Rory (In the Company of Snipers Book 6)

by Irish Winters

  Mother came back and the opportunity was gone. Rory excused himself and went back to his desk, but he sat watching and wondering. Twice Ember glanced his way, only to jerk her eyes back to her monitor the minute he caught her looking. And she wasn’t busy. He tried again, hoping she’d go out with him for coffee or something. But that set her off. She pushed her chair so hard it fell backward. “I don’t need this bullshit.”

  He watched dumbfounded as she marched into Alex’s office and slammed the door behind her. In two seconds flat she stormed out and straight to the elevator. The other agents watched in hushed silence. Even Mother sat stunned and quiet for a change.

  Ember called the elevator. Without looking back, she stalked inside it, punched the keypad and was gone.

  What just happened?

  “Dennison!” Alex roared from his office. Harley was headed out of the office as Rory entered, shaking his head. Alex tossed a single sheet of paper across his desk.

  Rory took the paper and sputtered. Ember’s resignation? She’d quit? “What’s going on?”

  “There’s a reason we have rules against fraternization on the job.”

  Rory shook his head, still trying to make sense of anything Ember-related. “But I—”

  “I don’t care what you two thought you were doing together on this op, but when it affects this team, it becomes my problem. I’m one techie short. I can’t afford to lose her.”

  “But Boss, I—”

  “Fix it!”

  Rory shut his mouth, turned around and went back to his desk. He hadn’t sat down for two minutes when Mother scooted her chair over to his workspace. “Did she do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Did she quit?”

  For the first time, he really looked at Mother. She’d been crying. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she looked devastated.

  “What do you want?” he asked tiredly, not wanting to discuss the office drama.

  “Just to do what I do best.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “I want to help.”

  Rory wished she’d leave his workspace. He wasn’t ready to trust her. “Leave it alone. I’ve got work to do.”

  “Okay,” she said sadly, pushing to her own workspace.

  In a few minutes, Alex was back with his usual belligerence. “Well?”

  “Well, what?” Rory asked patiently. Right now he had a pain in his neck and another one leaning over his desk.

  “I gave you an assignment to fix the problem you created.”

  “I created?” Rory jumped to his feet, once again toe to toe with his boss. “And how do you expect me to do that?”

  “You were agent in charge. You’re going to find out what’s wrong with her. Do you hear me?”

  Rory rolled his eyes at that ridiculous assignment.

  “Fix it,” Alex growled.

  “Can I work any other miracles while I’m here?” Rory growled back.

  Steely blue eyes said it for him. Get it done. Alex turned smartly back to his office.

  In exasperation, Rory circled his workspace once before he pulled his chair back and finally settled. He did the only thing he could think of. He started a background investigation into one Junior Agent Ember Davis, the same as he’d do for any other person of interest. Glued to his computer monitor, he didn’t hear Mother until she touched his elbow.

  This time he wasn’t so pleasant. “What?”

  “Please talk with me,” she pleaded.

  Great. She’d been crying again. Not what he needed, another emotional woman. He tried to sound patient. “What do you want?”

  “Let’s go into the Sit Room. Please?”

  Rory scowled, but relented. Once in the Sit Room, she shut the door and started to cry. He shoved both hands through his hair. Had the whole world gone bat-shit crazy while he was away? “I don’t have time for this. What’s so important you can’t tell me at my desk?”

  She composed herself enough to sit at the table. “I knew something was wrong the minute Ember came back from the Lobsang op. She wasn’t herself. She was crying and wearing her sunglasses all day. I went to Alex, but he told me to mind my business. You know how he is, but I can tell. Something really bad is wrong with my Ember.”

  My Ember. Hmm. Still standing at the door and not wanting to engage in gossip, he knew what was wrong with Ember. Her heart was broken. She missed the little one she’d sworn to protect and ended up falling in love with. Heck, he’d fallen in love with both of them, and now they were gone.

