35. Circle-Approach-Abort
circle-approach-abort
Strider
Leaving her at the airport was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
I booked the flights and didn’t think about what it would mean to be the first one out, even if it was only by twenty minutes.
If I’d put her on the plane and then had to make mine, it would’ve sucked, but I wouldn’t feel like I bailed and left her defenseless and alone, especially as emotional as our weekend was.
That shitty feeling stays with me until I know she’s safely on board—her text says she is—and my mind can busy itself on other things. Namely, what it takes to move my business to Alabama. Or if I sell in Peoria and begin again. It’ll be hard. But Mirren’s worth it.
But more pressing is the whereabouts of Price O’Neill. And whatever nefarious shit he may be up to.
Dad’s heard nothing from Chief Clasky, at least that he’s relayed back to me. In hindsight, it may not have been wise to leave my house and my business vulnerable. Mom and Dad being out of town could be widely known. But me leaving for two days at the same time?
I don’t even care. I got twenty-four hours with Mirren. And the decision was made before I knew he escaped. Not that that matters.
Walking back into my house blind is stupid. The least I could do is be prepared. Though how I’m supposed to be prepared for a man who proved he’s capable of violence even with witnesses is not in my wheelhouse.
Any updates from Gene on O’Neill?
Several minutes go by as I stare out the window before my phone vibrates.
Dad
None. I’ve been texting with him off and on since Friday morning, and he’s still no closer to answers. Everything he asks is blocked. Each time he asks, he gets the run-around.
He’s pissed and keeps demanding more, all the while he’s being told to stand down. He’s concerned they’ll remove him if he keeps pushing. He’s more concerned with how to protect his people in the face of unaccountable political power. You know Gene.
What am I supposed to say to that?
Thanks.
We pushed our flight out and won’t be back until Wednesday. Lorien mentioned a bunch of places to sightsee, and, since you’re holding down the home front, we have no need to rush back.
Good. I’m sure Lorien’s loving having you there.
Diane would be happier if she had all her chicks close by. Her daughters living so far away isn’t ideal. She wants you all to live your own lives, but I can tell she wishes you were all on the same street and she could see everyone daily.
Being a parent is tough when your kids fly the coop.
And knowing Lorien’s found Liam is equal parts good and bad for your mom.
She loves that Lo’s safe and happy, but knowing the chances are slim that she’ll come home is hard.
She feels the same about Samantha, though Sam’s always been gone… even when she was at home.
Yeah, that wasn’t the answer I was expecting. I hadn’t considered I’d be disappointing Mom with my upcoming move. Dad? Sure. But that was about the business, about his life’s work, not about me, per se.
Maybe one day I can commiserate. Until then, enjoy your time.
I sure hope so.
Whether he’s agreeing to the first statement or the latter is unclear.
As bad luck would have it, Peoria has a storm system sitting over it, and we circle the airport for almost half an hour.
Mirren
Safe touchdown.
I miss you.
Why haven’t I heard you’ve landed. That should’ve been a while ago.
I smile. These messages are so her.
We’re in an unending loop of circle-approach-abort. Some kind of weather. It’s a sign I should live in Alabama.
Because we never have storms. No, wait…
But, seriously, are you considering Alabama?
Mirren
Holding my breath, I wait for bubbles or any sign of life from Strider. Seeing none, I pull up the flight app and watch his plane make loops around the area.
I didn’t need to ask though. I know he’s serious.
Boys my age—because are they really men?—tend to think in terms of hook-ups, casual encounters, and low-to-no commitment. This man is pursuing me. He’s intentional. He says what he plans to do and does it. It’s refreshing, albeit a bit terrifying.
Saying what you mean and meaning what you say is an old-fashioned concept, but it’s welcome. I like that it’s plain.
When I’m on the road home, I do what must be done… I’ve put it off too long already. I dial Daxton.
“Jones?”
“Yeah, Brody. Have you got a minute?”
“I answered, didn’t I?”
Oh good… he’s snarky. This should be fun.
“You’re not going to like this. I can’t take the Peoria job.”
