“Easy.” Alex stuck a restraining hand on Taylor’s arm. The kid was wound as tight as a spring. He’d nearly launched out of his chair the minute Charlie moved. “Before Mark escorts you off my property, Oakes, you need to stop and think what the Chinese will do when—”
“Save it.” He already had one hand on the doorknob. “Hell, Stewart, how dumb do you think I am?” He motioned to Mark. “Time’s a-wasting. Show me the hell outta here.”
Alex held his tongue. He and Taylor watched Mark walk Oakes to Mother’s customer service desk, where he emptied his pockets and handed over his keys to the first floor entry. Nothing went out the door with him except the clothes on his back and the shoes on his feet. Mother stood up and walked away the moment she spied Oakes. Mark then escorted him to the elevator.
Taylor seethed. “You can’t just let him get away.”
Alex nodded toward his plate glass window. “I’m not. Watch this.”
Taylor braced his bandaged hands at both sides of the windowpane, his gaze on the street below. Sure enough, in minutes Charlie eased his brand silver Jaguar convertible up from The TEAM parking garage and onto the street. He gunned the engine and off he went. Just as quickly, two black sedans pulled away from the curb and followed.
Taylor glanced over his shoulder. “Anyone we know?”
Already with his cell phone at his ear, Alex winked. “He’s all yours, Mr. Secretary.”
God Almighty, what now?
Taylor and Mark weren’t back at their work stations two seconds when Alex called them into his office. The last thing Taylor wanted was another assignment. He needed to get the hell out of there and find Gracie. How dense could Alex be?
“Shut the door.”
Mark took a chair at Alex’s desk. Reluctantly, Taylor did the same.
“Oakes is the second agent I’ve had to fire,” Alex said. “I made the same mistake twice. Both times they’ve done serious damage. It can’t happen again.”
“It’s not like you’re hiring civilians off the street,” Mark said.
“No.” Alex looked straight at Taylor. “That’s for sure.”
Yesterday’s conversation with the General came back to mind. “You knew who my father was all along, didn’t you?”
“Not until I had to tell him you’d gone missing.”
“And how’d that go?”
“We had a fairly civil discourse until he called back to find out why I hadn’t located you yet.”
Great. Just what I was afraid of. No matter what I do, the General commands and everyone obeys.
“Do you know what’s essential to making this team work?” Alex still eyed Taylor.
“Good men and women who aren’t afraid to serve and lead,” Taylor answered smoothly.
Alex held up two fingers, a spark in his eye. “That’s twice.”
“Twice?”
“That’s twice you’ve given me book answers. Don’t do it again. I’m not your father and I’m not your drill sergeant. Knock it off.”
Yeah, but you’re my boss, and you talked with my father and—
“It’s about knowing you can trust every man and woman on The TEAM,” Mark interrupted.
“Okay.” Taylor responded a little too quickly. This was just a pep talk. It’d be over soon. “Trust. I get it.”
“No. You. Don’t,” Alex barked. “You don’t trust anyone, do you?”
The walls came down and the doors locked up. Taylor didn’t respond. Alex wouldn’t like his answer anyway.
“Let me tell you how my second conversation with your father ended. Yes, he wanted to make certain I knew you were his son, and that he’d appreci—”
“And he wanted you to make sure I got promoted fast and easy, right?” The bitter accusation flew out of Taylor’s mouth. His father’s pulling rank and continual interference was the story of his life, first at school, undoubtedly in the Corps, and now here in the one place Taylor had finally felt immune. Respected for who he was, not who his pushy father was.
Alex leaned forward, his gaze icy. “Who the hell owns this place, Junior Agent? Get your head out of your ass and think, damn it. I asked you a question. Who owns this TEAM?”
Taylor straightened in his chair at the nasty turn in the conversation. “You do.”
“Damned straight.”
So who didn’t know Alex Stewart owned The TEAM. CEO and over-the-top workaholic, he and his team worked circles around most federal agencies. The maniac was also known to jump into the middle of operations that encountered trouble, and, oh, yeah, he’d thrown a chair through his office window once or twice.
