Plain Sight Page 11

  “We will help you, and your son,” Farida said. “We will unravel this mess, and you can go back to the safe, legal world of the Matrix.”

  I stood up and paced to the other side of the room. “Don’t mock me. Don’t try to be flippant about my life. I was happy and everything there was legal. And today, alone, I’ve been an accessory to murder and fraud. The Matrix sounds pretty fucking nice right about now.”

  Bridget started to stand up “Vaughn—”

  “No.” I held my hand up. “No. Just…give me a minute here, please. My entire life is upside down.”

  Miles stood and walked around to me, motioning me into the kitchenette there. He pulled out a barstool, motioned me to it, and I sat. Opening the box of beer, he started restocking the fridge there.

  “I am so sorry about Helen, Vaughn,” he said quietly. “I knew she was killed, but I didn’t realize it was quite that violently.”

  “I’m sorry too. I’m getting sucked in to a world I didn’t even know existed.” I gave a small, sardonic laugh. “Miles. I’m carrying a goddamn gun. She strapped it on me this morning. I haven’t taken it off.”

  “At least you know how to use it.”

  “I advocate for gun control and I’m carrying concealed and illegally at that.” I scrubbed a hand down my face. “She shot people.”

  “So have I,” he said quietly. “So has Farida.” He put something on the counter. “It’s the price we pay for what we do.”

  “Espionage?”

  He shook his head. “That’s a sideline.”

  “A sideline?”

  “We do rescue and recovery, of humans.” He stood up and reached for the cabinet, pulling out two shot glasses. The object from the fridge was a bottle of tequila, as well as lime. “You need a serious drink. You’re in over your head.”

  “You can fucking say that again.”

  He poured two shots and pushed one at me. “This is the real shit, from Mexico. I picked it up on a trip there about a month ago.”

  I grabbed a lime and wiped it on my hand, poured a little rock salt on it and tossed back the tequila. The drink went down very smooth, and I licked the salt and lime off my hand.

  The burn felt wonderful and I closed my eyes to enjoy it. The warmth of the alcohol spread to all of my fingers and toes, and into the bones of my extremely tired body.

  For the first time in six months I finally realized how wound up I was, how tight all my muscles were. How much I was clutching to Helen, and the life we had.

  And yet here I was, sitting in a bugout bunker kitchen, with a gun on my hip, talking to my college friend about agents, spies, espionage, and extraction.

  What was the real chance I would ever, ever have a normal life. Even if I got my own place again, with my son, I would forever be terrified of being alone, of leaving him alone. I’d constantly be looking over my shoulder, wondering when they were going to shoot me or shoot Dylan. When they were going destroy my life completely.

  There was no going back.

  Six months they waited until they took a shot at us again, and if hadn’t been for Nolan and Bridget, my son would be dead. Who the hell knew what would have happened to me.

  If we got back, my old normal was gone. Long gone. I had to find another way to live, to survive. It was probably going to mean carrying a gun. Learning to set alarms. Having a bugout room. A go-bag.

  A plan to kill every motherfucker in the room.

  I started chuckling. Probably not so much that last point.

  Miles lifted an eyebrow. “You okay?”

  “Nope,” I answered, shaking my head. “Not even close. But I have to start thinking about all of this the right way, and it doesn’t include going back to normal, whatever the hell that actually means. I need—we need to figure out what these bastards want to get me clear of that. Then I’ll figure out the next steps.”

  “Calmer, then?”

  “No, I wouldn’t go that far. Accepting of what this is maybe. I’m wound up like a watch.”

  He nodded. “I was going to give you a pep talk, but it seems like you’ve done that yourself.”

  “Thanks for taking us in, man. That mess this morning was terrifying and how Bridget didn’t lose her shit, I don’t know.”

  Miles chuckled. “I’ll bet she did lose her shit. But, she’s trained. Farida talked about her a few times. She was one of the best and the director was a complete fuck for blacking her. He could have just let her go.”

