CHAPTER FOUR
As if the director and the newcomer had rehearsed it, the door opened, and a giant of a man strolled through. “Am I late to the party?”
“A bit,” Greg answered, his attention lingering on key people from our team. “But don’t worry. I reckon you didn’t miss the fireworks.”
Coffee brown eyes scanned the room at large. “Ah, so you just sprung it on them. Gee, thanks, Director.”
“My pleasure. King Team, this is Paride Coppola.”
Italian then,my mind surmised.
That explained the olive-toned skin and dark features, though he had to be more massive than ninety-five percent of Italian men. His scruff bore bits of salt mixed throughout the black that denoted his older age, because his defined form certainly could have fooled most.
He shifted forward two steps. “Paride, if you will. We’ll be working closely together. No need to stand on formalities.”
Despite the agitated lock to Payton’s jaw, the manners his nan instilled in him won out. He climbed to his feet and shook the man’s hand. “Payton Emerson. You work for Delta?”
Paride nodded. “Yeah, in logistics, and I was the lucky soul who got promoted. I’m more of a fieldwork kind of guy.”
“Hm.” Payton said nothing further, studying the newcomer—likely putting his psychology degree to use.
The silence stretched out as nobody else rose to greet him.
“Really, children?” the director sighed.
“What?” Corbin piped in. “Karl can’t be replaced—no offense, Parade Day.”
Wow, he’d butchered that.
Paride shrugged. “None taken. Karl Westphal was a damned good agent, and he died on the job. There’s no higher level of respect that can be earned from colleagues, even if we rarely crossed paths.”
I glanced around the table. CJ looked convinced, though he’d wait on his twin’s cue before making a move, and Brock and Aleks would be the last ones to make any concessions.
Duane leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands, his obsidian eyes intense enough that I experienced secondhand nerves that made me fidget. “We lost Karl over a year ago. We’ve functioned just fine without a liaison. Why now?”
“You mean, apart from protocol?” Greg sniped.
Duane shrugged. “Make an exception. Are you the director or not?”
Greg arched a brow, crossing his arms and leaning against the table. “Even if I possessed that capability—I assure you, I don’t—I still answer to the CIA, but I just returned from cleaning house at a sister agency because people in power corrupted the system. Do you think I’d shirk the rules when I witnessed firsthand what happens? These checks and balances serve a purpose, so you guys will suck it up. You can bond with Coppola or keep him at arm’s length, but he will be in the loop. Do I make myself clear, King Team?”
Corbin hopped to his feet, a wide smile on his face, and shook Paride’s hand with enthusiasm, as if we hadn’t just gotten a dressing down to do so. “Aw, shucks, welcome to the club, Parade Day.”
Paride returned the gesture, clearly willing to roll with the punches. Maybe he’d been forewarned. “It’s Par-ee-day.”
“Sure, that’s what I said.”
Paride smirked. “You must be Corbin Myers. Your file’s pictures might be outdated, but they contained plenty of footnotes.” Paride used his grip to pull Corbin closer and spoke sotto voce. “You’ll have your work cut out for you if you plan on putting hair removal in my shampoo.”
Corbin’s grin turned less over-the-top, growing a tad more genuine. “Ah, a challenge. Consider the gauntlet thrown, Parade Day.”
Paride didn’t even bat an eye. “It’s Paride, and no problem, Corbs.”
I moved to introduce myself, but Brock’s hand on my arm and the subtle shake of his head stilled me long enough that Aleks climbed to his feet and approached.
The giants sized each other up in the way large men do anytime there’s a question of whether they are the biggest guy in the room. I’d yet to see a man bigger than Aleks, and even though he out muscled Paride in the body mass department, their heights were a close call.
Had the director selected Paride to have someone who could go toe to toe with Aleks or Brock if they got out of line?
Aleks crowded close, making it easy to see how the crown of his head stood maybe two inches above Paride’s. A single brow rose before Aleks offered his hand. They squeezed hard enough that their knuckles stood out in stark white compared to the red mottled skin as they trapped the blood flow.