As volatile as he could be, he also thought outside the box. He pushed his people hard, and he could be a raving bastard on any given day. But the sonofabitch prospered. His team idolized him. Followed him. Would die for him.
Taylor gulped before he put himself on the line again. What the hell did Alex want? His resignation? Trust didn’t come easy, but maybe...
“May I ask how you answered the General’s request… to promote me?”
“What do you think?” Alex barked.
“Honestly, Boss, I hope you told him to go to hell.”
Alex didn’t smile, but Taylor caught the bemused light in his eyes. “Let’s just say we had an amicable conversation that didn’t achieve the result he anticipated.”
Mark coughed at that discreet comeback.
“So you’re not going to promote me?”
“Why the hell would I promote a kid who doesn’t trust me?”
Okay. Cool. Alex still glared like a sonofabitch, but that wicked glint in his eye told the story. He didn’t much give a shit about Michael Armstrong, either.
“I can live with that,” Taylor murmured.
“You bet your ass you can. And you will.”
Mark changed the subject. “So what’s your plan for our boy, Charlie?”
“Art’s got him under FBI surveillance,” Alex answered, suddenly somber. “I’m concerned it may not be enough.” He glanced at his watch. “Your truck should be in the parking garage by now, Taylor.”
“My truck? Really? Where was it?”
“Harley and Gabe spotted it out at Peter’s place when they went looking for you. They would’ve driven it back themselves but you had the keys, so they towed it.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Taylor said earnestly. “I mean it. You’ve done enough, what with dinner last night and—”
Alex rolled his eyes. “Will you shut the hell up? Why don’t you take a couple days off? It’s been a tough week and you’re half a bubble off.”
Taylor smirked at the carpenter’s reference to leveling. Alex was correct. He was beat and he needed to find out where Gracie was incarcerated. Maybe there was still time to visit her. Ryder, too.
Mark nodded at Taylor’s bandaged hands. “You sure you can drive with those mitts?”
“I’m fine.” Taylor stood to leave, but Mark and Alex stood with him. They accompanied him to the parking garage two levels down. “You guys leaving, too?”
“No,” replied Alex. “Just making sure you get to your truck. I may not promote you, but I want to make sure you can handle that piece of crap you drive.”
Taylor nearly chuckled. Somehow the snarky dig from his boss sounded okay.
The elevator opened at ground level to Harley and Gabe lounging against the tailgate of his ’79 Dodge pick-up. It was a sight for sore eyes, another thing he and the General disagreed on. That he’d settled for an old rattletrap of a truck disgusted his father no end. Well no more. The truck was a keeper.
Gabe nodded with a two-fingered salute. “It’s nice to see you’re still driving it.”
“Yeah,” Taylor replied. “She’s a good ole Dodge. You’d like her.”
Gabe lovingly ran a hand along the tailgate. “Darrell always wanted it, you know. He’d be glad you’ve still got her.”
The cheerful face of another truck guy, Lance Corporal Darrell Carson, flashed to mind. For so
me reason, driving the truck Darrell lusted over eased the loss of his friend. Maybe it would help Gabe? “You’re always welcome to take her for a spin, you know. Just go easy on the gas. She sucks fumes. Burns oil like a pig. I’ve got to get her in for an overhaul.”
Gabe looked away. “No. You keep her. I’m good.”
“Hope you’ve got your keys,” Harley said.
Taylor reached for them, but they were too deep in his front pocket. No such luck.
“Y’all need some help?” Harley asked.
“No.” Taylor didn’t need any guy digging in his pants pocket.
Gabe snickered. “Heard you tied one on last night, bro.”
“Yeah, well I had a little help getting there.”
“Sure you don’t need help with your britches?” Harley asked again. “Cuz I—”
“I’ll help you, Taylor.”
“Gracie?” He caught her as she slid off the bench seat. “You’re here.”