  “What hell does that mean? Blacking?”

  Miles shook his head. “The director who let her go sent out a memo to all intelligence agencies that might consider hiring her that she was a rogue agent. She didn’t listen to direction, and endangered people on her missions. And from what I’ve heard from Farida over the years, she was none of those things. She was reliable, accurate, discrete. She had a nearly ninety percent success rate on missions, when I hacked her file once.”

  He glanced out to the main area, and shook his head. “I wonder what really happened.”

  “She was my secretary,” I murmured. “What has to happen for you to go from a prime agent to temp assistant.”

  “You’ll have to ask her for the whole story one day.” He smirked. “Not tonight. Feeling more steady? Think you can go back out there?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I can. I have a lot to think about in the next few days.”

  Miles canted his head to the main room, and walked out. I followed and found Farida had moved next to Bridget and they were chatting animatedly. I sat on the sofa with Miles after grabbing my beer and taking a sip.

  Bridget glanced at me, and her gaze was sheepish. “Vaughn, I’m sorry. This…covert shit is like second skin to me. I can slip back into it no problem, but I forget other people aren’t used to the black humor of it.”

  Shaking my head, I stopped her. “Don’t apologize. I’m alive because you did slip on your second skin. My son is sleeping peacefully in the basement. That’s the only thing I can hope for.”

  Chewing her lip, Bridget finally nodded. “Okay. Fair enough. I’m not sorry I saved your ass.”

  Miles chuckled. “I hope not.”

  “So.” I leaned back on the couch. I wasn’t relaxed, exactly, but I could think again and be an active participant in saving my own butt. “What do we do now?”

  007: A woman named Farida will be contacting you. She’s 100% trustworthy

  Q: Contact established. I was waiting on you.

  007: Work with her?

  Q: Absolutely

  007: We might be able to come home if we can solve this with her.

  Q: Her record is impressive.

  007: Closest thing I had to a bestie for a few years.

  Q: She’s feeding me a lot of information.

  Q: Do I have permission to talk to V about Moneypenny?

  007: Moneypenny? Really?

  Q: Could have gone with Felix.

  007: Oh for God’s sake.

  007: But yes, V is good on this.

  Q: Good. Safe?

  007: Yes. You?

  Q: So far, untraceable.

  007: Excellent. Gonna catch some food and sleep.

  Q: KIT, 007

  007: Keep your head down, Q.

  Chapter Twelve

  Bridget

  I settled dylan on the bed in the guest room as Vaughn took his time in the bathroom, washing and brushing and whatever else.

  Dylan had woken up for a few hours, hungry of course. Fari and Miles had reheated some of the pizza and poured him a glass of soda. He was in hog heaven and fell asleep at the table just a few minutes after he shoveled the pizza in.

  Vaughn took him down to settle him, and I waited a few minutes. Fari had to run up and look in on the twins, because one of them had started fussing.

  I could not believe that badass Farida Mahmood was now Farida Peterson, mother of three. She and I had run a few missions together and the woman had me on my toes.

  Apparently, though, contempt for competen
t women was a universal thing. To make a six month pregnant woman take a physical test and fail her when she couldn’t see her damn toes was unfair at best, discriminatory in the middle grounds.

  Their new venture sounded amazing, but it was clearly a case-by-case business. They only had the bugout bunker, and nothing else permanent about the whole thing.

  When Vaughn saw Dylan stirring, he and Miles hurried back to the house and left me and Farida alone. Then, she’d shown me everything the bugout bunker had and I was duly impressed. I hadn’t even thought to build one—but then again, my brother’s sex swing and rope collection were taking up most of his basement.

  Pulling the blanket up to cover Vaughn’s son, I smiled. We really could not have wound up in a safer place than in Farida’s company. I loved that woman like a sister, even if we hadn’t been in touch in years.

  Being able to stay here a few days was going to give us the advantage we needed. We had time to regroup, research, give Dylan a chance to settle. The four of us could make sure he was keeping up with school, and I could go shopping for everything we’d need.

