Irished (The Invincibles Book 7)

by Heather Slade

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew it was the Fourth of July, just like I knew when other holidays came and went. It had been so long since I’d celebrated any of them, I anticipated today would go like every other.

  “Hey, Buck,” I said when I answered his call in the late afternoon.

  “My brothers and sister are serving dinner in the dining hall tonight. I also heard my brother Holt might be playing a set later.”

  “If you’re calling to invite me, I’m going to take a pass on this one.”

  “You okay, Irish?”

  “No different than usual.”

  “Sure I can’t change your mind?”

  “No. I’m good. I have a couple of leads I’m following.”

  “Need any help?”

  “I’ll let you know if I do.”

  I’d lost track of time when my cell rang again, this time with a call from Decker.

  “Are you all together? I’d rather only do this once.”

  “Negative, but we can be.”

  “Call me when you are.”

  I immediately called Cope, who reported he saw Buck and Stella return to the cabin a couple of hours ago. When I came out the door, he and Ali were waiting for me.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked her.

  “Hanging in there.” She rubbed her belly like maybe it had been a stomach bug.

  “I got a call from Ashford. Something went down in Ireland. He asked if we were all together, and I told him I’d let him know when we were,” I explained once we were inside Stella’s cabin.

  I opened my laptop and sent a message to Decker. Seconds later, he appeared on the screen.

  “First of all, Byrne is dead, along with three of his henchmen,” he began. “There was a hostage situation that culminated in us eventually finding a box that held the evidence he was after.”

  “Which was?” asked Cope.

  “Nothing that referenced Operation Argead or linked him to anyone from Interpol, past or present.”

  Cope looked as though he was about to speak again, but shut his mouth when the rest of us in the room glared at him.

  “What we did learn is somewhat shocking. Do you all remember the reporter Veronica Guerin? Turns out she wasn’t investigating drug gangs as was reported at the time. She was part of a task force working on exposing corruption within the Irish Military Intelligence. The rest of the members of the unit, save three, were killed within a week of her death.”

  “What happened to the other three?” Ali asked.

  “Irish?” said Decker.

  I immediately knew the answer. “Special Agents Pierre Martin, Leon Schmidt, and Alan Perry. They were all murdered in La Chapelle-Saint-Maurice.”

  “The father of the agent I mentioned the other day, Siren Gallagher, was one of the men from the task force who was murdered,” said Decker. “Byrne kept track of her all these years, thinking she might have evidence related to the crimes. Turns out, her mother, who passed away a few years ago, had it in a box that was supposed to be given to Siren but wasn’t located until after Byrne’s death.”

  Decker continued. “Stella, my contact in the Hays County Coroner’s Office said the DC medical examiner is getting ready to release your aunt’s death certificate. As soon as that happens, I think you should press to get a meeting scheduled with the attorney.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Decker, Stella received something in the mail that was forwarded to her. It was a note from her aunt, sent the day Stella found her.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “We haven’t been able to decipher its meaning.”

  “Send it to me. It’ll give me something to do on the flight home.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Anything else I need to know before I get in the air?” Deck asked.

  When no one spoke up, he ended the call.

  “Can I see the note?” I asked.

  Buck picked it up from the table and handed it to me.

  Its message seemed obvious, given Barb’s use of numbers. “What’s at 610 Fifth Avenue?”

  Buck pulled out his phone. “Tiffany’s flagship store.”

  I took a photo of the note and told them I’d send it to Decker.

  When I walked out, I saw Flynn’s truck pulling up. I’d tried to reach her several times, and she hadn’t responded. Since it was pouring rain, I didn’t bother stopping to ask why not.

  30

  Flynn

  I felt horrible when I saw Paxon leave the cabin we were about to go into and head next door. By the time I got out of the SUV, he was already inside.

  Earlier, we thought everyone was coming to the dining hall, where we’d made a feast for the Fourth of July, but Stella had some mail delivered to the house, which I forgot to tell her about. Evidently, there was something important in it because both Buck and Stella left right after they got it.

  I had no idea if Paxon had intended to come or not.

  “Hurry up,” yelled Cord, when I hesitated following them. It had been raining hard all day and hadn’t let up. I grabbed two of the containers and raced inside.

  “We brought food,” I said when Buck opened the door.

  “Best brisket ever,” said Cord as he uncovered the large pan he brought inside.

  “We were so busy in the kitchen that we didn’t get a chance to eat,” said Porter, coming in behind Holt, who brought his guitar along. “Mind if we eat with you?”

  While I was a little sad at the thought that Paxon was all alone next door, I couldn’t remember a time I’d had so much fun with my brothers.

  We talked about our futures and plans for the ranch now that our dad was gone. Cord and I both wanted to see if we could make a go of the dude ranch, Porter wanted to get into the roughstocking business, and Holt obviously wanted to tour with CB Rice.

  Buck didn’t say much, but when Stella told us they’d talked about living in our great-grandparents’ old farmhouse, a sense of peace came over me. It just felt right, and I said so. When Buck’s eyes met mine, I knew in my heart that while it was hard for him to admit it, given his history with our dad, he felt the rightness of it too.

