by Skye, S. D.
Six’s anger raged to near eruption at the pause. “Goddamnit, Stan. Three simple rules. Stay out of the public. Use the disguises. Don’t contact anyone outside of the Agency.”
“I know. I know…but…”
“But nothing!” Dealing with Ghost took him to the ledge; Stan nudged him over it. “You’re a dead man, remember? If you’ve got some bullshit macho Russian hang-ups or pride about laying low because you think you’re a goddamn hero then you better choke down that testosterone like bad borscht and do as you’re told. Get this through your thick head right now—a lot of people are putting their asses on the line for your safety, including the President of the United States…and me. If you so much as set a toe out of line, so help me God I will rent a helicopter and drop your sorry ass in the middle of Lubyanka Square and watch the FSB eat you for dinner. Do you understand me?”
“Okay, okay,” he said in a conceding tone. “I swear it will never happen again, but you’ve got to get me out of here. Move me into the embassy compound or I’ll be discovered, spelling the end of my life and a political disaster for the U.S.”
“I know,” Six replied. Only hours in Moscow, he’d been dragged from one crisis to the next—with no clear plan to resolve either.
Chapter 12
Wednesday Evening — New York City
Sweat secreted between J.J’s fingers as she clutched Tony’s hand like the butt of her Glock. Her stomach constricted and curled into tight nerve-wrecked knots. Waves of nausea washed over her. She hated the smell of sickness in the air; the scent sparked a bum rush of memories tucked safe and secure behind the wall she’d built to contain the grief of her mother’s death. She fought back the mental images of her dying mother as she looked for any excuse to run. She wanted out of this deal she’d worked herself into and in the worst way.
J.J. experienced an emotion she didn’t often encounter—pure unadulterated fear. She now had the deepest sense of regret for the puppy dog eyes and the glum demeanor she used to guilt Tony into inviting her to meet his family. She had little appreciation for the dread Tony experienced when she muscled him into meeting her father. Now, she feared she’d fallen victim to the adage, “Be careful of what you ask for.”
J.J. locked her eyes on the end of the hall where two olive-skinned mounds of muscle and flesh clad in leather jackets, open-collared shirts, and slacks, stationed outside the hospital room door. The bling from the gold chains around their necks was like a beacon guiding them to Dante’s room.
Tony released her hand as they drew closer. Visual aggression masked their faces. He slowed his pace as he eased toward the men, exchanging the strained glares of enemies.
On edge, J.J.’s glare shifted between the two. One sat back in his seat, and his jacket opened to reveal a sliver of the butt of his holstered pistol. It was two against two, and odds were equally in her favor because she was packing just like them. She also had a quick draw, an itchy trigger finger, and a badge.
Tony jutted his chin toward them in greeting and said, “Vin. Richie. Long time.”
Tony told her about them, and they behaved like the jackasses Tony described.
Neither replied, just hardened their stares before shifting their attention to the curvaceous nurses pushing IVs into the room next door. Tony had portrayed the tension between him and his father’s family with the utmost accuracy. Anyone could see in their cold, detached glares that they looked on him as a stranger. Or worse, a man for whom home was no longer an option. He was a traitor, one that years ago should’ve been bludgeoned into a ditch, beaten to a pulverized heap of blood, broken bones, and bruises, and abandoned with the ass of a dead rodent stuffed down his throat. To them, he was the rat that couldn’t be touched, not without the order. And as the son of the Boss, they’d never get the go-ahead.
J.J. entered the room on Tony’s heels to see Dante strung with tubes. They delivered the life-sustaining fluid and oxygen that kept him clinging to his last inch of life. Tony appeared to struggle for air. On one side of Dante’s bed, a diminutive, silver-haired woman gripping a rosary lay with her head on Dante’s arm. On the other side, a pair of brunettes, both late twentyish, dabbed their mascara-ringed eyes with tissues.
At the sound of Tony’s and J.J.’s steps, each bolted to attention and shifted their deadlocked eyes on the entrance.
“Hey, Ma.” He paused for a reaction, as if unsure of what to expect from any of them.