Her hands skimmed over his shoulders. He leaned into her bright eyes. The moment he took her in his arms, peace invaded his core, the kind of peace only Gracie brought. He glanced at Alex. “How’d you... What’d you...?”
“She’s released on her own recognizance. She’ll have to talk to her lawyer and appear in court, but for now, she’s all yours.”
Gracie had tears in her eyes. “Thank you so much, Mr. Stewart. Thank you for everything.”
“Ah, it’s nothing. Take this guy home. He’s had a rough couple of days.”
Chapter Thirty
“What? They lost him already?”
“It happens,” Arthur Turner replied brusquely.
“Yes, Mr. Secretary. It happens,” Alex repeated. Especially with the FBI. Damned know-it-all bureaucrats.
“I’ve pulled my man out of Steele’s office. No need for him to stay. As far as I’m concerned, this is over.”
“Yes, sir. Appreciate your assistance.”
“Never a problem. Do me a favor.”
“What’s that, Art?”
“Take up golf, damn it.”
Once again, Alex ignored the suggestion. Smacking a little white ball never struck him as recreation. Shooting it, maybe. “Good night, Mr. Secretary.”
Taylor held Gracie’s hand as they walked up the concrete path to his front door. It was more like she held his thickly bandaged mitt, trying to maintain a firm but gentle hold. As awkward as it had to be for her, the gesture meant a lot.
He grimaced at the sight of his latest project. The yard needed work. Hell, the whole place did. The old rose bushes under the front windows were overgrown with dead canes and weeds. Virginia Creeper grew out of control everywhere, its vines wrapped around the front porch columns like a jungle scene.
“This is a lovely home,” Gracie said shyly. “I’ve always wanted to see the inside of it.”
“I thought you already did?”
The loveliest peach color flooded her cheeks.
“But you knew about the banister,” he insisted.
“Because you had your front door wide open that day. I walked by when you were using some very colorful language. I couldn’t help but notice.”
Damn. Heat raced over his face. Yeah, he’d dropped a few F-bombs the day the spindle broke on his unwieldy banister. A two-man job, he hadn’t asked for help. Not his smartest move.
“Sorry,” he muttered as they approached the front door, the first thing he’d replaced when he’d acquired the project.
Solid black walnut, the new door featured a ten-inch wide, stained-glass cathedral window at its center. Black hinges and knobs added to the very austere look of the entry, a thousand times better than the cheap screen door the house came with. With all the vines dangling overhead, it almost made for a romantic spot to pause.
He bowed politely and ushered her inside, his well-padded hand resting at the small of her back. “Welcome to my humble project.”
The oddest sensation rippled through him. Gracie Fox had just entered his world where some happy couple would eventually live and raise a family. The implication of being alone with him in this fixer-upper affected her as well. Her eyes darted over the construction debris. She bit her bottom lip, not moving a step.
He couldn’t blame her. The place looked more like a cavernous workshop with a hint of sawdust. Everywhere. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. “Sorry. The good chairs are in the kitchen. I’ll order pizza or something.”
“I could cook dinner.”
“Probably not,” he muttered, embarrassed he was guy. “Not much food in the place.” Not unless that week-old bucket of fried chicken in the refrigerator was the least bit edible.
“Or we could order pizza.” She giggled, and he relaxed. It sounded happily out of place, like music in the middle of a work zone.
He snagged her hand despite his bandages. “At least let me show you around.”
Built in the days of high ceilings and solid wood everything, this project boasted all the old-fashioned charms of its era, from the coal chute in the basement to an expansive butler’s pantry, complete with a built-in china cabinet that opened from the dining room as well as the pantry. If only he’d already restored it. Would’ve been a little more impressive without the sawdust.
Gracie ventured into one of the two huge front rooms ahead of him, so he followed.
The ceiling on this side of the house rose at least twenty-two feet with no second story access. A floor to ceiling paned-window filled the wall facing the street, although straggling overgrown bushes and vines obscured the view. For now, sheetrock covered the adjoining two walls and ceiling. He’d stripped out the wall with the arch that once separated the room from the entry in order to accommodate structural repairs and new hardwood plank flooring.