  When it came time for us to go, I packed up a small amount of the food to take over to Paxon. I’d planned to leave it for him, but when I walked up to the cabin, I saw him sitting on the swing.

  “How come you’re sitting in the dark?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I guess I didn’t plan on staying out here that long.”

  “I brought you some food.”

  “That was nice of you.” He held out his hand.

  “I can take it inside.”

  “Thanks.”

  The lack of enthusiasm in his voice made me so sad. I went back out and sat beside him on the swing. This was one instance where I was glad we were sitting in the dark.

  “I was so embarrassed,” I said.

  “I know. I was too.”

  “I’m sorry you had to experience that. It’s why I’ve stayed away.”

  “Do you know why I was embarrassed?”

  I shrugged.

  “Because he recognized me. I saw that same look I’ve seen on the faces of so many people. I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

  “You’ve done nothing wrong, though.”

  “Have you?”

  “It’s different.”

  Irish put his arm on the back of the swing. “You’re sorry I had to witness someone shaming you, right?”

  “Who would want to hang around with someone who gets called a heifer?”

  “Who would want to hang around with someone who gets called a traitor?”

  “But you aren’t.”

  He drew me into him. “And neither are you, Flynn.”

  My eyes filled with tears, and when he put his other arm around me, I let myself sink into his embrace.

  “I wish I could take all your hurt away,” he whispered.

  “I wish I could take yours away too.”

  �
�You know what works?”

  “What?”

  “For me, anyway, spending time with you. You have a way about you that soothes me, Flynn. I smile more. I don’t think about the dark stuff as much.”

  “I feel the same when I’m with you.”

  “If that’s the case, why aren’t we spending more time together?”

  Even in the dark, I could tell he was smiling.

  “We should be,” I said, resting my head on his shoulder.

  31

  Irish

  Two days later, Buck and Stella were on their way to New York City, where they hoped to find the location of her aunt’s safe-deposit box.

  Because of something in his father’s will, Buck couldn’t be away from the ranch for more than forty-eight consecutive hours, or he and his siblings would lose their inheritance. I didn’t understand it—at all—and said so when Flynn tried to explain it to me. All I knew was that Hammer, the attorney the Invincibles kept on retainer, said it was legal and binding.

  What that meant was they had forty-eight hours to fly to the East Coast, find the safe-deposit box Stella believed contained evidence regarding Operation Argead, gather that evidence together, and fly back. I hoped it would be that easy, but I doubted very much it would be.

  I was getting ready to text Flynn to see if she had free time later in the day to get together, when Cope knocked on the cabin door. When I opened it, he pushed past me, carrying his open laptop.

  “You are not going to fucking believe this.” He set the laptop down on the table.

  “What?”

  “Look for yourself.”

  “China has granted US whistleblower Xander Harris permanent residency rights,” began the intelligence bulletin.

  “Who the fuck is Xander Harris?”

  “Keep reading.”

  The report mapped out Harris’ timeline beginning when his father was deployed to the Gulf War. Xander, given name William, was eight at the time. His father was deployed again to Afghanistan when Xander was sixteen.

  Right out of college, paid for with his father’s GI Bill, Xander secured a job working for the US government as an IT and cybersecurity tech.

  I looked up at Cope. “Has Decker seen this?”

  He pulled out his phone while I continued reading.

  Two years after Harris was hired, his father committed suicide outside of a VA hospital, after reportedly being denied care for Gulf War Syndrome and PTSD.

  Three months later, he left his job with the government and went to work for Enigma Computers, based in Hawaii.

  “That name sounds familiar. Why?”

  Cope shrugged. “Decker is on his way here now. He should land in about an hour. And to answer your earlier question, he’s read the bulletin.”

  “Is that why he’s on his way?”

  “Affirmative.”

  I continued reading. Nine years ago, Xander Harris relocated from Hawaii to Hong Kong.

  I sat back in the chair. “Holy fucking shit.”

  “What?”

  I pointed to the paragraph of the bulletin that referred to the timing of Xander’s relocation from Hawaii to Hong Kong. “Cope, do you think…”

  “I know what you’re going to say, and I’m as hopeful as you are.”

  “But?”

  “Cautiously hopeful.”

  “There’s still a matter of how this relates to what Stella’s aunt may have uncovered.”

  “If that amounts to anything.”

  “Have we always been this negative?” I asked.

  “Maybe not nine years ago. I don’t know. Maybe we’re just realistic.”

  “Hey, where’s Ali?” It dawned on me that Cope had been here close to thirty minutes.

  “Lying down. She’s…uh…not feeling well.”

  Obviously, there was something more to it I was missing, but right now, I had more important things to be concerned with.

  I dove as deep as I could into William “Xander” Harris’ background, which was like diving into a quarter inch of water. “Fisk buried him,” I said, assuming Cope wasn’t finding any more than I was.

  “China calls him a ‘US whistleblower,’ but I can’t find anything whatsoever about what he blew on.”