“Sure you can. And you will.” A door slams behind him, and wind echoes across his mic.
Might as well rip off the bandage. “I have a personal relationship with Strider Anderson. He’s been a friend of my brother’s for nearly a decade. I cannot maintain my cover inside his business.”
Brody hums, and his shoes crunch something—snow or gravel, maybe—until he says, “This is good actually. He won’t suspect you at all.”
He’s not listening. “I have a personal relationship with Strider,” I reemphasize. “I cannot do this as a job.”
“Are you refusing an assignment, Jones?”
“Daxton. I know the man. He was attacked last week after a fucking Thanksgiving potluck lunch. He’s not plotting shit against this country or our electrical grid.”
“Oh, I know about the attack. Took all kinds of strings to get our agent out of there. Podunk PD on a holiday weekend. The guy’s one phone call was to me at my fucking in-laws. I heard all about it.”
Our agent? It was an operative who almost killed Strider? What the hell is going on?
“Your agent damn near killed him. What the hell kind of op were you running?” Shit. Fuck. That went too far.
“Are you questioning me, Jones?”
“If there’s an op on U.S. soil, and an agent in a non-life-threatening situation violently strangles a target without cause, in front of witnesses, then I’m sure as hell questioning what’s going on.”
“The Smith family is much like the Joneses if you must know. Long history of undercover service, Secret Service members, highly positioned, highly compromise-able public figures. Sal lost his cool. Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s been under for months and discovered his wife filed for divorce last week.
He has two young daughters. He’s doing the job, being everything we ask him to be, and his life is falling apart.
Just as we’re close to discovering the truth inside Anderson’s organization, he got canned.
He lost it. Not justifying it, but this case could make or break a career, and he lost access at the tail end after his wife just bailed.
He failed to keep his cool, but he never blew his cover. ”
Am I supposed to celebrate that some man named Sal didn’t blow his cover and got away with what amounts to attempted murder? “What about the charges against him?” I’m so pissed that my voice barely scrapes above a whisper.
“There are no charges. We made them go away.”
So the man I’m committed to has no recourse and the government has no remorse? Got it.
“I’m not okay with that. I’ve seen the bruises. Smith should stand for the charges, regardless of his personal situation.”
“And if the same had happened to you in Taiwan?”
“I didn’t lose my cool and almost kill someone, so there’s no comparison.”
“You’re not thinking clearly, Jones. You’re in way too deep on this.
Personally, I don’t want to consider you could be compromised, but professionally, you’re way too close.
You’re on administrative leave until further notice.
And if, for one second, I think Anderson’s been tipped off to our investigation, I’ll haul you in for questioning or treason or whatever charges I can get to stick. ”
He disconnects, and I’m left speechless. What the hell just happened?
My phone ringing over Bluetooth scares the shit out of me. I force a smile and answer.
“Hey, honey. Did you have a safe touchdown?”
My apartment is too quiet. My laptop won’t accept my credentials. My solitary life has never been a problem. Somehow, my day has gone from rough to downright oppressive.
I don’t want to go to my Dad. Jamie’s also out. Mom is… Fuck. She’s the best choice because there’s no other choice. If one thing irks me, it’s not having a choice, and that scenario is staring me in the face.
You busy?
Mom
Running errands and bored. Want to come along?
No. Not really.
Sure. Want to come get me or want me to meet you?
Let me drop off the groceries and I’ll be there. Twenty work?
I stare at the clock, but there’s no reason to. It’s not like I have somewhere to be.
No problem.
Once I’ve filled a bottle of water and made sure I have my sunglasses and phone, I stare out the window toward the house the renters just vacated and verify the cleaning crew has arrived.
I wait for Mom and dread that she’ll pull up in her flashy roadster.
She doesn’t. She’s in her SUV. It’s a luxury one, in fitting with her over-the-top personality, and trimmed in the softest caramel leather.
The long sunroof is open over the first and second rows and some early 90’s music is blaring as she flies into the driveway.
So it’s going to be that kind of day.