“The same someone who planted the Glock in my purse?”
“Probably.” He used his knife to carry a piece of cheese to his mouth. “Any ideas who wants Stanislov dead?”
“Uh, half of Russia, who’d like nothing better than to see him out and Arkady Petrov take his place.”
“General Petrov. The hard-liner.”
“If it were up to him, America would already be a smudge on the map. He’s reviving promises made in the Soviet era about taking over the world.”
“How’d Roy find out about the assassination?”
“I don’t know. Maybe there’s an email loop for people in the transportation business.”
He cocked his head at her. “Really?”
“He sent me an email. We’ve worked together before—”
“Are you an agent?”
“No, but my boss is. I work for Sophia Randall. But I’ve traveled with her a lot recently, and when Roy called, I couldn’t find her. So I took the meet.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You took the meet.”
“It was urgent. And I tried to call her, but—yeah, okay.”
“Where?”
“Prague.”
He set down his cheese and bread. “What did you say you do, exactly?”
“I’m an analyst.”
He blinked at her. Shook his head. “Oh for cryin’ out loud, you’re a Sydney Bristow wannabe.”
She frowned.
“That show about the female spy? Alias?”
She didn’t blink. Yeah, she knew the show. Too well. But, well…
Okay, maybe.
“You are a walking billboard for in over your head, honey.”
“Hey! I managed to meet with Roy and get from Prague to Moscow on my own.”
He drew in a breath. “I’m going to kill Roy.”
Something about that made her smirk.
He frowned. “What’s so funny?”
“It’s a—‘Kilroy was here’? You know, from World War Two?”
He frowned.
“I thought you were American?”
“I am. My mother was American, my dad was German, and I lived in Russia until I was thirteen, and learned English as a second language.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“Missionary kid.” He finished off his bread.
Huh. Really. Now that had to be a long story. She was about to probe when he folded up the rest of the cheese into the plastic.
“It’s getting dark out. Finish your bread and tea. We need to move.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’m going to find out who wants you—and maybe me—dead. And then, Kilroy, I’m going to make sure you’re not here. It’s time for you to escape Russia.”
“I can get behind that,” she said, finishing her tea.
He took the cup from her, set it in the sink, then grabbed the bread and put it in the plastic bag. “Get behind this. If you want to stay alive, you need to keep your mouth shut and do everything I say.”
Of course she did.
3
Ford couldn’t breathe.
The frigid, earthy taste of river water filled his mouth, crested over his eyes, and the current, like hands, yanked him under.
He fought the grip, beating against the rocks, thrashing—
“Dude! Wake up, for crying out loud!”
Hands on him, and Ford woke in a second, lashing out with a palm to the face of—
“Whoa!” Tate just narrowly dodged his thrust. He held up his hands in surrender in the early morning light. He was bare chested and wore just a pair of boxers, his brown hair mussed, his body striped by the slats at the window letting in the sunrise. “You’re safe, bro. Breathe.”
Breathe. A sweat sheened his body, and Ford lay back on the pillows of his too-tiny twin bed, gulping in the sweet air that filtered in through his open window.
Air that smelled of his mother’s climbing roses, the wildflowers off the mountain, the cattle in the pasture, and not a little lodgepole pine that grew like weeds across the Marshall Triple M ranch.
Home. “Sorry.”
“No problem. You were shouting, saying something, although I have no idea what.”
Help, maybe? But Ford didn’t offer a response.
“That’s a killer bruise, though. Two shots, huh?”
Ford didn’t have to look in the mirror to know what Tate referred to. Two deep circles where the slugs had hit his vest, one near his sternum, the other lower, just above his spleen. The bruising radiated out from yellow to red to purple, finally rimmed black.
“The vest took most of it.”
“Yeah, right. No wonder you were crying in your sleep. Couple cracked ribs?”
“Bruised, and I wasn’t crying.”
“Weeping like a baby.”
Ford chucked his pillow at him. Tate dodged it.
“Still have the aim of a three-year-old.”