“Tony!” the choir called out—minus one. The youngest of the two, who wore thick permed tendrils, rushed to his side, squeezed him as if she hadn’t seen him in years. According to Tony, she hadn’t. An older woman, a svelte Vogue cut-out with an icy glare, cut her eyes at J.J. and Tony and then rolled them.
“Well, well, well. Look at what the cat drug in,” the younger one said. With her brow furrowed and a mischievous half-smile, she gave J.J. a quick once-over. “Uh, who’s this?”
“This is my co-case agent, J.J. McCall. J.J., this is my sister, Carla.”
“J.J., huh?” she said with a welcoming smile.
“Sorry, we’re meeting under these circumstances,” she replied.
Carla tightened her lips and lowered her chin. “Me too. Nice to meet you.” She spoke with a squeaky accent straight out of Brooklyn. She shook J.J.’s fingertips before returning to her brother’s bedside, tugging the thin white blanket until it covered his chest. She grabbed his hand and said, “Dante, Tony’s here. He came all the way from D.C. to see you.”
Carla studied Dante, waited for him to react, but he never flinched.
The older woman swept up from the bed, into her son’s arms, and held him with the thankfulness of a mother grateful for his life and presence. “Antonio!” she sang in a matronly tone before her smile vanished, masked behind a look of fearful concern. “I’m glad you came, but you can’t stay.”
“Ma…”
“I mean it, Antonio. Your father runs his business, and everybody thinks I’m Miss Clueless in the Kitchen. Don’t let these innocent eyes fool you. I’ve got my spoon deep enough in the sauce to understand you shouldn’t be here,” she ordered, patting his face with her open palm. She appeared ready to upgrade the show of affection to a full-on slap if he didn’t concede.
He gripped her hands in his before saying, “I’m not going anywhere. Not until my brother is out of that bed. So, save your concern for the son who needs it. How’re you holding up?”
“Me? Fine. Him? Not so good. Still unconscious.” She turned to Dante. “His fingers moved the other day when I sang to him. He hears my voice. He just won’t come—I’m sorry,” she said turning to J.J. “Look at me. Forgive my rudeness. This must be the partner you told me about. I’m Tony’s mother.” She shifted her gaze between J.J. and Tony and jutted her chin toward J.J. “So you’re the one who steals him from Sunday dinner.”
J.J. stomach sunk, and she flashed a sheepish grin. “Not without heaping servings of grief and shame. My dad has the same complaints.”
Tony walked beside his other sister. “What’s up with you, Dree? It’s been ten years. Still got a bug up your ass?”
“Hey! You watch your mouth. I’m still your mother.”
Dree leaned back in her seat and met his eyes with a hard cold stare. Then she turned to Carla, “Do you hear someone speaking? The hospital must be haunted.”
“Really, Dree? Our brother’s laying on his death bed and you’re acting like a three-year-old.” Carla rolled her eyes. “Tony’s got every right to be here. You don’t like it? Bergdorf’s is havin’ a sale. Leave and go buy yourself a clue.”
“You want coffee, Ma? I’m going to the cafeteria until the riff-raff leaves.”
“The riff-raff will leave when it goes to get Ma a cup of coffee,” Carla snapped.
“You two knock it off. No more of this useless bickering. Dree, go. I’ll have tea.”
She stormed out, bumping into J.J. without the consideration of an excuse me. J.J. fought to keep her cool. If Dree had been related t
o anyone other than Tony, J.J. would’ve helped Dree to a dose of manners. She had a high tolerance for BS but the bitch-on-a-stick attitude had to go.
Mrs. Donato shook her head as her daughter stomped off. “I apologize for my daughter’s behavior. Wish I could say it’s because of the stress.” She threw up her hands and turned to Tony. “So, I presume since your partner is here with you, Tony, you two are working on a case?”
Tony glanced at J.J. as if to apologize for what he wasn’t going to say. “Yeah… it’s J.J.’s case…”
“It’s our case,” J.J. interjected. “I couldn’t do it without Tony.”
An awkward silence fell into the room. J.J. thought back to the sound of her voice. The words flowed out with so little hesitation, she feared the tone might’ve given away more than their work assignment. She felt exposed but no regret.
