Fiona
The alarm goes off a very short amount of time later. I need to get moving, but I’m so comfortable underneath the covers. After a moment I throw the blanket off, but immediately pull it back over me. I can tell the pilot light has gone out in my heater again. It needs to be replaced. Dammit. At least it doesn’t leak natural gas all over my townhouse.
I have to psych myself up for this. It’s going to be a crappy day. I finally get myself together and make a run for the shower. Thankfully, the hot water works just fine.
After I’m clean, I get ready and pull my car out of the garage right on time. I’ve ordered coffee from my favorite coffee house and stop to pick it up. Then, after paying forty dollars to park for two hours in visitor parking at Damien Lewis’s office, I hop in the elevator to find Damien studying his phone.
He looks up at me in surprise. “Good morning. You’re nice and early.”
“Here’s your coffee.” I hand him the paper cup with his name on it.
“Thanks. What do I owe you?”
“I only ask for excellent legal representation for Hunter.”
“Done. Who’s coming from Clear?”
“Bash Pontius.”
“Good. I’ve worked with him before.”
When we arrive on the twenty-eighth floor, Bash is there waiting.
“Here’s your coffee,” I tell him.
He smiles as he reaches for the cup. “Thank you.”
We sit down and go through what we know. Not surprisingly, Bash doesn’t have much more information than he did last night, but Damien asks for a few more pieces.
“I like the John Riley angle,” Damien says. “I also want to check out who their customers are. Can you work with someone to get in and find out who uses their products? I have a feeling someone is looking to get in and piece something together with the information they haven’t been able to see or use.”
“Makes sense,” I say.
“I’m also interested in a deep dive into Jennifer DeMille’s family and her history, including medical,” Damien continues.
“Got it. We can begin working on that ASAP,” Bash volunteers.
We talk a short time longer. It’s after eight, and if I’m going to drive out to Atwater and back to see my father like I promised Sinead, I have to leave soon. I need to be sure they’ll let me in.
When we get in the elevator after the meeting, Bash stands close. “May I give you a ride to your office?”
I shake my head. “I have my car, and I’m going out to Atwater.”
His eyes grow large. “Why?”
“A woman my dad is close to went out of her way to tell me I need to go see him.”
“Doesn’t that mean you’re going to have the FBI crawling through your life?”
“It does, but Wang-Fang is probably making that happen anyway, because he’s a vindictive ass.” I shrug. “I haven’t been in over a year. I need to go.”
“Can I go with you?”
I look at him, confused. Why would he want to go to the maximum-security prison? “I still need to call and make sure they’ll let me see him.”
“I tell you what, why don’t you drive your car back to your place, and I’ll drive us out there.” Bash puts his hand on my lower back. He’s insistent. “I know a few people who work at Atwater, and I’ll see if you can get time with your dad today.”
“Why would you want to come with me?”
Bash shrugs. “He’s a legend. I always like meeting legends.”
“He won’t talk about anything, if you or your friends are looking for him to share good stories or rat someone out.”
“I’m not interested even if he does. Everything is recorded, and if someone wants to replay that, let them. Smart guys never say anything anyway.”
“Well, I’d love the company,” I tell him. “Four hours is a lot of driving.” I stop in front of my silver sports car.
“Great.” Bash watches as I use my key fob to open my car. His jaw drops. “Wait. The Acura NSX is yours?”
I stand a bit straighter. Even non-gearheads are impressed by my car. Last year Acura only made about two hundred of them, and the waitlist is long. It’s sleek, with major horsepower, and it’s fun to drive. “Would you prefer to take my car to Atwater instead?”
It takes Bash a few moments to respond. “No. One day we can take that. But I’m not sure I’ll fit in that car.”
I size him up. “You should. We’ll find out another time.” At least I can give him some hope.
He follows me back to my place, and I park in my garage. By the time I crawl into the passenger seat of Bash’s car, he’s ready for the long driving day.
“You’re all set,” he tells me. “We have an appointment at one.”
It takes me a moment to realize he’s referring to Atwater. “My dad’s going to miss his time outside,” I say. “He’s not going to be happy.”
Bash reaches for my hand. “He’s in the hospital wing.”
His hand is warm, and it soothes me. “What? Why?” I’m stunned. This isn’t what I expected when Sinead urged me to see him.
Bash rubs his thumb across my knuckles. “He has pancreatic cancer.”
My shoulders fall. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
“I don’t know.”
Bash drives us across the Bay Bridge before heading south toward Los Angeles. We travel along, mostly in silence, as he maneuvers expertly over the road. Just outside Yosemite, in the heart of the San Joaquin Valley, we arrive in Atwater.
I look around, and my skin crawls. It’s dry and hot, and the people in town all have a vacant look in their eyes. Nothing about Atwater is happy. Even the holiday decorations look old and tired.
We pull into visitor parking at the prison. We hardly spoke the entire four-hour drive.
Bash turns to me. “I can visit with my buddy, or I can stay with you, whichever you prefer.”
“I should probably meet my dad alone.” I say this with more confidence than I feel. He is my father, and part of the reason he’s here is to protect me. I look up to the sky and say a silent prayer to my mother, asking for strength and no tears.
