At this he turned and gave her a rueful smile. “Yes, objectives and goals are the life blood of the agency. Maybe they are just information or intelligence. But often they are more than that. But the thing is, I used to be pretty adventurous as a boy and a young man,” he added, then went on to tell her about trekking across Scotland as a nineteen-year-old and a road trip he’d taken with a college friend around India.
“And now?”
He let out a sardonic chuckle. “Now as adventurous as I get is getting permission to run through someone’s property to see a creek and a church.”
Carly let out a little laugh as well. Put that way, he did sound a bit stodgy and boring—two words she never would have thought to use to describe him before this conversation. The words intriguing, caring, possibly pigheaded, and sometimes tightly wound came to mind. But intelligent, efficient, and kind were also on the list, and closer to the top of it.
“So how does this relate to your job?” she asked, suspecting the answer.
He lifted a shoulder. “I like my job. But the thing is, I used to love it. I loved the travel and the adventure, and while I didn’t seek danger, there’s no denying the high that comes from a successful assignment. I was a good field agent, but at some point I made a decision, a decision I’m not even sure I was conscious of, and I began taking on roles with more and more leadership responsibility. Roles that gave me teams to manage and responsibility for entire geographic areas.”
“And your job changed,” she said, taking a sip of her drink.
“And my job changed.”
“Do you want to go back?” she asked, immediately wishing she hadn’t. If he’d loved being a field agent, then she had no right to judge if he wanted to go back. And if he did, she would encourage him. But the thought of him being back in that world—a world she admittedly didn’t fully understand—didn’t sit well with her.
When he hesitated, she looked over at him. He shook his head. Taking another sip of her drink, she turned her eyes back to the pond.
“No, I’ve been out of it for too long, but honestly, even if that wasn’t the case, I’m not sure I’d want to go back. It’s a bit of a young man’s game. There are agents who are older, but I,” he paused again, as if searching for the right word. “I just don’t think it’s the right fit for me anymore. Maybe it’s age, maybe it’s ability . . .”
“Or?”
He let out a deep breath. “Or maybe my heart isn’t in it anymore. You know, when I was a field agent, it seemed like we had some breathing room on occasion. Like if we pulled something off or were successful at something, we had a little bit of down time after. We could have a drink with colleagues, maybe pat ourselves on the back a bit, and maybe even have a little time to catch up with family and friends.”
“And now?”
He ran a hand over his face and to her, the gesture revealed how spent he was. “I don’t know if it has always been like this or if I see things differently now that I have the role I have. But it seems like before one assignment is even over there’s another one waiting in the wings. All of them urgent, of course. It’s like this never ending series of shit storms we have to get involved in, manage, and hopefully survive. Just one after the other without any break.”
That level of mental and, most likely, emotional engagement did sound exhausting—and it made burning out seem likely. But she didn’t think he was completely burned out. He might be struggling now, but she found his struggle to be much deeper than just whether or not he liked his job.
“So what is it about your job that you enjoy?” she asked, hoping to help him think of a few things so that he could figure out what exactly he wanted from his position and then perhaps start to redefine what he did.
He tilted his head in thought then, as a flock of late migrating Canada geese landed on the pond, he answered. “I like watching the agents who report to me grow and develop. I like training new agents and teaching classes at The Farm,” he said, referring to the CIA training grounds. “I like making sure they’re prepared and ready to handle new assignments. In every way.”
“In every way?”
“Yes. Mentally, physically, emotionally. Agents aren’t like fighting machines. The CIA isn’t like the military—though some people would say otherwise—and shock and awe isn’t our thing. The CIA is all about subtlety and secrecy and discretion. And while I don’t agree with everything the agency has done in the past, I do think the intelligence it has gathered—intelligence that agents have gathered—has done a lot of good that most people won’t ever know about.”
“So, the new agents?”
He turned and flashed her a grin, acknowledging that he’d climbed onto a bit of soapbox without answering her question.
“Agents need to be ready for whatever assignments they get. Sure, that means being physically ready, but most important is being mentally and emotionally ready, because so much time is spent thinking and observing before acting.”
“And you like getting them ready for that.”
“I do. I like seeing agents who are confident about their abilities—not arrogant, but confident. It’s good for the agency, but mostly it’s good for them. If an agent starts to have doubts—and we all do at some point—if they have a good sense of self and a belief in their abilities, it can help them cope when situations don’t go as planned or take a turn for the worse.”
“And how often do you get to work with agents on this kind of stuff? How often do you get to teach?”
Again he let out a deep breath. “Not often enough.”
The tone of his voice warned her that he was nearing his limit for how long he could talk about this. She recognized the pattern—the kinds of questions Drew seemed to be asking himself were big, and if this was the first time in his career he’d started asking them, he would need to take it slowly. And because she honestly believed he should be asking himself all these questions—what he liked, what he didn’t, how he felt about his job—she wanted to respect the space he seemed to need.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, dropping the subject altogether—and surprising him, if she read the look on his face correctly. She grinned. “I haven’t eaten since this morning. Between waiting for my colleagues to clear the Hanson house and then waiting at the ER for Mary to get bandaged up once again, I didn’t have a chance to grab lunch.”
