by Linda Howard
She tugged her sweatshirt down and hopped off the padded table. Hilda grinned at her as she removed the paper covering from the table, wadded it up, and tossed it in the trash. “How does it feel?”
“Fairly okay.” She liked Hilda, who had her black hair pulled up on top of her head in a short, brushy ponytail, a single gold hoop in one ear, and technicolor eyeshadow that showcased her vivid blue eyes; she wore an off-the-shoulder tattered sweatshirt that bared one slim shoulder adorned with a snarling lion’s head. Hilda was about five-ten, maybe a hundred and thirty pounds, wore so many rings it was impossible to tell if she was married or just liked rings, and exuded a powerfully cheerful sexuality. Crutch had already been eyeing her with intent.
Jina pulled back the curtain and stepped into the main room. The guys who were sitting came to their feet, and the ones who had been standing straightened away from the wall. “What did you get?” Jelly asked.
“None of your business.”
“Where is it?”
“On my back. And, no, you can’t see it. Don’t even ask.”
“Then how do we know you actually got one and aren’t just tricking us?”
“The fact that I’m charging three hundred bucks,” Hilda said, going to the cash register and opening it. “The design is small but awesome, with a color change.”
Three hundred dollars. Jina sighed and reached for her bag. Good thing she had the money, because she hadn’t thought to ask beforehand.
“We’ve got this,” Boom said, pulling out his wallet. He opened it, then eyed the other guys. “Pony up, assholes. This wasn’t her idea, why should she have to pay for it?”
Voodoo scowled a little, but there wasn’t any complaining; they each pulled out fifty bucks and handed it over to Hilda. As she was putting the cash away, Voodoo leaned on the counter and said bluntly, “Are you free tonight?”
Crutch looked outraged that Voodoo had beaten him to it.
Hilda laughed out loud. “Honey, I have a three-year-old and a one-year-old. I’m not free any night, not to mention my husband might not like you.”
“Can’t blame a man for trying,” Voodoo replied in the most civil tone of voice Jina had ever heard him use. She gaped at him, trying to reconcile grumpy sneering Voodoo with a man some women might actually go out with. He scowled at her. “What?”
“Nothing,” she said, eyes wide. “I didn’t know you were human. Just startled me, is all.”
They trooped out amid jokes and needling, and Voodoo reverted to his surly default setting, which was fine with her. Getting a blast of cold air in her face seemed to trip the switch between functional and exhausted. Making her ride with Jelly had been such a bad idea, now they had to fight the traffic back to the airport, get her car, then she’d have to drive home from there.
She couldn’t do it. Her car could just stay at the airport. She was going back tonight, anyway. “Take me home,” she mumbled. “I’ll Uber to the airport tonight.”
“Good plan,” Jelly said. “You look dead.”
“I feel dead.” Not too dead, though; as soon as she was in Jelly’s truck out of the cold—and turned to the side so her new tattoo didn’t scrub against the back of the seat—she took out her phone and texted both Ailani and Terisa. Too bad the others weren’t married, but at least Snake and Boom would pay for their part in the morning’s events.
Because Jelly was Jelly, she gave him a warning. “If you take me anywhere other than to my home, I’ll kill you. Are we clear on this?”
“Jeez, Babe, you sound as if you don’t trust me.”
“I trust you in certain things. This isn’t one of them. Drive.”
He grinned and put the truck in gear.
There had been a lot of times since being picked as a trainee when she’d wished she didn’t have a second-floor condo, and this was one of them. With Jelly’s cheerful good-bye ringing in her ears, she literally hauled herself up the stairs, locked the door behind her, then dropped her bag on the floor and made it as far as her couch before determination gave out on her.
Being home with her family made Jina feel as if she could finally breathe after months of not being able to relax. Both her parents, as well as her just-younger brother Taz, who was home on leave from the army, waited up for her that night even though it was after midnight when she finally drove up to her childhood home. The front porch light was on, and light was also spilling from the living room and kitchen windows, which were on the front. Jina got out of her rental car and as she hefted her suitcase out of the backseat the front door opened and all of them came outside.
“Get the suitcase for your sister,” she heard her dad say quietly, and Taz obediently stepped off the porch and took the suitcase from her. Then she was enveloped in her parents’ enthusiastic hugs and kisses, and the familiar sound and touch of them went straight to her heart.
“Your hair is so long,” her mother said, touching the dark fall of hair that streamed down Jina’s back.
“I know. I’ve been too busy to get it cut. Maybe you can whack off a few inches for me, while I’m here.” She hugged her mother again. “Just like when I was little.”
“I trimmed your bangs, I didn’t do big haircuts.”
Taz thunked the suitcase down just inside the door and gave Jina a peculiar look, which she was too tired to decipher. Instead she said, “Where’s Caleigh?” because she knew her baby sister was home from college.
“Out on a date, she should be home anytime now. Come on, let’s sit down for a minute and let me look at you. It feels like forever since you’ve been home!”
Before Jina could sit down, her dad ruffled her hair and pulled her in for a quick kiss on her forehead. “Glad you’re here, pumpkin,” he rumbled, his voice raspy like hers. Rather, hers was raspy like his.