  It was huge weight off my mind.

  “What are you doing?”

  I looked up and swallowed my tongue.

  Vaughn was standing there bare chested. Fuuuuck.

  “I…uh. I was moving him in here, so you could both sleep in the real bed, I’ll take the pull-out.” I was pretty sure that I had covered my brain stutter.

  “I was just going to crash out there with him.”

  “Pull-out are notoriously uncomfortable. I can sleep anywhere, so I—”

  He shook his head. “Birdie. If we’re going to work together to get back to Pittsburgh, you have to stop treating me like I’m glass. I know pull-out couches are shit. Dylan can sleep anywhere. I wanted you to take the bed in here because you need to be more alert than I do. I’m just the spare in this. You’re the expert and you need to be sharp. Sleeping is part of that, and sleeping well is a better part of that. You take the bed.”

  He stepped back into the bathroom and I could hear him tinkering with things.

  I couldn’t do that to him. He also needed to sleep because while I might be in charge, I needed him sharp too.

  He walked back out a few minutes later—still bare chested and I was glad for it—and raised an eyebrow. “Birdie.”

  “Please just take the bed,” I said. “It’s not that bad.”

  He stared at me. “No. Dylan is going to take the pull-out.” Stepping out of the bathroom and walking toward me, he studied me. “And you are going to sleep in this bed with me.”

  “I—”

  His hand shot up cutting me off. “It makes the most sense.” A light chuckle escaped him. “He sleeps upside down and backward. He once fell asleep on a boulder when we went hiking. He fell asleep nearly in his pizza tonight. That couch out there? Like a damn luxury suite at the Ritz.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Us old folks need that cloud-like cushion more than he does.”

  “Speak for yourself, old fart.” I took a deep breath and let it out a sigh. “I don’t think this is appropriate.”

  He leaned down just a little, to get closer to me. “And giving me a hand job in the shower was?”

  The soft tone of his voice shot through me.

  “Sleep in the bed, Birdie. If it’s inappropriate, no one is going to know but us. Dylan knows grown-ups share beds if they care about each other.”

  This was new side of this man. He was more confident outside the office than I had ever seen him.

  I really liked it.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Is that the only reason grown-ups share beds?”

  “In his five year old world, yes.” He smirked. “But he also knows that if the door is locked at night, it’s adult alone time.”

  I cocked my head. “And do you plan on locking the door?”

  He glanced at the door, and cast his gaze to the floor. “Maybe not tonight.”

  I’d pushed too hard. “Look, I’ll just take—”

  Before the words were out of my mouth, his mouth was on mine. His tongue stole into mine, and he chased around my own. He licked and sucked and tasted and took.

  We touched no other place except our lips and it was one of the most erotic things I had ever experienced. After a long, long kiss, where I also delved into his mouth and memorized him, he pulled back and we both opened our eyes.

  “I’ll put Dylan in the pull-out,” he breathed. “Get ready for bed, Agent McInnis.”

  Stepping around me, I watched him pick up Dylan and walk out of the room with the sleeping boy.

  I wouldn’t say I leapt into the bathroom and slammed the door, but a bitch just might have power-walked those ten steps and closed the door with gusto.

  Christ.

  I quickly splashed cold water on my face to get myself under control. Something had changed in Vaughn and it wasn’t a bad thing. He seemed like he was ready to be an active participant in his own rescue, and that confidence did things to me. Confidence, to me, was sexier than any abs or ass I’d ever seen.

  Though he had those as well.

  Taking another deep breath, I stared at myself in the mirror.

  And I finally, finally after six very long months, saw me again.

  The highly trained agent who could do anything, get anything, be anything was there, in the mirror. She looked tired, wrung out, but so fucking pleased that she’d gotten to do this all again. And this time, not for the intelligence community, but a man and his son who needed help.

  I need this. I need to help people, to work beyond the law. Not above or below, but beyond it. Like what Farida and Miles were doing.

