Spy Catcher: The J.J. McCall Novels (Books 1-3) (The FBI Espionage Series)

by Skye, S. D.

  He touched her shoulder. “You okay? You really need to get that thing of yours checked out.”

  As J.J. stuck her key in the lock, Tony peered over his shoulder again. A curtain in the upstairs window stirred as the thunder cracked, Mother Nature’s warning that another storm was brewing. And without his father’s protection, he would perish alone.

  • • •

  J.J. drew in a few deep breaths as she waited for Tony to make his way up the steps. He'd certainly piqued her curiosity, glaring at the handsome stranger across the street as if it was high noon at the OK Corral. She'd spent nearly every weekend at her father's house for brunch and had never noticed him or anyone moving in. Mr. O'Leary rented out the place from time to time, so she figured the guy must be a new tenant. But with what she now knew about the Bonannos and Lana, she’d be on guard for Tony’s sake and hers.

  The moment they stepped inside the McCall’s humble abode, Tony asked, “You sure about this?”

  J.J. dropped her purse on the couch and ushered him inside. “Please, stop worrying. We’re fine.” She attempted to convince herself as much as Tony. She patted his chest and rose to the tips of her toes to kiss him on the cheek, hoping to reassure him. “Trust me, he's going to love you...someday. And don't be alarmed by the pictures,” J.J. said, pointing to her father's Black Panther photos blanketing the walls. “He doesn't hate white people nearly as much as he used to.”

  His eyes darted around the room, bulging as they scanned each photo of the rifle-toting, fist raising black men in black. Max McCall's home looked more like a civil rights museum than J.J.'s childhood home. “Used to?”

  “Is that you, J.J.?” her father called.

  “Yeah, Dad. Just a sec,” she said, returning her voice to a whisper. “So, three things. First, please don't step into the kitchen without washing your hands. He's fanatical about bacteria. Powder room is on the left.”

  He nodded. “Gotcha. My mother's the same way.”

  “Always address him as 'sir.' It'll reduce the number of reasons he has to pick with you.”

  “And third?”

  She smiled and said, “I love you.” Then she mumbled, “And I hope you still love me when this is over.”

  Moments later, J.J. watched Tony suck in a deep breath as he stepped out of the bathroom. He smiled at J.J. and sniffed. The smell of bacon and warm bread wafted through the air and drew them into the kitchen.

  “All right. Here we go,” J.J. whispered. “Your gun's in the car, right?”

  He chuckled.

  They entered the kitchen, greeted by Malcolm's smile and Max McCall's skeptical glare. “Well, well, well.”

  “Hi, Mr. McCall. Pleasure to meet you,” Tony said, extending his hand. A wave of relief appeared to wash over him when Max returned the favor.

  “I'm sure,” Max said. “Come on in and have a seat. Finishing up breakfast right now.”

  “Everything smells great. Appreciate you having me ova.” Tony surveyed the table for empty seats and took the one nearest Malcolm, his other ally. He was the slightly younger, male version of his sister, equally brown and trim, but a few inches taller than her five-ten frame and his hair was cut close. “Hey Malcolm, good to see you again.”

  “So, you work with J.J., huh?” Max asked, his eyes fixed on Tony.

  “Yes, Dad,” J.J. answered. “We're co-case agents. I told you.”

  “I know. I know. We’re making small talk, J.J. Settle yourself down. This is the easy part.”

  Tony shook his head at Max and then turned to J.J. “What he said. Go ahead and fix your plate. You look hungry.”

  J.J. patted his arm and moved toward the stove.

  “So, Tony,” Max said, pointing his spatula in Tony’s direction. “You're Italian. What did you think of The Godfather?”

  “Daaaad!” J.J. cringed and let out an extended whine. His question was wrong on so many levels but sadly not surprising.

  “Relax,” Max said. “At least I haven’t asked him about his credit score…yet.”

  She clenched her eyes shut and prayed for a distraction. Anything to change the subject of this conversation before he or Tony spoke a single syllable they couldn't take back. No sooner than the thought crossed her mind, the doorbell rang.

  “I'll go grab that,” Malcolm said, jumping up from the table, seemingly as relieved by the interruptions as J.J. Before leaving the kitchen, Malcolm leaned into J.J. and whispered, “Don't let them finish without me. This is getting good!”