“I was afraid I wouldn’t make it,” she replied and tried unsuccessfully to stifle a huge yawn. Her eyelids felt as if they each weighed ten pounds. She dropped into one of the armchairs. “Monday I had to fly to Paris on a last-minute deal, and I had no idea if I’d get finished in time to come home. I made it, but I got back to D.C. this morning with a huge case of jet lag.”
“Paris!” Her mother’s eyes got big. “I’d love to see Paris!”
“I might, too,” Jina grumbled. “But all I saw was what was on the way from the airport, then looking out a single window while I worked.” She yawned again. “Maybe someday.”
Her mom, Melissa, was a pretty blond woman with an hourglass figure, which Jina’s two sisters had inherited and she hadn’t. She wore pajamas and a robe, her face scrubbed clean of any makeup she might have worn during the day, but even without makeup she still looked darn good. Jina hoped she aged half as well as her mom had done.
She pulled off her jacket and her mom immediately gave her a piercing look. “What’s going on? You’re so thin!”
“What?” Jina looked down at herself, trying to marshal her tired mind. Oh, yeah, the working out. “I told you I’d been working out like crazy. My brain is so tired at the end of the day, running helps me relax. I don’t have to think about anything when I’m running.” None of what she’d said was a lie, which was good considering her exhaustion.
“Well, I’ll get some food in you while you’re here.” From the grim note in her mother’s voice, anyone would have thought Jina had been forcibly starved.
“The thought of your German chocolate cake pushed me the whole time I was in Paris,” she said truthfully. “Is it made already?” She wouldn’t mind having cake and milk before going to bed.
“No, I’m so sorry, I was going to make it tomorrow. Today,” Melissa corrected, because it was after midnight.
Jina yawned again. “That’s okay. Y’all, I’m falling over I’m so tired. Is it okay if I just go to bed?”
“Of course it is! Your bed is made and ready. Go on to bed and we’ll see you in the morning.”
That was the most excellent thing she’d heard all day. Escaping to the room her older sister,
Ashley, had once occupied in glorious solitude while Jina shared with Caleigh, but which had become Jina’s alone when Ashley moved out, she heaved a sigh of relief. A quick shower, a ginger application of Aquaphor ointment to her tattoo, which was damn hard to reach where it was, then she tumbled into bed in panties and tee shirt and went right to sleep, soothed by the familiarity of her surroundings. She was home!
Home or not, the habit of months was a hard thing to break, even when jet lag was thrown into the equation. Before dawn Jina was pulling on sweats and lacing up her trainers, because she had to keep up her training, and doing so before the holiday got into gear was the best time. After some stretches, she let herself out the front door and trotted down the driveway, hit the secondary road, and turned to the left. A couple of miles down a small road to the right would loop around and cut back into the secondary road, bringing her right back here. She estimated the entire distance at around eight miles, which was a nice run. There was just enough light to see.
She had reconnected to the secondary road, with a mile or so left before reaching home, when she heard footsteps pounding behind her. Alarm skittered along her nerves, and she threw a quick look over her shoulder even as she picked up the pace. Just because she was home didn’t mean there was no danger. But she recognized Taz, dressed much as she was, and slowed until he came abreast of her before picking up her speed and running side by side with him.
“You’re up early,” he said, his breath just a little short though his face was shiny with sweat.
“So are you. Best time to get in a run.”
“What the hell’s going on?”
Startled, she said, “What?,” and threw him a frowning glance. It still shook her some to see her little brother looking so military, with his high and tight haircut, erect posture, and confident way of talking. Taz had been a little shy when he was younger—not with the family, but in school—so the confidence was good. He was also in really good shape.
“You were hauling your suitcase around last night as if it was mostly empty, and I know the damn thing had to weigh fifty pounds. How long are you planning to stay, a month?”
“Just until Sunday. And it was forty-two pounds.”
“You were picking it up with one hand.”
She didn’t pause in her stride, just popped a biceps for him. “Feel,” she said proudly.
He obligingly squeezed her muscle. “Nice. What are you doing?”
“You know. Running, lifting some weights. The usual stuff.”
“Bullshit.”
Like a sister, she rolled her eyes. “What does it look like I’m doing right now? Sleeping late?”
“That’s what’s wrong. You’ve never been into exercising. And I’ve seen gym rats; you’re not in gym rat shape, you’re in something-else-entirely kind of shape.” Taz had always been observant. “What are you really doing in this new job of yours that keeps you tied up for months?”
“It’s computer stuff, just like I said. Software applications and training.” That was the absolute truth, and the annoyed tone was just right. “The running and lifting weights is because I was spending so much time in front of a computer I was turning into a lump. I also took a couple of martial-arts classes. There’s a lot of crime in the D.C. area, in case you didn’t realize.”
“Does the software have military applications?”
She shrugged. “I guess it could. I’m not with the military, though.” Again, complete truth.
“And you going off to Paris at a moment’s notice—”
“Was troubleshooting. I’m good at what I do. Want to play some games, try to beat me?”
“Forget it,” he grumbled, because neither he nor Jordan had ever been able to regularly best her at computer games. Then he said, “Race you!,” and took off at a sprint.