“No problem.”
I pull my driver’s license from my purse, empty my pockets, and take the clips out of my hair, leaving them on the seat in the car. Taking a deep breath, I gather my strength. “Let’s do this before I change my mind.”
We walk in, and I approach the guard behind the bulletproof glass. She looks at me as if I’m dog shit stuck to the bottom of her shoe. Lovely. “Fiona McPhee to see inmate five-six-four-nine, Liam Matthew McPhee. Here are my driver’s license and Bar Association card.”
She picks up my driver’s license and compares the picture to me. My hair was shorter, but I haven’t changed much. “Are you his lawyer?”
I pull myself up to stand straight, wishing I had another four or five inches to work with. “No, I’m his daughter. I received word that he wanted to see me.”
She clicks a few things on her computer. “Put this badge on. You’ll be escorted to the hospital wing.”
“Thank you.”
She checks Bash in as well. “Are you two together?”
“We are, but I’m here to catch up with the warden.”
“You need to go to the administrative office. It’s around front.”
“I’d like to walk with my girlfriend to see her father, and then be escorted to the warden’s office.”
She purses her lips. She picks up the phone and makes a phone call. As she’s finishing, the warden himself arrives.
“Bash.”
“Hey, man. How’s it hangin’?”
“Still a little to the left.”
We’re buzzed in, and they shake hands and do a manly embrace. “Fiona McPhee, this is William Carroll. He was my roommate through Green Beret school, and we joined the US Marshals Service together.” He looks at him with his eyebrows raised. “Billy, this is my girlfriend, Fiona McPhee.”
Girlfriend
again? What the hell? I play along, knowing it’s not worth an argument.
“Nice to meet you.” His brow furrows. “You’re here to see Liam McPhee?”
“Yes, I understand I need an escort?” I prompt.
He seems confused and trades looks with Bash. “I can do that for you.”
We walk for what seems like miles, through hallway after hallway. Bash holds my hand, and it calms my nerves as we’re buzzed through more than one gate. Finally, Bash and the warden leave me to walk into the last room alone.
Bash kisses me on the cheek. “I’ll be close by. Just have the nurse call the warden’s office when you’re ready, and I’ll come get you.”
I walk in, and a nurse greets me. “Ms. McPhee, I’m so glad you made it. Your father has been asking for you.”
Just beyond her, I see him lying in a hospital bed. He’s hooked up to several machines, and his eyes are shut.
“Dadaí, it’s me, Fi.” I reach for his hand and clasp it in both of mine. It’s been years since we were able to touch, and my heart hurts. I look up and will the tears to stay away.
“My little lass is here,” he rasps.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were so sick? Sinead had to tell me when I ordered food.”
“I didn’t want to cause any problems for you,” he says. “I’m going to see your mammy soon.”
I begin to cry. “Why didn’t you tell me? I wish there was something I could do for you.”
He might have chosen a life that skirted the law, but he was always a great father. I was the center of his universe. He never missed a school play or activity. He adored my mother, and I knew they were hoping to start a new life when they moved to the US. I remember the day they read his verdict. He turned to me and asked that I look out for my mom and be a good girl. She was heartbroken when he went to prison.
“You being here is all I care about. I love you, Fi. I’m so proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished. And I’m most proud that you didn’t get yourself into this life. I promised your mammy I’d do whatever I could to keep you out and clean.”
“Dadaí, I’m sorry I didn’t come visit more often,” I tell him.
He pats me on the arm. “I know the FBI makes your life difficult. I didn’t want that for you. I heard from Sinead, Paul, David, and the rest of the band how you were doing. I know you’re going to be just fine. Please have some grandchildren for me. You’ll make a wonderful mother one day.”
“I don’t know about that, Dadaí. I can’t even keep a good man around.”
“You’ll know. Everyone meets their soulmate at different times. I met your mammy before I left Ireland. If I had met her sooner, maybe things would have been different. But I love you, don’t you forget that. When they dissolve my estate in Ireland, you should see a few things coming your way.”
He shuts his eyes, and I immediately worry he’s passed, but the beeping sound of his heart continues.
The nurse walks over. “I think that’s about all you’re going to get from him today. He’s pretty tired.”
I nod. “How bad is it?”
“He was sick long before he told anyone. By then, he was too far gone.”
I know he must be in immense pain. “Why would he do that?”
“I think the lifers here sometimes think it’s okay to move on.”
I understand, but I wish I didn’t. He’ll never get out. He hardly wanted me here. I can’t imagine he’d want grandchildren visiting him here.
“May I sit with him for a bit?”
“As long as you want.” She pats me on the shoulder before walking away.
I hold his frail hand—the hand that was once so strong. I remember him grasping handfuls of walnuts and crushing them. I was so proud he was my dad. Now the joints in his hands are knotted with arthritis. The veins are purple and the skin spotted with age.
He wakes up. “A stór, promise me you won’t come back. Too many eyes are watching. I will be with your mammy soon, and always remember I love you.”