  “I wonder who's visiting at this time of morning,” Max said. “Nobody in our family interrupts brunch day.”

  A few moments later, Malcolm entered the kitchen his eyes wide, his expression sheepish. He slipped into his seat and began to cough uncontrollably.

  “Who was that, Malcolm?” J.J. asked.

  Her brother held up his hand and grunted, attempting to clear his throat. “Grayson,” he coughed out in a muffled grumble.

  J.J.'s eyes narrowed then bulged wide open when the large chocolate frame appeared, her favorite cologne now choking the oxygen from her lungs.

  M&Ms, she thought, I need M&Ms.

  “Good morning! Good morning!” Six bellowed. His voice fell on J.J. like a sledgehammer. He sauntered in dressed to the nines in his tailored suit and fresh haircut, his cologne arriving thirty seconds before he did. “Hope I'm not intruding.”

  “Yes, you are!” J.J. snapped. Six moved toward her and attempted a kiss on the cheek, but she snapped her head back out of range, gave him the hand. Then she gently nudged him back a step or two. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Watch your language Jasmine Jones McCall!” Max said. It was never a good sign when Max barked three of her four names. All four names was the worst. “Ain't nobody in this house grown but me. Besides, what kind of way is that to treat our guest?” Max said. “Six! I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you…but I’ll give it a shot if you pull up a seat. We're just fixin' to eat.”

  “How is the beautiful McCall family doing on this fine Sunday?!” he asked, smiling like a Cheshire cat in a cardboard box.

  “Fantastic...now that you're back in town.” Max beamed from ear-to-ear. Unlike everyone else in the room, he seemed completely comfortable, unsurprised by Six's appearance.

  Her father’s profuse joy struck a bell. J.J. realized what happened. She'd been set up by “the man.” Her father was on a mission to rid himself of Tony. She wouldn't have taken her father for the unscrupulous type. The nerve and the gall. Merrily extending an invitation to Tony and inviting the snake. She cut her eyes at her so-called father, a cold expression that was met by Max's wide grin.

  “You know I wouldn't miss this for the wor—” Six's eyes locked on Tony. “Ohh ho ho, we have company this morning. Good to see ya again, man.” He held out his hand to shake Tony's, who reluctantly returned the favor. He shifted his gaze between Tony and J.J. “What brings you here? Wait a minute, wait a minute. You two are a—,” he began before Tony interjected.

  “Uhhh, we're on our way to...take care of some Bureau business,” he lied.

  “Oh? Anything I need to be aware of? After all, we're in this together now. Partners in crime, so to speak,” he said, finishing with a hard, fake chuckle.

  He he he, J.J. mocked.

  “It’s strictly need-to-know…and you don’t,” J.J. said to Six. “Now, back to my question. What the hell are you doing here?” J.J.'s jaw tightened as she tapped her foot heavily against the floor.

  “I’m hurt, J.J.” Six pressed his hand to his heart. “You know I'd never miss one of Mr. McCall's breakfasts if I'm in town.”

  Angry enough to punch the pigment out of his cocoa-colored skin, she couldn't force him to leave but she could make him sufficiently uncomfortable to ensure he didn't prolong his stay. “Well, since we're used to seeing your back as you run out the door, how soon can you make that hap—”

  “Uhhh, so how long you in town for?” Malcolm asked, in an obvious attempt to k
eep the conversation light and his sister at bay.

  “Depends on how long it takes for your sister to come to her senses,” he said, laughing. Then he locked eyes with Tony and forced that annoying laugh again. “Just kidding.”

  A series of beeps sounded from the coffeemaker.

  “Coffee's ready. Who's pouring?” Max called out.

  “Let me do the honors,” Six said, lifting the steaming carafe. “Mmm. Smell that aroma. Comes from only the darkest, richest beans. I suppose we should serve our guest first. Coffee, Tony?”

  “Mmm, you're right. Thanks, man,” Tony said. “Steaming hot and black. My favorite.”

  Six stopped pouring mid-cup. “You sure you can handle it?” he asked Tony. “Mr. McCall makes his coffee pretty strong. It's not for the weak and weary. Keeps you going all day long.”