  “She went and got that awful tattoo. Did you see it? You probably didn’t because of the obscene outfit she’s wearing today, but Rory. It’s a skull and crossbones right over her heart. It’s like she thinks she’s poison or something.”

  When Mother burst out crying again, he wanted to rip his hair out. No. He hadn’t seen the tattoo, but it fit. Ember seemed determined to fight the world right now. Mother hadn’t offered anything helpful until she slid an open folder across the table to Rory. “Take a look.”

  Reluctantly, he did, but if this was nothing more than her usual busybody interference, he was done. The top page in the file showed a police department mug shot and set of fingerprints of Ember. He sat. She looked to be maybe fourteen or fifteen years old with two lopsided ponytails. Her frightened face was covered with acne. His heart stuttered. My poor Ember.

  “What is this?”

  “Her juvie record,” Mother whispered. “It was, umm, sealed, but I kinda—”

  He waved her explanation off, studying the charges against the suspect. What? Murder? Ember? Now he was paying attention.

  Mother kept talking. “Ember had an awful childhood. Her mother was an alcoholic and her father was never around. She told me once they really went after each other when they got together. Sometimes it got violent.”

  Rory scanned the rest of the file. Ember had been arrested all right, but only after she’d confessed to killing her mother. She was never charged, though. The police closed the case when they could find no evidence to support her wild claim. She was released into the custody of several different foster families until she turned eighteen, at which point she joined the Navy. The saddest footnote to her story was that her father was still alive at the time her mother died; he just didn’t want her. He’d relinquished parental rights and let the state of Virginia keep her.

  Mother rambled on. “I didn’t believe it, so, umm, I got to checking around a little closer, and I, umm—”

  “What?” Rory had no patience left for Mother’s fake timidity.

  “I checked the medical examiner’s report. Ember wasn’t home when her mother died. That’s why they did an autopsy. It was an unattended death, so it didn’t make sense she’d killed her mother when she wasn’t even there. I checked her mother’s physician’s statements. I couldn’t find anything hinting at foul play.”

  “Neither did the police,” Rory said, tapping his fingertips on the juvie records beneath his hand. Mother was not gossiping. The detailed research made it obvious she cared about Ember. “Then how’d her mother die?”

  “Official cause of death was myocardial infarction compounded by cirrhosis of the liver. The woman drank herself to death. Her body just gave out. There’s no way a fourteen-year-old did that.”

  “But she blamed herself.” He sighed. She still does. Things were beginning to line up.

  Mother sniffled. “She told me her mother picked fights, blamed her all the time when things went wrong. You know how drunks are. They need someone to blame. Nothing is their fault. Their kids grow up with no self-esteem because they’ve never done anything right. No wonder Ember confessed. Her mother’s death had to be her fault. She was the only one left.”

  “And she was a little girl,” he said quietly. A little girl whose father had deserted her. No wonder she never wanted to be a mother. The teenage confession was mixed up with the dark change he’d witnessed. Having to give up Nima must have triggered it. Ember was an unwanted child who’d loved and lost a child. Did
she feel as if she’d somehow deserted Nima? Did she think she was as bad as her mother? It made sense. Her maternal instincts were at war with her reality. She was hurt and locking the world out, protecting herself the only way she knew—by making herself untouchable. Unlovable. Poison.

  “What next?” he asked gently.

  Mother’s eyes teared up. “I don’t know. She won’t talk to me anymore, and now she’s quit. I’m afraid I’ll never see her again.”

  Rory put his hand to her shoulder. For the first time, a twinge of compassion sprang to life for this annoying woman. Maybe she wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. “Ember is hurting. That’s why she’s mad.”

  “I know. I just can’t reach her anymore.” Mother gulped back another sob. “She’s mad when she comes to work, and she’s mad when she goes home. Every day she gets darker. She did the same thing when Todd was killed, but this is worse. I can’t reach her, Rory. I’m afraid she might be thinking of killing herself.”

  “No.” Rory knew Ember better than that. “She’s mad at Alex and me. I’m not exactly sure why, maybe she blames us because Nima’s gone. And she’s probably mad at herself, too.”