Potential. This project had tons of potential. Tons of dust, too.
“How are you going to finish this room?” Her voice echoed.
“White walls to catch the light, maybe some kind of a chandelier. Maybe not. The windows are tall so I’d like to take advantage of all the glass, you know, maybe some kind of solar energy thing going on in here. Or a library,” he mused. “It would make a way cool library. A couple couches. Lots of lamps. Persian rugs, maybe.”
“You read?”
He had to laugh. “Hell yeah. Marines do know how to read.”
She ducked her head into her shoulders. “I didn’t mean that you didn’t. I just meant, umm, I like to read, too. Would you build bookshelves up to the ceiling?”
“I would. I’d build one of those ladders that glide along the top shelves, too. It would be cool, huh?”
Gracie stood with the golden light of the late afternoon sun pouring around her. His tired heart hammered in recognition of the positive energy she exuded. And promise. He shook it off.
“Come on. Let’s go up top. I’ll show you my rack and the head—uh, sorry. I mean I’ll show you the second floor bedrooms and bathrooms. Then we’ll order pizza. How’s that sound for a first date?”
She took his bandaged hand without a word and together they climbed the walnut staircase. He started at the far end of the upstairs hall with the bedroom that had no flooring, walls, or light fixtures. For now they could just peek in through the doorway and imagine what it would eventually look like.
“You have a lot of work ahead of you,” she said. “You do everything by yourself?”
“I work best alone.” Least I used to.
“What will this bedroom be?”
“I don’t know. It’s the smallest. Maybe I’ll turn it into an office. I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
Gracie wandered down the hall. “You have a bathroom in every room?”
“That’s the way these old houses are.” He crinkled his nose. “Of course, I didn’t think about having to clean five bathrooms then.”
“I think it’s a good idea. This home was built for a big family. They’ll need all these toilets and sinks.”
“True. The fellow I bought it from raised nine c
hildren here.”
“Whew. That is a big family.”
“It was. There were lots of little kid drawings on some of the walls in the bedrooms. I’ve painted over or removed a lot of really cute stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Like one little boy drew a stick picture of himself and his dog. He signed his and the dog’s name right next to it in pencil. Oscar and Jeff. I think Jeff was the dog. It was cute.”
“Do you sell all the homes you restore?”
“So far. Mark and Libby like this one. Of course, that doesn’t mean they want to buy it.”
“How many houses have you restored?”
“This makes three since my last tour. The other projects weren’t this big, though. I’ll be here awhile.”
“Would you want a large family? I mean if you were ever to settle down?”
He’d just opened the door to his bedroom. The four-poster bed beckoned with its usual unmade bedding, the pillows scattered on the floor, the blankets and sheets half-off the bed. His clothes from the day before lay where he’d discarded them along with the pile of bloodied towels. He turned to Gracie with a crooked smirk. “Probably not the best question to ask while we’re touring the master suite, huh?”
She turned scarlet anyway, right up to the roots of her hair.
He stopped her at the doorway, pleased to his core that, with just one innocent question, he’d made her blush. Why that mattered, he didn’t know, but it did. The ancient rite of mating dictated he be the one to mark her. To claim her. With fire in her blood and a babe in her belly. The charming blush on her cheeks could be the beginning.
“Yes, Gracie. When the day comes, I want children, definitely more than one. Do I want a big family? Nine kids? Maybe not, but I do want a house full. I want laughter and giggles and scary ghost stories and a big old Christmas tree in December that takes up the whole front room, right up to the ceiling. I want a monster dog that shakes water and snow all over the place, and my kids’ fingerprints in every corner, on the windowpanes, and under the beds, and heck, I don’t know where else a kid’s fingerprints should be. Somehow, I want Luke and Matthew and Grandfather to be there, too. I want a real family this time around.”
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