He stared at her as if not quite sure whether her change of subject was to be trusted. Then he smiled too. “We can’t have that. What are you craving?” he asked as he stood and took her glass.
“Pizza,” she said definitively. “But I don’t want to go out.”
“I can go pick it up.”
“Or better yet,” she said, hauling her blanket-wrapped self out of her chair. “The place in town just started to deliver out here three weeks ago.”
“Yep, even better,” he said as he followed her inside.
Chapter Twelve
Drew rolled over in bed, looked at the clock, and acknowledged that this week had been filled with a lot of firsts for him. It was close to nine a.m. He hadn’t slept so late since college.
He shifted onto his back then rolled his head to the side and looked at the empty spot beside him. He had left Carly’s house fairly early the night before when her friend Matty had stopped by, along with her husband, Dash, and their four-month-old twins, Daphne and Charley. That they were all close friends had been obvious from the way Carly’s face had lit up when she’d seen their car pull onto her drive. And they’d certainly been nice enough, but the scene had felt too familiar for him to stay and be a part of.
Having just finished their dinner together, his leaving had seemed natural. But as he gazed at the empty sheets beside him now, he knew that it hadn’t been. After his realization earlier the day before, when he’d recognized the type of intimacy he wanted from Carly, witnessing it in her friends Matty and Dash had made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. As he got up and began to dress for another run, he didn’t have t
o think too hard to know why he’d fled—a strong word, but truly what he’d done. He had been afraid that Carly, or worse, her friends, would see what he wanted written all over his face.
Which was also something that hadn’t happened in years. Carly had been right when she’d commented that part of his ability to hide his thoughts was just who he was—even as a kid he’d been able to keep his face more or less unreadable when the situation called for it. And she’d also been right about the impact his training and career had had on the skill—he’d essentially perfected it over time. In fact, he sometimes wondered if he could express emotion at all anymore.
At least he knew the answer to that quandary now—some silver lining to the situation, he supposed.
His cell phone rang on the bedside table as he tugged on a shoe. Leaning over, he picked it up then checked the number.
“Rina,” he said, answering.
“It’s all in place,” she said without preamble. “I spoke to Deputy Marsh this morning, she’s expecting your call. I’ve also authorized Naomi DeMarco and her brother, Brian, if needed, as well as Ian MacAllister, Dr. DeMarco’s husband. With Dr. DeMarco, Agent Wyatt Granger, and Dr. Sameer Buckley, you’ll have the FBI, CIA, the sheriff’s office, the Windsor police, two freelance consultants, the state lab of New York, and the US Marshals. With that kind of firepower for this kind of problem, I expect you to wrap it up quickly.”
Drew was speechless. The task force she’d put in place told him more than she ever would about just what she thought of him. If she didn’t respect him, if she didn’t like him, she wouldn’t have gone to such lengths. He thought about saying something along those lines, saying he appreciated her faith in him, but knowing she’d view the acknowledgment as a waste of her time, he decided not to. All Rina would want was a simple thank you and a promise to get the job done. Followed, of course, by him actually getting the job done.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You’re welcome, now get to work.”
He muttered, “Yes, ma’am,” but suspected she didn’t hear it when his line cut off. Without missing a beat, he dialed Carly’s number.
She sounded out of breath when she answered and he wondered if she’d been out for a run already.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Yes, everything is fine. I spoke to Vivi earlier this morning and we are going to meet her and Wyatt at her house at around noon, which will give Naomi time to get here. I was going to call you, but it was early so I decided to go for a run first. Will you be there?”
“Yes, I’ll definitely be there—and Rina, my boss, came through. There is an official interagency task force now, and in addition to Naomi, she’s also authorized Naomi’s brother, Brian DeMarco, if we need him, along with Vivi’s husband. Rina also spoke with Mikaela Marsh, who is now expecting our call as well.”
“Really?” she asked after a few beats.
He smiled. “Yes, really.”
“All for my mom and uncle. And, of course, Marguerite?” she asked more out of surprise than for any clarification.
“Yes.” There were likely more factors that Rina had taken into consideration, but he gave her the simple answer.
“Ooh-kaay,” she drew out. “What now?”
“Well, it sounds like you already have Naomi on her way, so maybe you should call Vivi and you both can decide whether or not you want to bring in Brian, Dr. Buckley, and Ian MacAllister. I can call Deputy Marsh, fill her in, and see if she wants to fly up here or call into this first meeting at noon. How does that sound?”
“Sounds good. I’ll let Marcus know, too.”
“Sounds like a plan, then.”
Carly murmured her agreement and then an awkward silence followed for a few beats. Clearing his throat, Drew spoke, “I’ll call Deputy Marsh right now and then head out for my run. Can you text me Vivi’s address and I’ll see you there?”
“I’ll do that as soon as we hang up,” she said then hesitated before speaking again. “Drew?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you,” she said.
Never in his life had those two words caused such a reaction in him. The soft sincerity in her voice coupled with the underlying hint of nervousness about what might come next made him want to gather her in his arms and tell her everything would be okay. It made him want to reach for her and not let go. It made him want to end this thing, so that she could go back to being too helpful to her community and live the life she wanted without all the fear and secrets.