Tony shifted their attention back to Dante. “So, uh, how’s he doing?”
Mrs. Donato shrugged. She tried to speak but choked with emotion. “The doctors…they aren’t hopeful—” She began to sob.
Carla walked over and pressed her hands on her mother’s shoulders to comfort her. “They hit him twice; both exited his chest. One hit a vein in his rib cage. He lost a lot of blood.”
A chill went through J.J. Her mother died in a similar way. Her first ride on an airplane was a trip to her mother’s bedside. For that reason, she hated planes more than hospital rooms.
“And the other?”
“Nipped his spinal cord, lots of nerve damage. Internal bleeding. He just…he lost so much blood, possible brain damage. God knows if he’s gonna pull through. Only God knows.”
“Mother of God,” Tony said.
J.J. longed to reach out to him and hold him, but she impotently stood by as Tony took hesitant steps toward his brother’s bed. His face weighed down with concern and regret; his breath labored. He patted Dante’s arm and whispered, “I’m here. I’m gonna find who did this to you…and I’ll make him pay.”
Dante went pale as he began to struggle for breath. The steady pulse of the monitoring sped to a frenzied pace. He shook in a full-body convulsion.
“Nurse! Nurse!” Tony yelled as Carla, J.J., and Mrs. Donato stared in abject horror.
J.J. stood frozen, panicked, wanting to help but not knowing what to say or what to do. She was a spy catcher, not a doctor. Not a miracle worker. All she could do for Dante and his family is pray. So she did.
“Noooo, Dante! My baby, my baby,” his mother cried, clinging to his arm.
A doctor and four nurses swept in. “He’s going into cardiac arrest!” the doctor said. “We need you to leave the room. Now!”
Tony scuttled everyone into the hall as the nurse snatched the defrib paddles from the wall and put them in the doctor’s waiting hands. He rubbed them together, pressed them against Dante’s chest, and yelled “Clear!”
As Dante’s body sprung in reaction to the voltage pulsed through him, Tony blocked the window to obstruct his mother’s and sister’s view. He turned, gathered them both in his arms, and pulled them close, clenching his eyes. He was powerless to help his brother and the strain aged his face in a fleeting instant.
He embraced them as he locked his eyes on J.J.; hers filled with tears. She mouthed the words “I love you.”
He fought back the moisture pushing through his damp, reddened eyes, forced a half smile, and in reply mouthed the words, “I love you too.”
A woman’s unexpected shrill interrupted the scene. “What the hell’s going on here?”
J.J.’s head snapped to her left. Dree. She had returned with her mother’s tea in hand and, from the expression on her face, had witnessed the exchange between she and Tony. Their secret was out in the worst way and in the poorest timing.
Dree’s gaze volleyed back and forth between the two; her face roiled in revulsion, disgust.
J.J. grunted and closed her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief. Her stomach curled with anxiety. Would Dree tell her mother they were in love with one another?
Chapter 13
Thursday Morning — New York City
Ominous clouds, pushed across the sky by blustery winds, masked the moon’s light as J.J. and Tony arrived at the hotel at three a.m. Dante’s condition had stabilized, but doctors refused to speculate on how long the improvement would last, if at all. Mrs. Donato ordered them to their hotel rooms to steal a few hours of sleep before a new relapse.
The dramatic events had left their emotions hollow to the core and their relationship exposed without warning. But J.J. couldn’t stifle the look of doe-eyed Disney wonderment that seized her expression every time she marveled at the Plaza’s decadent luxury. The view helped take her mind off the heaviness of the day’s events. She remembered, even if for a brief moment, the existence of another realm beyond this world of smoke and mirrors driving her existence from day-to-day. The sight forced to the forefront the dream of a life centered on something other than the empty lies of traitors and the honor they spurned. Success trapped her. She was too good at her job to walk away from those she’d committed to helping. She hoped for more than daily drudgery. For a change, she wanted to have it all.
They’d just stepped onto the elevator platform when a voice screeched, striking J.J.’s nerves with the same effect as the slow and steady drag of nails down a chalkboard. They turned, and Gia had thrust her arm across the sensor of the almost-closed door, her suit still crisp from the day before.