  “Oh, I can handle it,” he said. “I can drink it at all times of the day and night.”

  Six’s eyes rolled before they narrowed. “Coffee for you, J.J.?” Six said. “You still take yours black, don't you?”

  “No, not anymore. Makes me sick to my stomach. Now, I take mine with cream. Lots of cream.” J.J. said, glaring at Six. “In fact, the creamier the better!”

  “We don't keep no cream in this house,” Max interjected, his eyes squinted at J.J. “Cream weakens the coffee. Black coffee is strong, better for you, too.”

  Six exposed a wry smile. Max was on his side and always would be against Tony. But unfortunately for him, Max's vote wasn't powerful enough to take Tony out of the running.

  “You're mistaken, Dad. Cream doesn't weaken the coffee, only gives it a richer flavor.”

  Six cleared his throat and eased around Tony. He held the carafe over Malcolm’s cup. “How about you, Malcolm?”

  Malcolm's eyes darted back and forth between each of them, the subtext apparently not lost on him. The final vote was his and his alone. Who would it be? The guy who made her crazy or the guy he hardly knew? J.J. narrowed her hardened gaze as if to dare him to pick sides. He placed his hand over his cup. “Uhhh...orange juice for me. Thanks.”

  • • •

  The sound of forks clanking against her mother's china was the only noise that broke the strained silence. J.J. simmered as she quickly plowed through her breakfast and Tony followed her lead, gobbling down their eggs and gulping their coffee in a manner that would impress a Marine recruit on the first day of boot camp.

  The nerve of her father imposing on her life...as usual. What did she expect really? Open arms and an invite to the Panther meeting? Perhaps she hoped beyond reason that he would display a sliver of the respect he and her mother had spent so many years instilling in her as a child.

  She struggled to stifle her emotion, to not speak the words she wanted to say, to walk out the door and try again next week with lower expectations.

  But she couldn't.

  After all, she was the daughter of Max and Naomi. Neither had made a habit of holding their tongues.

  “Dad, can I speak with you in the living room for a moment, please.” Her voice was stern and her back stiff.

  “Sure, excuse us,” Max said, dabbing the napkin along the corners of his mouth. He dropped it beside his plate and slipped out of his chair. “We'll be right back.”

  J.J. tromped in front of the fireplace and crossed her arms across her chest. “All I want to understand is why? Why would you do this? And don't tell me you didn't know he'd be stopping by because I have no doubt you did. Next time you could at least pretend to be surprised.”

  “I'm sorry, baby, but you understood how I felt before you came,” Max said. “Listen, for what it’s worth, he seems like a perfectly…decent guy.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is, J.J.—he's not for you.”

  “Hmph. Same thing Grandma Jackson said about you. Mr. Black Panther marrying her upright, FBI agent daughter. As I recall, society wasn't wrapping its arms around you, either. But you survived together… right up until the end,” she said, choking up.

  “Yes, you're right,” he said. “But we were different.”

  “No, you weren’t,” she fired back. “And until you can see that, you and I will be standing on opposite sides of the fence.”

  He lowered his head. “So, you won't be coming to Sunday brunch anymore?”

  “I said fence, not wall.” She glanced at her mother's photo. “I’ll be here, but I won't enjoy it as much. Neither will you. Because every time I come here, he’ll be right beside me! So there.”

  Max shook his head. “You got that snippy attitude from your mother's side.”

  “Yeah, I also got her sense of curiosity, too. Which brings me to my next question: do you know Jack Sabinski?”

  “I've heard you mention his name once or twice. Your mother, too. But that was years ago. Trust me when I tell you, I know more FBI personnel than I ever want to know,” Max responded. J.J. waited for a reaction but got none. His answer was the truth, even if only half of it.

  “He told me I should ask you what happened to Mom. No more beating around the bush, Dad. Every corner I turn leads me back to you. What are you not telling me?”

  Max stood to his feet and walked over to the window. He pulled the curtain back and stared out into the distance. “This was your mother's favorite kind of weather. She loved the rain...nature’s cleansing, washes away the old and makes life new again.”

  “Dad, please. What happened?”

