Chapter 2
NICK
“You ever consider being less of a Grinch?” Henry, my old army buddy, asked.
“Nope.”
Henry closed his locker, which was three doors down from mine in our ATF station house in Glendale, California. He leaned against the metal door and stared me down.
I refused to relent. My consistency was a point of pride in all areas of my life, and nowhere was I more constant than in my disdain for the holiday season.
While the rest of the world strung lights, burned candles, and threw celebrations to illuminate the longest nights of the year, I embraced the darkness.
December was the one month of the year that I gave in to my inner grouch.
Unfortunately, my friends were just as consistent in their attempts to change my mind.
“I ask because Janie and the kids would love to see you at our place on Christmas Day,” he said.
Henry and Janie meant well. They knew the holidays were a fraught time for me. They were careful to tread lightly. They always extended an invitation to join them on the most family-focused day of the year and then accepted my refusal gracefully.
“Thanks, man, but you know I have to say no.”
He sighed. “Well, that’s going to be a problem.”
This was different. “Why?”
“Because this year the twins are old enough to know what’s going on. They’ve been asking about celebrating with all their favorite people, and for some reason that totally escapes my understanding, that includes you. So, if you don’t show...”
I groaned. “Then I’m the real-life Grinch.”
Great. Nothing says merry Christmas like being the jerk who ruins the holiday for the world’s most adorable four-year-old little girls.
Maybe this was what Henry and Janie had been up to all along.
Accepting my rejections, biding their time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to reel in the least family-oriented guy on the planet—or at least in our ATF office—to their family celebration.
And I couldn’t even be mad about it because they did it out of love.
“I have Mason’s bachelor beer brunch,” I said. Mason’s brunch, which was followed by a long afternoon of low-stakes poker, was as good an excuse as any to avoid more traditional celebrations.
“I remember it well.” Henry had introduced me to Mason, and he’d attended the event back in his own bachelor days. “And I assume it still starts around noon.”
“Give or take,” I said.
“That’s perfect, because the girls will want to open presents around zero dark thirty. I’ll have a pot of black coffee ready by oh-seven-hundred.”
He knew this was hard for me, so he waited in silence while I considered the offer.
Sweat beaded on my forehead as if I’d just walked up to an unknown explosive device with nothing but a bomb suit between me and eternity.
It had been twenty years since I’d thought of the holidays as anything other than torture.
My phone rang. I jumped at the chance for a distraction, but when I saw the number, I didn’t know whether to grimace or smile. I held up my phone to show Henry.
“Logan Lang?” Henry didn’t hesitate. He scowled. “The last time he called you, you disappeared for a week.”
And found my life in jeopardy twice, but Henry didn’t know that.
The kind of work Lang did, the jobs he occasionally pulled me in on, were for a covert agency known as HEAT, the acronym for the Headquarters for the Elimination of Advanced Threats.
The off-the-books agency was hidden beneath layers of national security protections and couldn’t be discussed with anyone.
Not even with an old friend who wanted to make me a part of his family for Christmas.
“I have to take this,” I said.
“Do you, though?”
“I owe him,” I answered. All of us who’d served with Lang when we were Army Rangers owed him for something or other. “But,” I took a deep breath and plunged into the breach, “if I’m in town on Christmas morning, I’ll be at your place. And I like my coffee strong enough to stand up a spoon in it.”
Henry grinned. My answer worked for him because it would satisfy Janie. He clapped me on the back. “See you then.”
“Thank you, and thank Janie for me,” I called after him. Alone in the locker room. I picked up Lang’s call on the fourth ring. “Roman here.”
“How the hell are you, asshole?” Lang’s deep voice boomed into my ear.
I grinned. “I’m still one fine specimen of man. How about you, asshole?”
“You wish. As for me, my team and I are in a bit of a situation.”
“Yeah, I figured you weren’t calling just to flirt with me.”
He snorted. “You should be so lucky.”
“What’s up?” I sat down on the wooden bench running between the rows of lockers.
“We have something here... We could use a weapons expert, preferably one who still holds a high-level clearance.”
“Shit.” I rubbed my hand over my eyes. Not that his answer was unexpected, given his—and occasionally my—line of work. But damn, high-level-secret work was always mired in red tape, which meant a lot of time. “How long do you need me?”
“Twenty-four hours. Maybe a little more.”
“That’s it?”
“It’s not a hard job, just a specialized one. But...”
“But there’s a catch,” I finished.
“I can’t go into all of it on this line,” he said, referring to my unsecured phone. “But I can say we’re not the only ones aware of the thing we have, and those other interested parties can narrow down the list of possible experts we might bring in.”
I sat up straighter. “Am I being watched?”
“Not yet,” he said. “But some very bad people will have eyes on plane and train manifests to see if you or anyone with your particular skillset is on the move.”
“Can you get me an ID—”
“Getting something that will pass muster if you get pulled aside for TSA check will take too much time. It’s the holidays, and even the security agencies are down to skeleton staffs.”
So, a fake identity was out. “What, you want me to hitchhike across the country?”
“Who would pick up a guy with a mug like yours?” he asked. “But you could, you know, drive a car.”
“I know. Just being a smartass because I can already tell this is going to ruin my holiday.”
“I didn’t realize that would be a problem,” Lang said.
He was being diplomatic, which I appreciated.
He’d been in my Army battalion when I’d received the news about my parents’ car crash.
It had happened during the second week of December.
There had been freezing rain and they’d hit a patch of black ice.
I closed my eyes and shook my head hard.
Twenty years. Twenty fucking years. No need to relive the details of it now.
“I have some plans,” I told Lang, “but none that can’t be broken.” Henry and Janie would see it differently, but I’d find a way to make it up to them and, more importantly, the girls.
“If you arrive here by the 23nd, I’ll do my best to get you on a military transport plane back to California on the 24th, but I can’t make any promises.”
“Neither, apparently, can I,” I said quietly as I pictured Allie and Ashe’s cute little faces. “I’ll shoot for the 22nd. Where, exactly, am I headed? Aren’t you in Bumfuck, Maryland or something?”
He laughed. “That about sums it up. When you get closer, I’ll text you a nice, neutral address where we’ll meet the night of the 22nd, then we’ll go from there. But you can’t drive your Mustang coupe.”
“How did you know about my—”
“It’s our business to know. And you’d be damned easy to track in that thing. It’s not subtle. Not going to comment on what you’re trying to compensate for with a flashy sports car.”
“Trust me, no need to compensate for anything, here.” I didn’t tell him the real reason I’d bought the car, which was that it was fast enough to outrun my demons when the pressure got to be too much, but it was also loaded with every safety feature known to mankind and the auto industry. “I suppose a rental car is out, too.”
“You’d need to use ID, so not a good idea.”
I sighed. “I’ll figure it out. I’ll need tonight to make arrangements, but I should be on the road first thing in the morning.”
“Be sure to get your beauty sleep. You’ll need to be rested for the long drive, old man.”
I grinned. “I’ll always be younger than you, old man.”
He laughed, then said, “Hey, seriously Nick, thanks for doing this. It’s important.”
“I don’t doubt it. Happy to help my country.”
“You say that now…”