“Late night, huh?” She directed her eyes at Tony. “I waited for you. Wanted to tell you what we found in the files, but judging by the haggard looks on your faces I’ll leave you to sleep.”
“Hey, Gia.” Tony kept his greeting flat and unsmiling. “Why don’t you brief us in the morning after we catch some Zs? This day couldn’t get any longer.”
Gia nodded; the corners of her mouth turned down in disappointment.
“What are you doing up anyway? Figured you’d be knocked out by now,” he added.
“I wish,” she said with a devilish grin. “I closed down the Champagne Bar and then 5th Avenue called to me. So, I took a stroll. Window shopping.”
“In this weather? What were you drinking at the bar, dragon’s blood?”
“If her name is Mary, then yes.”
J.J. cleared her throat to hint that the time had come to leave Gia to her own devices, preferably something to choke her. Barely out of the hot seat, Tony took the cue with all the seriousness it deserved. “All right. We gotta go.”
“Breakfast in the Palm Room? I hear the pastries and desserts are to die for,” Gia said to J.J.
“To die for? Hmph. Sounds like reason enough to give it a shot. Maybe I’ll get lucky.” Her voice disappeared into a mumble. “We’ll see you at ten a.m..” J.J. paused after realizing she’d answered for both she and Tony and made a quick course correction. “I mean if that’s okay with Tony.”
“Great. We’re on,” Gia replied, her tone a mix of pompous and glib. Didn’t take a genius to figure out what Gia would prefer to eat for breakfast, and the Italian dish she desired was excluded from her menu. She would’ve had Tony as a midnight snack if J.J. hadn’t been standing next to him. Who could blame her for trying? After all, Tony was every bit a Roman god in the flesh with genuine soul. Gia’s total lack of respect was the egregious error J.J. could never tolerate, nor forgive.
The elevator stopped moments later, and Gia disappeared down the third-floor hallway. Tony spun toward J.J., pressed his body toward hers, and whispered in her ear. “My room or yours?”
The corners of her mouth lifted with her libido. “Why, sir? I do declare. I believe you are trying to sully my downright upright reputation. After all, we are not betrothed,” she replied with a laugh. She loved his look. The way his body towered over hers made her feel more protected than carrying a Glock. The way his eyes feasted on her as he drank her in with lust-filled stares. If she didn’t break up the tension, she would’ve had him right there.
“Well,
maybe I need to correct that…make an honest woman out of you.”
J.J. snapped silent. Her jaw dropped to her chest, and she stared him in the eyes, waiting for a hint of jest. None came. She resolved to treat his words as a joke because to take them with the seriousness in which he spoke them would open a Pandora’s box.
“Why, I do declare the long hours have made you delirious,” she joked, continuing her Scarlett routine. “Why don’t you have a shower and pop around later for some—“
Her cell phone rang; she thanked the stars. She glanced at the screen. Sunnie. What in hell was she doing calling at this time of the morning? For her to be awake at this ungodly hour was a sure sign the message was urgent. She’d tried to deliver it on repeated occasions. An instinct told her the time had come to stop and listen.
“Sunnie! What’s going on?” She waved to Tony, gesturing for him to go ahead to his room. Sunnie was long on words and short on silence. The conversation wouldn’t end anytime soon.
“J.J., I’m so sorry. I figured you’d turn off your ringer, and I’d leave a message for you.”
“No, we’re just getting back to the hotel.” She slipped the key card into the door slot and entered her suite. “Rough night at the hospital, but Dante pulled through…at least for now.”
“Where are you guys staying?”
“The Plaza. And now I’m spoiled for hotels. No other place in the world will measure up. It's divine,” she said. “Now, what’s this about? You don’t keep these hours for mailroom gossip.”
“I’m calling about Nixon…and your mother’s case files. He attempted to access them.”
“What?!”
“Yes! Ran into him at the Special File Room yesterday. He asked to sign them out, but Freeman restricted access. He can’t get them without the director’s approval.”
Freeman told her he’d handle the situation from his end. Nixon must be seething by now, already devising an alternate plan.
“Why in hell would Nixon want old Black Panther files?”