He was taller than her, had longer legs, was younger (even if only by a year and a half). He ran a lot, because he was in the army. But he was years out of basic training, and the conditioning the GO-Teams went through was constant, unrelenting. Jina’s reaction time had been honed so that she was sprinting, too, before the word “race” was out of his mouth. Top end speed was one thing, and she likely couldn’t match him, so she leaped over a ditch and went cross-country. Hah! That would teach him to try to get the jump on her, instead of setting the rules out first. She heard him yelling at her, but when she glanced over her shoulder he was running as if he were in the last leg of a relay with just a hundred yards to the finish line.
She raced over the rough ground of the field, once planted with what looked like soybeans but now lying fallow for the winter, the humps of the rows forcing her to pay attention to where she placed her feet—or at least as much attention as she could, given that she was leaping over them like a deer. She reached a fence and barely paused, bracing her left hand on a post and vaulting over the strands of wire. There had been rain recently and the ground was soft, but not so soft that she bogged down.
This is nothing, she thought as she raced through her dad’s small apple orchard, the tree limbs bare now, then vaulted another fence. The land was flat here in south Georgia, unlike the hills where she trained. “Slowpoke!” she yelled, not sure Taz could hear her, but she thought she heard him bellow something in response and laughed. This was how it had always been with her brothers, in constant competition with them, trying to keep up and most often being left behind. She might not win this race, but Taz would know he’d been in a race.
She pelted forward, approaching the house from the left side while Taz turned in from the road and pounded up the driveway. He cut across the yard and was still ten yards away when she jumped onto the front porch. “Hah! I won!” she crowed as she wrenched open the front door and burst into the warmth of family, the smell of fresh-brewed coffee and bacon cooking in the oven. Their dad was sitting at the table enjoying his first cup of coffee; Caleigh was nowhere to be seen, so she was probably still asleep.
“You cheated,” Taz charged.
“How? What were the rules?”
He looked frustrated, because he hated like poison to lose at anything. “We didn’t make any,” he groused.
Melissa eyed them with a long-suffering, will-this-ever-end look in her eye. “You two go shower, because you’re sweaty and you stink. After we have breakfast, I’m putting everyone to work. Got that?”
“Yes, ma’am,” they both said, then Jina bolted for the Jack-and-Jill bathroom between her bedroom and Caleigh’s, so she could get a jump on the hot water. The battle for hot water was an old one, and the loser got to finish showering in the cold.
Just as she closed the door she heard Taz mutter, “Computers, my ass.”
Okay, so he didn’t believe her. She didn’t care. She was home for Thanksgiving, her new tattoo was itching, and the promise of her favorite dessert in the whole world would get her through jet lag, parachute jumps, boring missions—and missing Levi.
She briefly leaned her head against the doorjamb, fighting against the hollow feeling in her chest, then shoved the feeling down and got on with the day.
Fifteen
Joan Kingsley punched the remote button that closed the garage door behind her and got out of her BMW SUV. She opened the back and retrieved the small overnight bag she’d taken to visit her son for Thanksgiving. Once she’d had a driver, but now she preferred to drive herself because she would forever be suspicious that any driver she hired would be a spy for Axel MacNamara. Driving in D.C. traffic was a nightmare and occasionally she would Uber if she needed to work during the commute, but for the most part she drove.
The inconvenience was a small one in comparison to all the other changes in her life, but it grated.
To all appearances she was doing exactly as MacNamara had ordered her to do. She knew all mail she sent and received was photographed and opened, though very skillfully. No packages arrived that hadn’t already gone through inspection. There were bugs in her house, all her calls on both cell and landline were monitored, and two o
r more agents followed her everywhere she went. She was nailed down as tightly as they could manage, without actually arresting her—which would be difficult to do unless some evidence was manufactured, because she’d taken care that nothing provable existed.
They underestimated Devan.
It was so simple, really, and perhaps that was what created the hole in their surveillance. Her house was watched—when she was here. When she left, the watchers left and followed her. They trusted that their listening bugs and her own alarm system had the property covered with video as well as the more traditional entry alarms. She knew the alarm system had been hacked into, which gave her an advantage because she knew what they saw. She’d checked her video feed and verified that the view of the bottom of the mudroom door was blocked by a chair on which she sat to change her shoes whenever she went into the back garden.
There were two churches on her block where Devan could park without attracting attention. It was a simple matter for him to approach the house from the rear, using the code she had given him for the back gate so no alarm was raised, and slip a single sheet of paper under the mudroom door. He knew what days her housekeeper, Helen, worked, and what hours; Joan had perfected the art of retrieving the paper without it being noticed. Sometimes she would slip it up her pants leg while she was bent over changing her shoes and read it later when she was in a bathroom. There were other methods, and so far they had all worked. She and Devan communicated with ease, and it gave her enormous gratification every time they outwitted Axel MacNamara.
She never went straight to the mudroom; that in itself could look suspicious. Though she was anxious to find out if the Graeme Burger bait had been taken, the result would be the same regardless of when she found out. The laundry was adjacent to the mudroom, and when she took the day’s dirty clothing down, she’d find out then if there was a message.