“Tell that to my three expert marksman patches.”
“I’ll out-shoot you anytime, little bro. Time and place.”
For Pete’s sake—Ford pushed himself up, holding in the groan that so wanted to emerge. But not in front of Tate, thanks. Back in a previous life, Tate had been a Ranger, someone Ford very much wanted to emulate.
Now Tate ran security for Gloria Jackson, daughter to VP candidate Reba Jackson and member of the country trio, the Yankee Belles. His brother had just made national hero status by saving the life of said VP candidate and a roomful of big donors. Not to mention the woman he loved.
Tate had all the luck, no doubt.
Ford was just trying to keep his head above water.
“I don’t need to prove anything to you.” A lie, but it sounded good. “When did you get in?”
“Last night, late. Drove in with Glo. You?”
“I flew into Helena yesterday. Knox picked me up in the Cessna.”
“From a ‘training exercise’?” Tate finger quoted his words.
“Yeah. One with live bullets.” He eased off the bed. “And terrorists and a bunch of kids who could have died.”
He didn’t know why he added that—the op was classified. But sometimes Tate’s success—and that of the rest of his brothers, really—added to the chip he kept trying to knock off his shoulder.
It wasn’t easy to be the kid brother in a family of superachievers and hero types. His oldest brother, Reuben, had spent about ten years fighting fires and just married Gilly, a daredevil water-bomber pilot. His brother Knox ran the ranch, raised champion bucking bulls, and was probably going to propose any day to Kelsey, the lead singer for the Belles. Tate, of course, saved the world, apparently.
Admittedly, Ford had done pretty well for himself, one of the youngest to graduate as a SEAL in recent years.
No, he wasn’t looking for medals or ticker tape parades, but frankly it would be nice if, for all his hard work, he got a little respect.
He wouldn’t mind if he also got the girl, too, but something—he didn’t know what—kept him from returning Scarlett’s missed calls.
She hadn’t left a voicemail, not once. And maybe that didn’t matter, but…
He couldn’t get it out of his head that she’d just left town without letting him know. And sure, she’d called a few days later, but by then he’d been out of the country.
He felt like an afterthought.
But he had more important things to do than sit around and whine about something that would probably never be. He’d had his chance with Scarlett—here, in fact, a few weeks ago during Reuben’s wedding. Had kissed her under the moonlight.
But she hadn’t wanted more than that moment, and as much as his body said hoo-yah, his brain, and his commitment to himself, put the kibosh on the desire flooding through him.
So, they landed soundly in the Friend Zone. Teammates. Swim buddies.
Fine. He might be a little jealous of Tate.
“Tylenol is in the bathroom,” Tate said. “And then we need to talk about
RJ. Wake up, and we’ll meet you downstairs.”
Ford ambled to the bathroom where he stood a long time in the shower. By the time he got out, he decided he’d live another day. He got dressed and headed downstairs.
How he loved the smells of home—the scent of the oil used on the hand-hewn logs of their lodge home. The fragrance of bacon seasoning the open kitchen. The sun shone in from the tall windows that flanked the stacked stone fireplace soaring two flights in the center wall of the great room. The family home had first housed his grandparents, three generations finding new ways to build on, make it stronger.
The log home sat in the middle of a nine-thousand-acre ranch, the Triple M, rooted in a legacy of cattle raising that hearkened back a century, and every time Ford came home, he missed it more.
Some of the family was up. Reuben, Knox, Kelsey, and Tate sat at the kitchen counter.
Okay, so maybe he wasn’t the only one worried about RJ.
“Hey, Ma,” Ford said and kissed her on the cheek as she stood at the stove scrambling eggs. The smell of fresh cinnamon muffins drifted from the oven, and she’d cooked for roundup, judging by the stack of buttermilk pancakes on the counter.
Reuben had a pile that should put him to shame, but he was the biggest in the family, nearly six three, and had the girth of a moose thanks to his former job as a sawyer for the Jude County Smoke Jumpers. According to Knox, Reuben was moving home to work the ranch while Knox went on the road with NBR-X, a bull-riding show, as Director of Livestock.