I break down completely. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, but I can’t stop. After a moment, though I didn’t hear him come in, I smell Bash’s sandalwood scent and feel him beside me.
“Take care of my little girl,” my father rasps.
Bash rubs my back. “I promise,” he says.
Bash essentially carries me back to his SUV. He places me in the Range Rover and engages the seatbelt. Once he’s settled in the driver’s seat, I feel I can talk. “He said there were too many eyes at Atwater, and he didn’t want me to come back.”
“There are some pretty big-deal criminals in Atwater.” Bash stops at the end of the parking lot, waiting for the guard to check our car. “Do you like Mexican food?”
I nod.
Bash navigates back to the freeway and heads north. “My favorite place is in Modesto on our way home. Why don’t we stop for dinner? You can drink your weight in margaritas, and I’ll try not to take advantage of you tonight.”
I look at him and can’t help but crack a small grin.
“I knew I could get you to smile. What’s your favorite on a Mexican menu? I like menudo.”
I crinkle my nose. It always smells good, but I can’t get around the fact that it’s tripe. “Really?”
He nods. “They make the guacamole tableside, and the salsa is fresh tomatoes. I’ll order fajitas sometimes, or a smothered burrito, but I’m in the mood for tacos. They make six different kinds. I want one of each.”
I know he’s trying to be positive and supportive. I don’t want to talk about my dad and my conflicted feelings. “How was your conversation with your friend?”
“It was good. We both got to the point with the US Marshals where we had to move into administration, which means running a prison—that was too depressing for me, work with idiots in WITSEC, which is glorified babysitting, or get out and work in the private sector. Jobs there are tough to find, but that’s the direction I went.”
“How did you end up with Jim?”
“Luck. I was working security for judges on the Ninth Circuit. He had some questions one day, and we started talking. While I was in the Green Berets, I did a lot of kidnap recovery in less-than-desirable parts of the world. Eventually, he brought me in to help with Nate Lancaster, and we’ve been working together for over seven years now.”
When we reach Modesto, he pulls into a strip mall and parks. When we enter the restaurant’s hostess area, I look around and realize we’re the only ones not speaking Spanish. This is going to be a very authentic meal. My stomach growls.
One margarita was more than enough, and I too enjoy the street tacos we’re served.
“What are your plans for the holiday?” Bash asks. “Do you get out of town and go somewhere warm?”
“I’m in desperate need of a good vacation, but I can’t go anywhere until January,” I tell him. “What about you?”
“I’m working. Holidays are busy for us, too.”
We spend the remainder of dinner laughing and getting to know one another.
“What did you think of Jim’s wedding?” I ask.
Jim and his bride, Kate, were married at a surprise party in September. No one knew it was going to be anything more than a group of friends getting together, so anyone who missed the party didn’t see the wedding.
“I thought it was great, and I love that Nate Lancaster got to marry them. I only wish we’d been able to do a stag party for him.”
“I adore Kate, and I would have loved to plan something for her, too. What would you have done?”
“One of our clients owns the Shangri-la in Las Vegas and we’d have probably just gone there to drink too much and play too much poker. What would you have planned for Kate?”
“I might have gotten them over to The Dungeon.”
Bash throws his head back and laughs. “You think you could have set that up for Kate and Caroline Arnault?”
Caroline is one of Kate’s friends and as close to American royalty a
s we get. She comes from old, old money, her parents are Silicon Valley tech pioneers, and she owns a cosmetics company. She’s pretty straight laced.
“No, but we could have organized a party in the playroom and had some light BDSM entertainment.”
Bash leans in. “Is that what you like?”
I shake my head. “I’m not telling.”
Chapter 8
Fiona
After dinner, Bash drives us the rest of the way back to San Francisco. I sleep until his phone rings.
“Hey, Jim,” he answers and looks at me, hitting the button for speakerphone.
“How did it go at the arraignment today?” Jim asks.
“Good. Mason has Hunter out on bail, and he’s staying at Fiona’s office. She’s here with me now. We’ve been chasing down some leads. We’re just coming up on the Bay Bridge.”
“Hi, Jim,” I say.
“Hey, Fi. One of our clients is probably going to need some help from you. He has a woman who keeps thwarting our security and showing up at his house. She was in his bed when he got home this evening. We’ll need a TRO and maybe some of that intervention you’re so good at.”
“I think we can manage that. Send me the information.”
“Great. Bash, will you be in tomorrow?”
“I think so, but late because I need to do a few things.”
“It’s Sunday, so don’t worry about it. Let’s meet early Monday morning. I’m looking for some updates on what happened Thursday night to follow up with Mistress Erin.”
They talk about a few other things before ending their call while I look out over the Bay Bridge. San Francisco is spectacular. It’s a clear, moonlit night, and everything has a golden glow. “I love this city.”
“Me too. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
Bash navigates through the streets. It’s not too late, so the City is still bustling as people head to clubs and other Saturday-night activities.
When Bash pulls up in front of my house, he cuts the motor and turns to me. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay.” I look at him, and he’s beautiful. I touch his arm. “Would you like to come in?”
Unwrapped: Clear Security's Holiday (Clear Security Holiday Book 2) Page 5