Chapter 10
Austin
The next morning I received a text from Gibson.
Meet me at the coffee cart at the north end of the park in twenty.
OMW
It was common practice to meet publicly when meeting with another officer, or an agent from another branch, so no one questioned me when I walked out of my more-boring-than-me temporary office shortly after ten.
“Hey Winchester, you look like shit,” Gibson said as he approached, a book tucked under his arm. Like me, he wore a suit and tie. Unlike me, he’d chosen shades of brown that worked with his caramel complexion.
I’d left everything CIA issued back in my dingy, brown, hadn’t been updated since the eighties office.
“You don’t look so great yourself, G,” I lied, using his nickname. We’d met at the farm and worked numerous cases together over the years.
He flipped me the bird.
“How’s the nephew’s private school going?”
“Better than expected.”
Just two old friends meeting for coffee. Nothing to see here, folks.
“Good to hear. You buying?” he asked, nodding to the guy serving coffee from the cart.
“Yeah, what are you drinking?”
With large black coffees in hand, we walked to a nearby wooden bench.
“Here’s the book I was telling you about,” Gibson said, handing me the hardcover novel. “It’s a real page turner.”
I glanced at the back cover. “What’s it about?”
“A baby who grows up as a Jane Doe, never knowing she’s the daughter of two superheroes who went missing in the line of duty.”
“Do they solve the mystery, or is there a cliffhanger?”
“Cliffhanger of sorts. The second book goes back in time and tells the origin story of the parents, and ties it all up in a neat bow.”
He’d found something. Or at least a lead.
I glanced at my watch. “Thanks for the lend, I should get back to work,” I said, standing.
Gibson stood too. “Be a good boy scout and remember your bosses don’t like you reading on company time.”
I laughed at his warning as I tucked the book under my arm.
“Grab a beer later?”
“If you’re buying, I’m drinking.”
We shook hands and parted ways. Walking in different directions despite both returning to the same building.
Walking back to the unremarkable, ten-story brick building with tinted windows, I fanned the book pages, ignoring the disc when the sun reflected off its shiny surface.
As I climbed the steps at the front of the building, I let the morning sun warm my face as I glanced around.
No one appeared to be watching.
Doesn’t mean no one is.
I walked through large, double front doors that gave nothing away. I nodded to the security person sitting at the check-in desk before showing my badge to the security guard standing near the elevators.
The large lobby looked like every other corporate building, but it was an illusion.
The security guards here weren’t rent-a-cops; they were highly trained, former special operations soldiers.
Every door stayed locked and required the right clearance for access.
I used my all access keycard to take the elevator to the eighth floor.
Grateful the CIA didn’t think the elevators needed music, I contemplated what I might learn when I opened the files on the disc.
Unable to concentrate, my eyes kept darting to the book sitting beside my laptop.
What did Gibson find? What had he confirmed?
After berating myself for not focusing, I packed up and left. I’d work from home for the rest of the afternoon.
While I was in Dallas, my home was a hotel room decorated in muted colors with two queen beds and a wheezy AC unit.
It wasn’t much, but it was the only home I had in the US.
I couldn’t see a reason to drain my savings to pay for an apartment in DC when I was overseas living in government owned housing.
I glanced at my black bag, wishing I could access the disc with nothing but the powers of my mind. You’re losing it, Winchester.
I used the family ties to the case to justify my obsession. Nina worked for Mary, so my aunt and uncle would protect her.
John had made that abundantly clear when he rushed to her side—not mine—after she spilled hot coffee all over me.
Those fucking cherries.
I’d never spent so much fucking time trying not to think about a fucking fruit in my entire life.
That dress.
It hugged her curves in all the right places.
“Shut it down.” I ordered myself as I pulled out of the underground parking garage. “She’s too young for you.”
And really, what did I have to offer? A shitty attitude and enough baggage that even I didn’t always like being around me.
I cranked the radio volume during the short drive to the hotel, but it failed to drown out my unruly thoughts.
The information on the disc didn’t disappoint, and I couldn’t wait to talk to Gibson.
Later at the bar, I asked Gibson if the lab had identified the bodies.
“Not yet, but we’ll know soon.”
I nodded. Not having a positive ID worked in our favor. If they identified the murder victims as Travis and Melissa Singer, the CIA would reopen their case. I’ll be flooded with questions.
Questions I couldn’t answer. Yet. I’d bitten off more than I could chew with the two combined cases, but there was no turning back.
“What about the treasure?” I felt like a kid talking about pirate themes.
“I only know what the Singer’s mentioned in their diary.” Damn it, I’d hoped Gibson had found more information since handing over the disc.
“How high is your confidence that Nina Novak is the Singer’s missing daughter?” G asked.
“High enough.”
Gibson hadn’t found concrete evidence of Nina’s birth, so we couldn’t confirm she was Nina Singer, but I was confident enough to move forward as if we had.
Fucking cherry earrings.
“How the fuck has she stayed off the radar all this time?” My question was rhetorical, but he answered anyway.
“No one knows who she is.”
At least they hadn’t, but we’d just drawn a dashed line across the map and placed a big X on her back.
“Did you leave a paper trail?”
“Do I look like a fucking amateur?” Gibson chugged back half his beer.
I laughed. G was a lot of things, but an amateur wasn’t one of them. “Sorry.”
He nodded his acceptance before biting off a third of his burger. Dude has no manners.
“Did you use your work computer?”
“I had to, but I didn’t notice any tails and the account wasn’t flagged.”
That was good news; if someone had flagged the account, we would’ve just alerted them we were on their trail.
“Let me know if anything comes up.”
In the low light of the pub booth, his dark eyes looked almost black when he squinted.
“Dude, are you fucking kidding me right now?”
Ryan Gibson wasn’t one to accept insults, even if unintended, quietly.
“Sorry. This case… it’s under my skin.”
Only I didn’t let cases get under my skin. I maintained my distance and got the job done.
“That have anything to do with a cute brunette with deep blue eyes?”
Yes.
“Go fuck yourself.” It was a whole lot more than my attraction to Nina.
“Maybe later.” G shrugged.
He signalled to the server to bring us another round. We ate in silence while we waited for our refills.
“This could get messy.”
“Because she works for your aunt?” he asked, looking for a sign of weakness.
“Yes. We have to tread carefully. My family doesn’t know what I do.” He rolled his eyes as I stated the obvious. “If I waltz in there and start asking questions, Mary will call John, and it won’t take long for the SSI team to find the holes in my cover story.”
Unlike my occasional undercover op identities, the one I gave my family wouldn’t hold up to the scrutiny of John’s team.
“Right, right. Your uncle’s a PI?”
“So are his sons, and their hacker is good.”
“Good enough to breach the CIA?”
“No, but Jay’s wife was FBI. With a little effort, she could out me.”
“Alrighty then, how do we play this?”
“For now, there is no we. I’ll go to Weatherford and see what I can learn.”
If all else failed, I’d use the excuse of wanting to make sure Nina was okay after our run in. It was weak, but I could pull it off with enough charm.
I managed not to laugh at myself at the idea. Charming was a tool in my arsenal, not a personality trait.
“Keep me up-to-date?”
His question almost prompted an uncharacteristic eye roll, but I refrained. I wasn’t an eye-rolling guy. “Of course.”