“Hey, Ford,” Glo said as she came out of the den.
He liked Glo. Petite and blonde with hazel-green eyes and a generous smile, Glo was energy and light and cuteness. He hadn’t a clue why she liked Tate, but she was clearly good for his brother.
Dark, troublemaking Tate was actually smiling. A lot.
“Glo,” Ford said as he made his way to the coffee pot. It was nearly gone so he finished it off and opened up the top to make a fresh pot.
“I expected to see Scarlett with you.”
He dumped the filter in the garbage, then glanced at her. “Why?”
Her mouth opened, and she glanced at Tate sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone. Tate looked up and frowned, gave a little shake of his head.
“Oh, uh. I thought…hmm.”
Perfect. Now he was the subject of a soap opera. Ford reached for a new filter. “We work together, that’s all. She’s in Rescue Swimmer training in Pensacola.” He didn’t look at Glo as he filled up the filter with coffee, hoping his voice didn’t betray him.
A beat of silence, as if his family could see through him to the hammering of his heart, then Tate said, “Ford just saved a bunch of kids.”
Ford cast Tate a look.
“Really?”
“I’m so proud of you, Ford,” his mother said, like he’d gotten an A on his spelling test, and pulled out a platter from the cupboard.
But when she slid the eggs onto the platter, then set them on the island, he caught the dark pucker of her lips, as if trying to hold in more.
He sometimes forgot how she’d felt about him joining the Navy after Tate went to Afghanistan. She hadn’t stopped him, but had looked him in the eyes the day he left for MEPS and told him to do whatever it took to return. Please.
He finished filling the coffee pot, closed the lid, and turned to the table. “Anyone heard from RJ?”
Every eye turned to him, and Tate frowned, casting a glance at their mother.
Gerri looked up, frowned. “RJ? What do you mean?”
Seriously?
Ford blew out a breath and shook his head. “Ma, I don’t know how to tell you this, but…RJ’s missing.”
More silence. Across the room, Tate seemed to want to turn him to ash with a look, but really, it wasn’t fair to leave their mother out of the loop, was it?
“What do you mean, missing?”
Actually it was a lot more than missing, but…
“She went out of town, and now she’s not answering her cell phone,” Reuben said.
Sort of skimming the truth there, bro.
Gerri shook her head. “She travels a lot in her job. Of course she is out of touch.” She looked at Ford. “You worry for nothing. It’s the twin thing.” She winked.
He wanted to choke Reuben.
“Ma, we think something happened to her,” Ford said.
Gerri turned back to the stove. “Nothing happened to RJ. She knows how to take care of herself.”
Since when? He glanced at Knox who was conveniently staring at his coffee.
A knock sounded at the front door, and as Ford turned, it opened, and a man popped his head in. “Gerri, you here?”
Ford just stared at him. Early sixties, maybe, with gray hair, the man wore a Stetson, a pair of jeans, boots, and a snap button shirt, the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. He smiled. “Oh, the kids are home.”
“Hey, Hardwin,” Gerri said, and Ford watched as this strange man came in, took off his boots, and strode over to Gerri.
Then, in front of the entire family, he kissed her quickly on the lips.
What the—
Ford glanced at Tate, who had raised an eyebrow but didn’t move.
Hello, wasn’t anyone going to get up and shove the guy against the wall?
Hardwin walked over to the cupboard and pulled out a mug. Glanced at the coffee pot, now dripping. “Good timing, apparently. I like my coffee fresh. Hey, Knox. Reuben.”
“Hardwin,” Reuben said, smiling. “Missed you at my wedding.”
“Sorry. Had to go out of town to visit my son’s family in Minnesota. Where’s Gilly?”
“She’s working her sister’s cupcake shop up in Ember for a few days while her sister goes out of town.”
“And, how was the honeymoon?” Hardwin winked.
Ho-kay, that was enough. “Who are you?” Ford said.