  First, though, I needed to get my current situation cleared up. We had quite a bit of work to do before we could go home.

  In that moment, I realized I had missed my brother something fierce and I couldn’t walk away from him either. He was amazing, and what he had done for me—sending me away from the media mess that was our father’s death—was probably one of the hardest things he could have done.

  I grabbed my cell from the counter where I had tossed it when I walked in.

  Deirfiúr: I love you, Kay.

  Deartháir: Love you too, Birdie.

  Deartháir: Safe?

  Deirfiúr: As we can be.

  Deartháir: Good. Come back to us in as few pieces as possible. Mistress misses her student.

  I cracked a smile. Cece and I had really hit it off, and I loved taking her shibari lessons.

  Deirfiúr: Night, Kay.

  Deartháir: Night, Birdie.

  After taking a quick shower, and holy hell did that feel good, I ran through the rest of my evening routine and tossed on the clean pajamas Farida offered. Clean clothes were always a luxury to me, even now. And sleeping without the sleep sack? That was going to be a bit of Heaven too.

  Opening the door, I found myself nose to shoulder with Vaughn.

  Still bare chested.

  Drool.

  He smiled. “Which position?”

  My eyes shot to his. “Excuse me?”

  “Which position? On the bed. Which side do you like to sleep on?”

  I grinned. “Asshole.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. A real, genuine laugh, and it shot through me, setting off fireworks everywhere inside. Not only was it the first time I’d really heard the man laugh, but I realized that if it hadn’t been here and now, it would have been somewhere else and done the exact same thing to me.

  “I sleep whatever way allows me to cover the door with my gun.”

  And that completely broke the little spell we had.

  “Are you really sleeping with a gun under your pillow? Again?”

  I glanced at the guest room. The bed was on the opposite wall of the door. There was no good way to sleep with a giant Beretta under my pillow like that.

  “Look like I’m shit out of luck. Nightstand it is.”

  I grabbed
the gun out of my purse, and dropped it in the nightstand closest to the bathroom after checking the safety. “And now you know my favorite position.”

  Vaughn

  I heard a small whimper at first, but it grew steadily in the darkness.

  The sound was confusing, but I listened for a moment. It grew a bit, and I recognized it as crying. Soft, soul-sick crying.

  Tiptoeing to the door, I looked out to Dylan. He was sound asleep, upside down, and twisted somehow so that his face and bottom were up at the same time. Kid was a damn cat.

  I heard the whimpering again and I realized it was coming from behind me. From the bed.

  Spinning around, I walked back and climbed back in. Bridget was fidgeting in the sheets, her face lined with worry.

  Just as I was about to write it off and as passing thing, she gasped, fisting the sheets in terror. Tears sprung from her eyes and even in her sleep, wracking sobs.

  Jesus…what the hell?

  “No, no,” she whimpered. She repeated the word, over and over, a mantra. Her head whipped back and forth on the pillow and her gasps of ‘no’ just kept following one after another.

  I didn’t understand what I was seeing. Her sobs ripped me apart, and I couldn’t stop myself from finally grabbing one of those tight fists and wrapping my hand around it.

  “Bridget?” I kept my voice low.

  “No, no, why…why?”

  “Bridget, wake up.”

  “No! Why? Oh, God, why why why!”

  She was getting louder and I didn’t want Dylan to worry. Letting her hand go for just long enough to run to the door, shut it, twisting the lock, and I was back in a flash. Grabbing her hand, I shook her just a little to try and wake her up.

  She yanked my hand to her chest, and the sobs were killing me slowly. I hadn’t heard sobs like that since—

  Since I’d watched my wife die.

  I leaned down in her ear. “Bridget, wake up. Bridget!”

  She kept crying. I had to really wake her up, I couldn’t let this go on. “Bridget!” I snapped her name in her ear. “It’s a dream, Birdie. Come on. Wake up. You’re scaring me.”