceeded their fundraising goals last quarter, championing Houtman’s intended candidacy as a ‘referendum on morality.’”
Nico snorted, then glanced at the sleeping form on the bed. After two surgeries to repair the damage to his heart, lungs, and aorta, General McClosky finally had come out of his medically induced coma the day before. This was the first chance Nico had to visit. Even now, there was an agent from a private security firm standing outside the hospital room, waiting to escort Nico home.
“News off,” he murmured, pitching his voice low to avoid waking McClosky. He readjusted his HUD glasses and the typing rings on his hands and returned to working on his paper. An illusory keyboard appeared beneath the document in the field projected by the lenses. The rings controlled phantom fingers that hovered over the keys, interpreting each twitch of his fingers as a keystroke. The typing was archaic, and he received more than enough grief from his study partners for using it when voice recognition and eye-tracking technology was nearly flawless. But Nico retained information better if he physically wrote out the words.
He was absorbed in his work when a soft moan from the bed brought the world back into focus. With a flick of his thumb, he saved and turned off the projection, quickly removing the glasses and rings. He pulled his chair closer to the bedside.
“General?”
McClosky turned his head, blinking blearily at Nico for a confused moment. Then something seemed to click into place behind his eyes, and his gaze became more focused.
“Nicolás. You— I was shot.”
“Yes, sir. I know the doctors talked to you yesterday, but you’ve been pretty heavily medicated so they weren’t sure how much you’d retain.”
“I think I recall the basics. You and your mother are all right?”
“We’re both fine. Well, as fine as we can be with bounties on our heads, but yeah, we’re okay.”
“Is she still pissed off at me?”
Nico grinned. “No, sir. I think nearly getting killed at her party exonerates you of all wrongdoing, real or imagined.”
The general managed a weak smile. “Can you ple
ase get me some water?”
Nico nodded and pushed up out of his chair. He fetched a sipper bottle from a nearby tray and filled it with ice water from a pitcher.
The general wet his mouth and cleared his throat. “Thank you. What’s the date?”
“The twentieth of July, sir.”
“Damn.” McClosky closed his eyes. His head rolled back wearily for a moment before looking at Nico again. “All right, can you do me a favor? I know the staff here at the hospital has the codes for my emergency contacts. I need you to find the nurse and have someone notify Doctor Thanh at the Pentagon. Tell her I want her or her assistant here within the hour for a briefing.”
Nico frowned. “Shouldn’t you rest? Or clear it with your doctors first or something?”
McClosky shook his head, his expression so grave and concerned that Nico felt a moment of fear. “I’ve missed too much already. There were things I was— Of all the damned inconvenient times for this to happen. Please, just get Thanh here for me?”
“Yes, sir,” Nico said as he packed up his equipment. He slung his bag over his shoulder. “Anything else I can get you? Food? Juice? Martini?”
The general laughed softly, his face drawn and tired. For the first time in all the years he’d known McClosky, it occurred to Nico that the general was nearly three times his age. And at that moment, he looked it.
“No. Just get me someone who can fill me in. And . . . thank you, Nicolás.”
Nico gave him an encouraging smile. “You’re welcome, sir.”
EARLY SEPTEMBER
“That’s it, then.” Zach dropped the file folder on the desk in the shelter administrator’s office as Bryan’s lawyer closed the door on her way out. He tried to catch Bryan’s eyes, but Bryan was staring down at the white-knuckled hands clenched in his lap. “The case was thrown out. No recourse.”
“Rochelle warned us it would be a long shot.” Bryan’s voice was muted and void of any inflection. “I’m just sorry the money you spent hiring her was wasted.”
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