  “J.J., it's complicated. What you must understand is—”

  “What's going on in here?” Malcolm interrupted, his smile the mirror image of his father's. “Had to make sure there was minimal bloodshed in this room because I don't think I can hold those two off much longer.”

  “Oh God,” J.J. said. “What's Six doing now?”

  “Being Six,” Malcolm said. “You better get in there or only one's coming out alive. My money's on Tony.”

  J.J. chuckled. “That's a good bet,” she said to Malcolm before turning to Max. “Dad, we'll continue this another time. Soon.”

  He nodded in agreement. “Don’t I know it.”

  Chapter 23

  Monday Night—Irving Street

  6 Days Left…

  The sun burned red beneath the horizon and the rain clouds had begun to thunder in when Lana returned home from checking the signal left by her embassy handler, her father. He had somehow managed to evade FBI surveillance; he filled the dead-drop. Now, her travel documents and money were ready to be retrieved but she had no safe transportation. She had to find her way there so she could get the hell out of the United States.

  And not a moment too soon.

  Unfortunately, the drop must be cleared under the cover of night and she had no car to drive to the location, Henson Creek Neighborhood Park, off a windy walking trail in the heart of Prince George's County. It was supposedly accessible by metro, but such a lengthy trip would leave her too vulnerable; she might be detected.

  She glanced out of the window. Santino's car sat parked in front of the house. Maybe she could convince him to let her borrow it. Wouldn't take her much more than an hour or two to retrieve the drop. Surely he would accommodate her.

  She unbuttoned her blouse down to her cleavage, exposing the heaping mounds of flesh and silicone beneath. After slipping on her jacket, she skulked to his room.

  She knocked. No answer. Again. No answer.

  He must've gone out for a walk. She noticed he did so from time to time when he didn't want to smoke his stogies in the house. Helped keep Mr. O'Leary's complaints to a minimum. She quickly paced back to her room and poked her head out the window to see if he was on his way down the block. Then she retrieved her Metro Smart Card and returned to Santino's door. It only took her a minute to slip it into the door jamb and pop the lock. Once inside his room, she searched through every drawer and closet, hoping to find an extra set of keys.

  She heard sound, froze, and waited. Perhaps it was her imagination. She dashed to the d
oor and peered downstairs. Nothing. She returned to her search, her frustration increasing. She couldn't find them. Maybe he only had one set of keys. Perhaps he'd taken them with him. After one last ditch effort to ensure the coast was clear, she checked the pocket of the two coats still hanging in the closet.

  A jingle sounded when she slid one hanger aside. She dug her hand inside the pocket.

  “Yes!” she screamed in a whispered tone.

  She bounded for the door, scanning the street up and down before jumping in the car and taking off. Lana left nothing in her wake except fumes.

  Once the package was in hand, she’d be on the ocean and back in Moscow by week's end. However, not before exacting revenge against J.J. McCall. Her game required a pawn, and Santino had proven that he would serve well. He helped set up a fake robbery in a matter of hours. And the final deed, the one that would seal both of their fates, would free Lana from the United States and all suspicion in the death of Max McCall.

  • • •

  A furious Santino had rounded the corner in time to hear the rumble of his engine and spot the flash from his brake lights as his car passed by.

  “What the f—” he barked, cutting himself off. He grumbled with a vicious sneer and tromped back to the house as the rain began to pour. “I can't believe that cunt stole my car with all that shit in the trunk! Ohhh, if she has the balls to show her face back here, she's as good as dead!”

  Chapter 24

  Monday Night—Washington Field

  Rain pounded against the office window by the time Kyle finished filing his 302s for the day. He scrolled through the caller ID for the fifteenth time hoping to see D.C.'s number. With each passing minute, the Russians' chances of delivering the travel documents to Lana increased exponentially. Wouldn’t be long before some other priority subjects threatened to shift surveillance resources to different investigations, a threat which loomed heavily. Everybody knew it...including Lana.

  Kyle turned off his desk lamp and headed to Hopper's cubicle. Maybe Junior's conversation with the Gs had yielded information that would indicate whether or not the Russians had resumed operational activity. When he rounded the corner, Hopper held up his index finger, gesturing Kyle to wait a minute as he finished up a phone call.