It took another ten days before I was up and around enough that I felt alive. When I finally talked Decker into telling me the extent of my injuries, I wished I hadn’t.
“You ready to talk business?” he asked when I came out of the bedroom, showered and dressed in clothes that weren’t mine but fit me.
“Sure,” I said, pouring myself a cup of coffee which I turned right around and spit out in the sink. “What is this shit?”
“That’s cowboy coffee. It’ll put hair on your chest.”
“I don’t need more hair on my chest; I need something drinkable.” The coffee the nurses brought me tasted nothing like what I’d just poured into a cup.
Decker motioned with his thumb to one of those pod coffeemakers. “We keep that around for the pussies.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask. Aren’t you married?”
“If that segue had anything to do with my wife, know that once you’re healed, I’ll beat the crap out of you.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Nothing of the sort. I was just wondering since I haven’t met her.”
“That’s because she doesn’t live here. Neither do I, for that matter. We own the ranch adjacent to King-Alexander. Name’s Brandywine. I just come here every day to see how you’re doing.”
“Wow, Decker, I’m touched.”
“Yeah, whatever. You wanna work or lie on your ass in that bed every day?”
“What’ve you got?”
Two hours later, my head was pounding and I wanted nothing more than to take a nap. But I couldn’t. I still had pages of information to sort through, but the bottom line was, Decker had enough on Ed Fisk to take him down along with several of the handlers and operatives who made up a vast network of double agents. China was behind most of it, but not all. Just like Cope and I thought.
“This is the second dirty director in a row,” I muttered, reading over the evidence Decker had compiled on Fisk.
“Not exactly a coincidence, Irish.”
“Right. I just hope the next guy has nothing to do with Flatly, Fisk, Montgomery—anyone associated with that bunch.”
“Let’s just say I am only one of a few who intend to have some say in who they give the job to next.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Decker stood and stretched. “While I’d like to say I’m the one who found most of this, I have to give credit where it’s due. Senator Copeland put the full force of the intelligence committee behind this one. McTiernan too.”
“What happens next?”
“Carefully choreographed arrests around the world.”
“When?”
“Two weeks from today.”
I got up and walked through the front door and out onto the stone patio that went all the way around the house. I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that this was it. Seven years of work would culminate in bringing down the Director of the CIA, plus a worldwide network of double agents.
So why didn’t it feel like it would soon be over? When would the fear of knowing that every day could bring the death of more agents end? When would the night come that I could fall asleep without feeling I had no right to? Or wake in the morning without dread in the pit of my stomach?
“Irish?”
When Decker came outside, I was sitting in a chair, bent at the waist, head in my hands, crying like a baby. “Leave it alone, Deck.”
“You got it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I didn’t look, but I heard his truck start up and drive away.
It happened the last day of February—the twenty-eighth since it wasn’t leap year. Fisk was the first to be taken down but only by a few seconds. Law enforcement agencies around the world assisted, but it was teams of US Marshals that carried out the arrests. Only men and women vetted by Decker Ashford, Senator Henry Clay Copeland, and Kellen McTiernan were tasked with carrying out orders that would shake the intelligence world to its core.
Cope contacted me at dawn—via a video call. It was the first time I heard his voice since the day in the hospital when I didn’t have the strength to respond. The last time I saw him was at the federal courthouse.
Today, my voice was strangled with emotion and I had to turn my head to hide my tears.
“This is it, Irish. You did it.”
I shook my head and looked back at my phone’s screen. “We did it.”
“It never would’ve happened without you, Paxon.”
“How’s Ali?” I asked, needing to deflect attention I wasn’t prepared to handle.
“I haven’t seen her yet.”
“When will you?”
“Later this morning.”
“I’m happy for you, Cope. I hope it works out between the two of you.”
“I’ve got something to ask you.”
“Shoot.”
“Never mind. There’s something I need to ask her first.”
One month later, Cope asked Ali—the reporter who had been T-boned in his car and who he fell in love with while I was in jail—to marry him. The same night, he asked me to be his best man. I was glad for him, truly, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. I wondered if it would ever go away. I wouldn’t tell him that, though. I wouldn’t spoil his happiness.
“Hey, you,” said Ali, coming out to the backyard of Cope’s parents’ house.
“Congratulations,” I said, hugging her.
“Best wishes.”
“Huh?”
“You congratulate the man and offer best wishes to the woman.”
“Yeah? I don’t know much about shit like that.”
Ali pulled me over to the garden bench. “Someday, you will. I hope it’s soon, Irish. You deserve happiness, maybe more than anyone I know.”
Did I? On the day of the arrests, I asked Decker if he’d kept count of the agents killed. He shook his head, but I didn’t believe him. I would trust, though, it was a number I didn’t want to know.