The first two weren’t an option, not right now—they didn’t know each other well enough for that quite yet and both actions implied promises he didn’t know if he could keep. But as for the third, as for ending this thing, well, that he could most definitely work on.
“You’re welcome,” he said softly back. “I’ll see you in a few hours and I promise you we’ll get this all worked out.”
“Promise?” she asked after a split second of hesitation. But this time, he heard a teasing smile in her voice.
He smiled back. “Yes, I promise.”
• • •
A few minutes after noon, Drew turned onto a long, gravel driveway that climbed a gentle slope to a charming bungalow with a large front porch and several flower gardens that looked to have been put to bed for the coming winter.
Pulling up past the right side of the house, he parked his SUV beside Carly’s car and noted the number of other vehicles, two of which he recognized: Marcus’s cruiser and the sheriff’s SUV. Two other cars were also present, which he took to be Naomi DeMarco’s and Wyatt Granger’s, since he assumed it would be hard for Dr. Buckley to make it to Windsor in the middle of the day and he already knew that Mikaela Marsh planned to call in.
Climbing out of his vehicle he took a good look around yet another beautiful Hudson Valley location. Standing closer to the back of the house than the front, his view was somewhat obstructed, but he’d bet that from the front porch Vivi and Ian could see for miles.
Turning to the forest that lay about hundred feet behind the DeMarco/MacAllister home, the colors seemed to be vying for attention, each one more vivid than the next. As his eyes traveled to the house, he noted a smaller porch area where the back door stood that led to what looked like a newer slate patio. It held several chairs, a stone bench, and a fire pit and would be a perfect place to sit during a chilly spring or fall evening, have a glass of wine, and maybe roast some marshmallows.
“We’re in here,” Vivi called as she opened the back door. Her son perched on her hip and played with his mother’s hair while a big, hairy gray dog bolted out to greet him. He stilled as the beast barreled toward him, came to a not-so-graceful stop, then started butting its head against his knees, all the while looking at him with yellow, wolf-like eyes.
“That’s Rooster,” Vivi said with a laugh at the dog as he shamelessly begged for attention.
“He’s a big boy.” Drew reached down, though not far, to rub between Rooster’s ears.
“He is, but, thankfully, he’s as gentle as they come,” she replied.
Drew straightened away, much to Rooster’s discontent. “It’s a beautiful spot you have here,” he said, walking toward her, Rooster trying to wend his way between his legs like a cat.
Vivi answered with a wide smile. “Thank you. We love it. Ian, of course, was raised here. This is the back forty acres of the close to three hundred his parents own. We’ve done a little work, like extending this back patio and adding the fire pit and may have to do a small addition at some point if we decide to have more kids, but it is our little piece of heaven.”
“But you’re from Boston, right? I thought I remembered Kit saying something about that,” he asked as the entered the kitchen through a small room that held a washer and dryer, but also assorted boots, jackets, and outdoor apparel. Rooster must have caught a distraction as he made a beeline for something deeper in the house.
“I am, but I happened to come across Windsor one day as I was dr
iving around the country. I was trying to escape some demons and happened upon this place. I’ve been here ever since and can’t imagine being anywhere else.”
“Drew.” Vivi’s husband, Ian, entered the kitchen with his hand out. “It’s good to see you again, though I’m not sure why we’re all here.”
Drew said nothing about the reason for the meeting—figuring Carly had decided to wait so that she only had to tell the story once—and took the offered hand.
“Here let me take him,” a voice came from behind Ian’s shoulder.
Drew looked over at the person who had just entered the kitchen. Or, to be more accurate, he looked up at him. A man who was at least six-and-half-feet tall, with dark hair and dark eyes, came striding into the kitchen, reaching for Vivi’s son. The toddler seemed to be on board with that plan and held his arms out as Rooster danced at the man’s feet.
“Lucas, this is Drew Carmichael. Drew, this is Lucas Rancuso.” Vivi made the introductions as she handed her son over. “For all intents and purposes, he’s my brother in every way but blood, and hence, Jeffery’s all-too-doting uncle.”
Drew watched the man lift Jeffery high in the air, high enough that Jeffery’s back pressed against the ceiling.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Lucas said, his eyes focused on Jeffery, who laughed and clapped his hands as Lucas made funny faces and bounced him in the air a bit.
“Lucas is also a detective with the Boston Police Department,” Vivi said.
“But not today, I’m not. Today, I’m the ‘manny’ while you all have whatever meeting you are going to have. Jeffery and I are going to go for a long hike in the woods with Rooster, aren’t we, Jeffery?” Lucas brought the toddler back down to his side and Rooster started prancing, presumably at the word “hike.”
“Where’s the backpack?” Lucas asked turning to Ian.
“In the pantry,” Ian answered.
“Come with me,” Vivi said as the other two men—and dog—moved to find the item in question. “Do you want coffee or tea?” she asked, waving toward the pot and the kettle. “I know it’s lunchtime, but between having a baby in the house and our jobs, we pretty much have coffee in the pot at all times.”
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