Chapter 5
Five
“Why the CIA?” Cole asked before John could.
“Because they’re spies,” JJ told them. “They get to drive all sorts of exotic cars and wear fancy clothes and fight the bad
guys!”
John drew a breath. He wasn’t about to tell their young guest that Tanner had been deeply involved with the CIA. Well, not
just yet, at least. “Well, that’s not a bad profession, but you get shot at, you know,” John told him.
“Oh, they have bulletproof vests,” JJ said knowledgably.
“Alternatively,” John interrupted, “there’s the FBI or the DEA or the US Marshals Service.”
“Yes, and Tony knows one of the deputy marshals,” Cole seconded.
JJ pursed his lips. “Well, yes, but they don’t drive fancy cars and stuff.”
“Fancy cars,” Cole mused, tongue in cheek. “JJ, I think it’s the cars more than the agency that you’re interested in.”
JJ sighed. “I love cars,” he said with a sad smile. “All we ever had was beat-up old trucks. But Dad would tell me stories about this guy he knew in the CIA who had a garage full of really fast sports cars, all sorts and all colors. He made it sound real exciting!”
Cole chuckled. “I’ll bet he did.”
“And there’s no exotic cars around here,” JJ lamented. “I mean, fancy pickup trucks is about the best we get.”
“That’s true,” John said. “But if you study hard, you might get on with one of the federal agencies. You won’t make a princely
salary, but the perks are nice.”
“Perks?” JJ asked.
“Things like health care and retirement.”
JJ looked at him as if he was crazy.
John just laughed. “I know, that seems like stupid stuff compared to exotic sports cars.”
“When you graduate from college, or trade school if you’d rather, I’ll buy you a fancy sports car,” Cole told him with a smile.
“You will? Really? Promise?” JJ asked, all eyes.
“I will. Promise,” Cole said, and laughed again when the boy threw himself into Cole’s arms and hugged him.
Cole sighed and smiled at John over the boy’s head. “It’s like having you guys back again,” he said gently.
John understood immediately. He smiled. “A breath of fresh air,” he said very softly.
Cole nodded. “Not that we don’t love all three of you.”
“But we’re grown,” John inserted. He chuckled. “We’ll all help you spoil him.”
“And your mother will stop being ridden by the black dog,” Cole added.
JJ drew back and looked up at Cole. “A black dog is riding her?” he asked.
“No,” Cole explained. “She’s been depressed since all the kids, except me, have married or moved away. Winston Churchill, who was prime minister of England during World War II, fought depression all his life. He called it being ridden by the black dog.”
“Oh, I see,” JJ replied. “I’ll cheer her up,” he promised. He smiled. “If you have a guitar, I’ll sing her happy songs.”
“You can play guitar?” Cole asked.
JJ nodded. “I’m not great, but I can play a little.”
John went away and came back with an acoustic guitar. He handed it to JJ.
“Wow,” JJ said as he smoothed one hand over the sounding board under the strings. “This one is beautiful.”
John smiled. “It was mine, when I was much younger. I still play from time to time.”
JJ sighed. “It’s the prettiest guitar I’ve ever seen,” he murmured.
He positioned it and tested the notes on each of the six strings. He smiled. It was in perfect tune.
He had long fingers and he loved the guitar. All that came into play when he started to strum the instrument, using his fingers
like picks to create a tremolo. The piece he chose was “Memories of the Alhambra,” a piece for classical guitar composed by
Francisco Tárrega in 1896, and one of the most exquisite pieces of music ever created.
Cole and John sat spellbound while the boy’s fingers moved over the fretboard. Heather, hearing the song, came to the doorway
and stood very still as she realized who was playing.
It wasn’t a long piece. JJ finished and looked up. All the adults around him were very quiet.
“Was it okay?” he asked worriedly.
“It was magnificent,” Cole replied. “Where did you learn to play like that?”
“Dad taught me,” he said heavily. “He used to be in a band when he got out of high school, but what he liked to play was classical music. He’d play in bars and clubs, places like that, for a few dollars at a time.
It wasn’t until I came along that he got a regular job on a ranch and saved up to buy us a house and that old truck .
. . Can we get Dad’s truck?” he asked, reminded painfully of what had happened to his life in the past two days.
“Of course we can,” Cole replied. “I’ll call the garage where it was taken and have them bring it here.”
“Thanks,” JJ said, his heart in his eyes as he smiled at the big man who was going to be his foster dad.
A little ways away, a man closed up his equipment. Sadly, his connection to the internet had failed at the worst time. But
there would be other opportunities. It was a small matter. He was certain that his employers would be reasonable. After all,
the woman was a Realtor—and would-be drug smuggler. She was hardly likely to be calling the government for help. The thought
amused him. He laughed all the way to his car.