16
Irish
Washington, DC
May
“This is a wedding, not a damn job interview,” I said to Money McTiernan, who had me cornered at the bar for the last fifteen minutes.
“It isn’t an interview, Irish. I’m asking you to take the same job you had before.”
I knew the answer to my next question, but I’d ask anyway. “Is Cope?”
Money motioned to the bartender with two fingers. I really didn’t need another drink, but what the fuck, it wasn’t every day your best friend, the man you went to hell and back with, got married.
“I’m going to wait until after he and Ali return from their honeymoon to ask.”
“You’re trying to get her to come back too, aren’t you?”
While Ali had been undercover as a reporter covering my trial, her real job was as an internal affairs agent for the CIA. It was the only division that operated independently, and for good reason. Ali had originally been brought in by Money to ascertain whether Cope was also a double agent who had betrayed his country like many believed I was.
A few still hadn’t received the memo that I’d been undercover too, and couldn’t stop themselves from looking at me like the traitor I wasn’t.
I looked across the yard at one in particular. TJ Hunter was her name, and she was actually a reporter. She and Cope had been friends for a long time. I also got the feeling she wanted more, but that was when neither of us had the brain space to think about relationships. Although, when Cope met Ali, he found some quickly.
My gaze met Stella’s—a nickname Cope had given her, and everyone used—and I raised my glass. As I anticipated, she didn’t do the same. Instead, she turned away.
“It’ll take time,” said Money, watching the exchange.
“You know what? I really don’t give a shit.”
I walked away, planning to find a quiet place inside the house where I didn’t have to see or talk to anyone. Before I reached the door, Decker intercepted me.
“Tell me you’re not
thinking of going back to the agency.”
I laughed. “Why? You got a job offer for me?”
“More than that, Irish, and you know it. We want you to come on board as a partner.”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure I can work for a company that calls themselves the Invincibles.”
“Fucking Rile,” Decker mumbled. “I never should’ve gone along with it.”
Everyone knew it had been Rile who came up with the name. And coming from him, it hadn’t been a surprise. The guy was an arrogant asshole, as far as I was concerned, and I couldn’t stand him. Then again, there weren’t many people I could stand.
Cope, sometimes. Decker, sometimes. Ali, sometimes. It was a short list.
“I need some time, Deck.”
“I know you do, and I’ll quit pestering you. What I won’t do is let you go back to the agency.”
“What about another firm?”
“If you’re about to say K19, I’ll…”
K19 Security Solutions was the Invincibles’ equal and rival when it came to private intelligence and covert ops firms. A guy named Doc Butler headed it up with some partners. Doc hadn’t made me an offer, but if he did, it would be a damned hard decision to make if it weren’t for the fact that I owed Decker my life. “You’ll what?” I asked.
“Hell, I don’t know. I’d say I’d never forgive you, but that makes me sound like a pussy.”
I laughed and squeezed his shoulder. “Decker, you should know without asking that if I were to go private, I’d have to sign up with the Invincibles.”
“Why do I think you’re blowing smoke up my ass?”
I shook my head and walked away.
Less than a week later, I got a call from Decker. When I saw it was him, everything inside me screamed not to answer. Somehow, I knew this wasn’t about the job offer. Somehow, I knew my instincts were right—it wasn’t over. Not even close. We may have taken down Fisk and a few of his henchmen, but we hadn’t gotten everyone.
“Yeah?”
“Irish. We need to meet.”
“When and where?”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“My gut’s been on high alert.”
“I didn’t want to admit it, but mine has too. Rock is on his way to get you now.”
“Get me?”
“You’re going back into protective custody.”
“King-Alexander?”
“Nah, but you are going to a ranch. This one is in Colorado.”
“Where are you?”
“In DC. Rock will bring you to the airfield. I’ll brief you then.”
Ritter “Rock” Johnson had worked for the Invincibles since leaving the CIA before my official “departure.” While he and I had never shared a mission, I knew he was one of the best there was in terms of asset protection.
I shook my head. That’s what I’d become—an asset.
17
Flynn
Crested Butte, Colorado
May
Four years ago, the doctors told my father he wouldn’t live six more months. He showed them and us, his kids.
Like he had in life, he controlled us from the grave. Not all of us, just his oldest son, Buck.
When Buck left the ranch to go to college, our father told him that if he did, he’d never own a piece of the property that had been in our family for over one hundred years. Today, after my father’s attorney read his will, there wasn’t a single one of us who believed we’d inherit any of it.
My father, the cantankerous sonuvabitch that he was, issued an ultimatum through his last will and testament. If Buck didn’t spend an entire year living full-time on the Roaring Fork Ranch, which was defined as not being away from the ranch for longer than forty-eight consecutive hours, then everything—the ranch and all our family’s assets—would be given to charity.
That wasn’t all. In the same period of time, Buck was expected to bring the ranch that had been operating in the red since our dad got sick, into the black. In one year.