  Mother shook her head. “I know she’s mad at Alex and she had a knock-down drag out fight with David, but I get the feeling she’s more than mad at you.”

  Rory sighed. He got the same feeling. Poor Ember. He wanted to hold her like he’d done after the altercation in the cornfield. She’d been mad at herself then, too, confused how taking life could sometimes be the right choice. Heck, he still struggled with it, and he’d been through sniper training and lived through one-on-one combat. Closing the folder, he pushed it back toward Mother.

  “Burn it. No one else needs to see it, not even Alex. Do you understand?” He knew what he had to do and he knew where he had to go.

  Mother went straight to the document shredder in the corner of the conference room and fed the file into the grinding teeth of the machine. In a few seconds she was back at the table waiting for further instructions.

  “Would you please tell Alex I’ll be out of the office for the rest of the day?” he asked. “Tell him I’m walking point for as long as I need to. I’ll be back when the problem is fixed.”

  Mother nodded. Relief shimmered in her eyes. “Thanks, Rory. I knew I could tell you. You’re Ember’s friend.”

  Rory sighed. Friendship was not what he had in mind.

  Twenty-Five

  Ember heard the pounding on her front door all the way from the kitchen. She had no intention of answering it, which is why she ignored the doorbell. Unfortunately, Larry wasn’t bright enough to figure it out.

  The knife in her hand hit the crisp stalks of celery faster and harder. She’d stopped at the market on her way home for vegetables, potatoes, clams, oysters, and a pound of fresh shrimp. Today was a good day for seafood chowder, and she didn’t care if Larry liked it or not. Little did he know, this was his last meal at her expense. One way or the other, her freeloading brother had to go.

  Alex was right. She had done a good job on the Lobsang Op, but it was time to move on. Job turnover. Branching out. Aiming higher. Call it what you want, today was the day she took her life back and transformed into something besides a demented wack job. Assistant Techie Ember Davis was gone. She was moving on.

  The blade pounded against the wooden cutting board. She almost didn’t hear the angry male voices filling her front room until Larry yelled, “Some guy’s at the door for ya!”

  She didn’t answer. Whoever it was, she wasn’t interested. Stupid salesmen! She chopped harder and faster. Celery flew. Skewering an already peeled onion, she halved it with one hard slice. And then, because the smooth round shape of the onion resembled a bald head, she chopped the hell out of it until her eyes teared up. Damn you, David.

  “Ember! Did you hear me or not?”

  “I’m busy,” she hollered right back.

  “Door! Now, dumb ass!”

  She grabbed a towel and wiped her hands. Can’t everyone just leave me alone?

  And there he was. Rory. Standing at her open door with a mad as hell look on his handsome, dark face. Her windpipe closed. She couldn’t swallow much less speak up. Wow. He looked every bit as good as when she’d left the office—dark denim jeans, light blue polo that fit a little too tight across his chest. Long lean legs ending in leather cowboy boots instead of work boots. Her nose twitched against her better judgment, searching after the unique outdoorsy scent he always brought with him.

  But there was no pleasant smile, no polite ‘How are you doing today?’ No ‘Hello beautiful.’ His jaw was tight, the cords in his neck sharp. With both hands braced against the doorjamb, he glowered as if waiting to be invited in. His knuckles whitened. No one stood in his way and yet he did not enter. What was he waiting for? An invitation? Well, he could stand there and wait ‘til hell froze over for that to happen

  Those damned alpha male blues radiated pure—what? Command? Dominance?

  Not anymore, Dennison. Go away. I reject you first this time. Get the hell out of my life.

  But wow. He looked good. Her gut clenched along with certain other muscles that seemed to have a will of their own. She hated the spell that his presence instantly held her in while she was trying to hate him. He was the dumb ass in her life. One of two. The other had already gone back to the couch he’d been sleeping on for days.

  “What do you want?” she asked icily. She knew what she sounded like and she didn’t care. He was old news. She’d moved on.