Hardwin set the empty cup down. “You must be Ford. The SEAL.” He held out his hand.
Yeah, he was Ford. The SEAL. He stared at the man, not taking his hand. “And you are…?”
Hardwin dropped his hand. “Oh.” He glanced at Gerri, who made a face at him.
“Sorry, honey. With all the wedding preparations, I didn’t—”
“It’s okay,” Hardwin said.
But Ford was stuck on…honey?
And yes, he was all the way into panic and beyond when Hardwin turned and filled in the very unneeded missing piece. “I’m your mother’s boyfriend.”
His mother’s boyfriend.
Talk about soap operas and family secrets. “How long has this been going on?”
Gerri gave him a look, but hello, he’d been deployed, not captured and left for dead. A letter, an email, even a phone call—
“A few months.” Hardwin reached for the coffee, now brewed. “Are you home on leave?”
“Yeah. Sort of an unscheduled personal leave.” He looked at his mother. “Our sister seems to have gone missing.”
Gerri shook her head. “They’re completely overreacting. But Ford has always been overprotective of his sister. It’s a twin thing.”
“Ma—they had her picture on the news! She tried to assassinate a Russian general!”
Oops.
“Ford! What the—?” Reuben said.
“Dude!” Tate put his phone down.
“Nice, kid.” Knox shook his head.
Gerri stood there, paling, as if he’d punched her.
“RJ killed somebody?”
The question unseated him, coming from the balcony that rose above the great room of the log house. Ford turned, jolted a little by the sight of his brother Wyatt, his long dark hair wet and tucked behind his ears. He wore a gray Minnesota Blue Ox T-shirt and a pair of runners.
“Wyatt. What are you doing here?”
“Sheesh. Can’t a guy visit his family?”
“I thought you were in the Stanley Cup tournament.”
Wyatt descended the stairs. “Eliminated. What’s this ab
out RJ?”
“We don’t know for sure,” Reuben said, “but someone who looked an awful lot like RJ showed up on CNN about a week ago linked to the shooting of some Russian general.”
“Are you sure it was her?” Gerri had retrieved her phone and was probably calling RJ.
The entire family listened as she held it up, pressed speaker. The call went to voicemail.
“Did you call her regular line or her burner phone?” Tate said.
Burner phone? Ford gave him a look.
“Just asking. She keeps her regular phone in her kitchen drawer.”
“Why would she have a burner phone?” Gerri said. “What is that?”
“It’s a phone you throw away, Ma,” Knox said.
“Why would she throw her phone away?”
“She probably doesn’t, but usually people get them when they want to keep their calls secret,” Glo said.
“Why would she—”
“Ma. I thought she told you,” Tate said, setting down his phone. “She works for the CIA.”
“Yes, of course she does. I knew that. But she’s an analyst, not some sort of secret agent.”
Ford stared at him. “What? What are you—what?”
“Sorry, Ford. I forgot, you weren’t here,” Knox said. “She told us a couple months ago when she was home for Ma’s birthday.”
“For Pete’s sake, I wasn’t being held captive. One email. One voicemail, anything.” He went over to a vacant stool and slid on it. “CIA. Wow. Really?”
“She really is an analyst, so don’t get worried,” Tate said.
“I’m beyond worried,” Ford said. “She’s missing, and she works for the CIA, clearly not as a travel agent, and…and the last time I talked to her, she was in a weird place, like…Russia.”
Now he got a look, and he was the villain of the story. “I didn’t figure it out until— Listen. She was sitting in a café, and the words were definitely foreign, and I thought it might be a hip place in DC, but then I saw…a bone frog.”
“A what?” Kelsey asked. She had been watching them all with a quiet worry on her face, her dark hair pulled back into a ponytail.
“A bone frog tattoo. It’s something that guys in the teams sometimes get to honor a fallen teammate. It’s the outline of a frog in bones. The guy she was meeting reached for something and his arm flashed across the screen. I saw it but didn’t think anything about it. She hung up after that.”
Ford Page 5