Every ounce of sadness I felt when he died turned into anger. How could he do this to Buck?
I almost wished we had known he was pulling this before the visitation and funeral because there was no way in hell I would’ve asked Buck to attend had I known.
My heart ached for my oldest brother, especially when he got up and walked out before the attorney was finished.
Within moments, the rest of us got up, one by one, and left too.
“Are you okay?” Holt asked Buck when he came outside with Cord a few minutes after I had.
“We’ll talk when we get back to the ranch.”
“That was fucked up,” said Porter, storming past the rest of us.
“Sorry,” I said to him, not knowing what else to say. He put his arm around my shoulders.
“We’ll talk once we’re home.”
I looked into his eyes. “You said ‘home.’”
“Don’t make too much of that.”
I couldn’t stand it. Since we got home, Buck hadn’t come out of his room, and Porter was angrier than I’d ever seen him. Something told me it wasn’t at our dad, either, which wasn’t fair.
“Buck?” I said, knocking on his door.
“I’ll be out in a minute, Flynn.”
“Can I come in?”
He opened the door.
“I’m sure this is hard for you to accept.”
He shook his head. “That is an understatement, sis.”
“I know you and Pop never got along much, but I believe in my heart, he did what he thought was best for the ranch and best for our family.”
“I’m not your savior. Not any of yours. If things are as bad as Porter says and the four of you want the ranch, you’re going to have to work your asses off. I didn’t bring any magic bullets with me.”
“It won’t matter how hard we work if you leave, Buck.”
“Are you leavin’?” asked Cord, who was standing in the doorway, listening to us like Holt and Porter were.
“Hell, no, I’m not leaving.”
I threw my arms around Buck’s neck. “Thank you,” I whispered right before he got up and stormed out, motioning for Porter to follow.
“I can’t believe he’d do this,” said Holt a little while later, coming inside from the barn.
“Who and what?”
Cord walked in behind him. “Buck is leaving.”
“What? No! He just said he wasn’t.”
“There’s an emergency. A murder.”
“I can’t believe it,” I said under my breath, looking out the window at where Buck was pacing and on his cell phone.
When Porter walked in, our eyes met. “What are we going to do, Port?” I asked.
“Start packing.”
“He said he’d be back within the forty-eight hours,” said Cord.
“And you’re a fool enough to believe him?”
I looked out the window at Buck. He was off the phone and headed our way. “I believe him.”
“I believe him too,” said Holt.
“Hell, I gotta too, then,” muttered Cord.
“Well, I don’t gotta,” snapped Porter, going into his room and slamming the door.
“What choice do we have?” I said, not really asking or expecting an answer.
“None,” said Holt.
“Absolutely none,” added Cord.
18
Irish
Flight from Washington, DC, to Colorado
June
The plane we flew on was a private one, owned by the Invincibles. When I boarded, I saw Buck Wheaton already seated beside TJ “Stella” Hunter, the reporter who had covered my trial and whom I’d seen with Buck at Cope and Ali’s wedding.
Decker motioned Rock and me to the rear of the plane. “Have a seat. After takeoff, I’ll brief you on what’s gone down.”
“Roger that,” I muttered, thankful that Rock didn’t sit right next to me. The idea that he or anyone else would be on my detail was somethi
ng I’d have to get used to. When I was recovering at the King-Alexander Ranch, the elaborate security system Decker had set up served as my detail.
When I heard the chimes indicating we could get up and walk around, I followed Deck into a stateroom. Rock joined us and closed the door behind him.
“You’re probably wondering what Stella is doing on board,” Decker began.
“I wonder a lot of things.”
He smirked. “As you’re aware, Stella and Ali were writing a book about the mission you and Cope undertook and that I joined in on.”
Of course I was aware, and I was against it, not that anyone had asked me, even though it was my fucking story.
“Does the name Barb Hunter mean anything to you?” asked Decker.
“Stella’s aunt.”
“That’s right. Ten years ago, she was considered to be one of the best investigative journalists in the business.”
“Then what happened?” I asked.
“She wrote a piece accusing members of Interpol of accepting bribes in exchange for a massive cover-up of what she reported as being called Operation Argead.”
“Right. I remember now. There was something about her having an affair with Interpol’s president and writing the story after he dumped her.”
“That man was Nicholas Kerr. A bit of an enigma. Anyway, the day after Cope and Ali’s wedding, Stella paid her aunt a visit. While Barb had asked Stella to abandon the book before, this time, she took it a step further. They argued, and Barb warned Stella that if she didn’t walk away, they might both end up paying with their lives.
“Three days later, Stella paid Barb another visit and found her and her housekeeper dead. Both had been shot at point-blank range.”
“You believe Barb’s story from ten years ago relates to Fisk somehow?”
Irished (The Invincibles Book 7) Page 7