  “I’ve come to talk.” He had that tone of authority in his voice, that leadership thing he did so well. She recognized it for what it meant to her—absolutely nothing.

  “I’m busy.” To prove she meant what she said, she pivoted on the ball of her foot, marched back to the kitchen and left him standing there. He knew his way out. Suddenly, his hand was on her shoulder. She jerked out of his grip, but he turned her to face him, both hands tight on her biceps. There was no option but to look at him. “You think you can come into my apartment and—”

  “I think I deserve to know why you walked out and quit without saying a word to me.” His deep voice commanded her and she blinked.

  “What the hell do you care? It’s not like we meant anything to each other. One minute you’re there, but the next you’re… you’re not.”

  “What are you talking about?” Latent anger welled behind those deep angry blues, but other emotions, too. Concern? Worry? “I was always there for you. Every step of the way.”

  He seemed to believe that line of bull. She didn’t. “Like hell you were. You left the first chance you got. What? Couldn’t wait to get it over with? One minute we’re working together and all but playing house. The next you scrape me off your shoe like a… like a....”

  Damn! She couldn’t think with him standing so close. Every breath filled her with the scent her traitorous nose couldn’t seem to get enough of—him.

  “Mrs. Godfrey called. Tyler had pneumonia. I was at the hospital or on the couch with a sick little boy for a week.” He pulled her closer, inch by inch invading her space.

  She halted his embrace with a firm hand in the middle of his chest. Big mistake. His chest. Why did she think her puny little hand would stop that wall of muscle? And—wow. Those deep baritone vibrations coming out of his throat traveled right up her arm along with sizzling heat. Was he the one on fire? For a second there, she thought it was her, but now....

  “Why haven’t you answered my calls?” he asked. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days. What’s wrong with your phones?”

  “Tyler was sick?” Her heart stuttered along with her lips. Wow. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe—she gulped—maybe I’m wrong. “If you cared so much, w-why haven’t you answered my calls?”

  “Because I never received any. Here.” He pulled his phone from his pants pocket, offering it to her. “Look. I never once got a message from you. Why didn’t you call my home number if you couldn’t reach me by
cell? You could’ve left a message there.”

  For some stupid reason, she felt an urge to run her fingers over his head. Damn! So he’s got a cute little boy? He’s still an ass—with really nice hair. And the cutest son, and—so what?

  She grabbed the cell phone out of his hand, impatiently scrolling through his missed calls and just as quickly, his incoming calls. The error of her stubbornness jumped out at her. She handed it back with a curt, “This isn’t your phone.”

  “Yes, it is.” He pocketed the phone and grabbed her arms again like he was afraid she’d bolt.

  She stiffened. The only thing stopping him was her hand in the middle of his broad, rock solid chest. The man had wide shoulders. Her fingers absorbed the intensity radiating off him. The muscles of her throat constricted. Like dominoes, every downward muscle did the same. How on earth did that work?

  “My last phone didn’t survive the explosion at the safe house. Why do you always think I’m leaving you?”

  Tenderness washed over her, but it didn’t matter. He’d had his chance and he’d blown it. Big time.

  “Because everyone leaves,” she hissed, staring through the ghoulish eye makeup she’d slathered on. Even she could see the clumps on her lashes framing her view. Could this day get anymore bizarre? There he was, all-American handsome, and she’d purposefully turned herself into everything he hated.

  Realization dawned. I’ve been calling the wrong cell phone. No wonder he didn’t answer. I should’ve answered his calls. I should’ve left a message. I should’ve called him at home. Wow. I suck.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Larry chuckled from some other planet—she wished. He must need another beer. She caught a peripheral of him leaning against the doorjamb in his usual stupor, obviously mesmerized by the semi-intelligent argument flying back and forth.

  Rory shot him a scorching look over his shoulder, his hands still on her arms. “What do you want?”

  Larry popped the top off his beer can, chugged, burped and kept on staring.