  “Maybe we’ll have better luck once Deck gets here.”

  A few minutes later, we heard him before we saw him. “Goddamn motherfucking sonuvabitch. I grew up on a ranch; you’d think I’d know to be on the lookout for horse shit.”

  I went out on the porch where he was scraping his boot on the step.

  “Hey, Irish.”

  “Hey, Deck.”

  He stormed past me, threw his laptop on the table more than set it, and pulled a chair out.

  “We got anybody close enough to China to get in and kill this little motherfucker?”

  I looked at Cope, who was looking at me.

  “Yes, Rile, I am serious.”

  Only then did we realize he was talking on his cell, although I didn’t see it, nor did I see any kind of earpiece. Then again, this was Decker we were talking about. Maybe he had something implanted in his brain that allowed him to simply make a call by thinking it—or some other shit only he’d dream up.

  Decker sat down, took a deep breath, and rested his hands on the edge of the table. “Something tells me this is our mole.”

  I nodded, and so did Cope.

  “The question is, how do we tie him to Kerr?”

  “Our thoughts as well.”

  “I gotta tell you, fellas, I’m thinking about reading Doc Butler in on this.”

  “You don’t think he already knows?”

  Deck’s eyes met mine. “You mean via Burns?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fuck no,” he spat, shaking his head.

  Burns was Doc’s father; was it really so hard to think he’d discuss Operation Argead with his son? Evidently so.

  “As far as reading Doc in, would anyone object?” Cope asked.

  “Anyone whose opinion I give two shits about? Nope,” answered Decker.

  When he stood and walked over to the window, seemingly on another call, I wondered again about the brain-implant thing. How the hell had he done it otherwise?

  “Doc, Decker here. How soon can you and your team get to Colorado?”

  There were a few seconds of silence. “Yeah, I know you have a fleet of planes now, asshole. Just answer the question. How soon?”

  The next thing I heard was him asking Rile the same thing. “Yes, this supersedes my directive to kill the little bastard.”

  Decker returned to the table and sat down. “How’s Ali feeling?” he asked.

  “Still pretty rough.”

  “It’ll pass,” said Decker.

  “Do you want to elaborate as to what you’re talking about?”

  Decker ignored me, and Cope looked at me as if I were an idiot.

  “What?”

  “She’s pregnant, asshole,” Decker said before Cope could. “Now, can we get back to business?” He looked between the two of us, and I nodded.

  “The way I see it, we may have two investigations to conduct. First is to figure out who the hell this Harris guy is, what and how much he’s given to China, and who else he’s connected to. At the same time, we need to determine whether this weasel has anything to do with Argead or if the two are unrelated. Then we meet in the middle.”

  “Copy that,” both Cope and I responded.

  “Irish.” He turned his chair so he was facing me. “Both teams report to you.” He looked over his shoulder at Cope. “As do you.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Good. Now, I’m going to ask one more thing of you.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I want you to make Stella the lead on the Kerr side of things.”

  “Roger that,” I repeated.

  “No objections?”

  “Isn’t that what she is now?”

  “What we’ve been working on for the last few weeks is a flea on a dog compa
red to the horse we’ve gotta break now.” He looked between Cope and me. “No comment?”

  “About the analogy?”

  Decker laughed and pointed his thumb at Cope. “Is he really this much of a pussy?” he asked me.

  “Not even a little bit.”

  His eyes scrunched, and the smile left his face. “I’m damn glad to hear it, Irish.”

  “News out of DC isn’t good, boys,” said Decker, looking at his phone several hours later. “Stella got the runaround today when she met with the attorney who took over after Barb’s lawyer was murdered, so she still hasn’t located the safe-deposit box. Worse, they found evidence that the housekeeper had been working for Kerr for years. Some relation to his wife.”

  “And Kerr killed her?” asked Cope.

  “If, in fact, he was the killer, then yes, it would appear that way.”

  “How’s Stella doing?” I asked.

  “She’s okay, Irish. I’m sure she’d appreciate hearing from you directly, though.”

  I ignored his suggestion. I wasn’t quite ready for Stella and I to be “buds.”

  The news didn’t get any better the following day. While Stella and Buck had figured out where the safe-deposit box was located, the branch manager of the bank was demanding a warrant for her to get into it. On top of that, the storm that had flooded the valley where the Roaring Fork Ranch was located had moved to the East Coast, wreaking havoc on travel. Even if they managed to get the box’s contents, now there was a question of whether they’d be able to return to Colorado in time to meet Buck’s curfew.

  “How serious is Buck’s father’s will?” I asked Decker.

  “According to Hammer, if Buck doesn’t follow it to the letter, the ranch will be sold and all the assets, including the proceeds from the sale, will be given to charity.”

  “Seems extreme,” I mumbled.

  “Extreme? Seems downright vengeful, bordering on psychotic, if you ask me.”

  I was glad Decker said it because that was really more what I was thinking. I wondered how Flynn was doing and whether she even knew her brother was in danger of not making it back in time.