Neither so much as twitched an eye.
Aleks eventually ended the man-shake, grumbling through a fake smile. “This man would not last ten minutes in Russian prison.”
Paride tilted his head, and for a minute, I thought he would reply to Aleks’s quip as a spark of understanding danced in his dark eyes, but then he shrugged good-naturedly. “I didn’t understand a word you just said, but I can guess it wasn’t nice. Right, Callie?”
Aleks folded his arms. “Why you ask Callie? Tell me this thing now.”
Paride grinned. “She’s the language expert.”
Aleks wasn’t satisfied. “Boulder-head speaks Russian. You did not ask him for confirming.”
Paride held his hands up. “Hey, no harm done. I’m only trying to get to know your team.”
Greg sighed, his impatient voice contradicting the slight twinkle dancing in his gaze. “Look, as several someones have indicated today, I’m the director. My meetings have meetings. I’m wrapping this up before I get roped into more cringey peacocking.” He pointed as he named us. “That’s Brock Johnson. Almost swallowed up by his shadow, as you know, is Callie King. At the end of the table is Dr. Duane Scott. Then going around, you have Jace and CJ Tate, and the last one is Bryce Rost. Now that the introductions are done, I’m assigning you guys on this Tarasovich case. You have carte blanche on any resources you might require. Co-opt people if you need minions, coordinate your requests through Coppola now instead of directly with me, because that’s his job. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal,” Payton offered in an almost cheery voice, despite the clench of his jaw.
“Great. I’ll see you kids later.” Greg swept out the door with nary a backward glance.
Silence fell until Payton broke it. “How much of this situation are you aware of?”
Paride stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked up on the balls of his feet. The action made him taller, even if temporarily, so of course Aleks mimicked his motions. Brock snorted at our teammate’s antics, which Paride seemed content to ignore. “I’m aware of everything the director shared with you. As I heard it, he planned to ask Callie for more information since she has a closer connection to Tarasovich, so I’m only behind by her debrief.”
Brock grunted as he stood. “He’s a fucking psycho. There, all caught up. Emerson, can we go?”
The Italian man straightened. “Wait, go where?”
“Where do you think? We’re going home,” Bryce drawled, climbing to his feet when everyone else did.
Paride studied Payton, the first hint of something cracking his go with the flow attitude. “No, you can’t. It’s not safe.”
“Actually, Mr. Coppola, sir, Callie and I worked for months on installing some of the greatest security measures in private properties. Our redundancies have redundancies. Just last month, Callie took it a step further and scrubbed any public records of the property’s owners by creating trusts that now show up on searches. Erasing footprints is sort of her specialty, you know. That’s why she was abducted in the first place. She—”
CJ cut off with an umph after his brother elbowed him in the ribs, who murmured something low in German.
CJ blushed, glancing my way before carrying on. “Oh, right. Anyway, my point, Mr. Coppola, sir—”
“Please.” The man in question huffed. “Just Paride.”
“Er, w-well. Um, P-Pa—erm, my point is our house is safe from the likes of Bokaryov Tarasovich.”
“While that may be true, you never know the kind of people he jumped in bed with. We at least know he brushed elbows with the late Rossi siblings.”
“The Rossi siblings?” I repeated. “You’re talking about the ones involved with the sister agency the director had to fly out and help?”
“One and the same. They were the younger siblings of Paolo Rossi, who, until one of his own lackeys killed him, was the biggest threat to the northwestern United States. Depending on who cut ties when Paolo was taken out, it’s possible Tarasovich could have gained access to very advanced resources.”
Paride let that sink in and marinate with us.
To my surprise, Payton turned to me. “What do you think, Callie?”
I blinked. “Me?”
Not a single muscle in his face twitched, but somehow a shadeof a smile fell over his features. “Yes, you. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have even been able to paint half of the story you wove. So, as the resident expert on our case and one of the two people who installed our personal security, do you think it’s unsafe to return home?”
Oh man, his glittering jade eyes and chiseled jaw paired so well with his slight British accent.
Focus, Callie, this is about Tarasovich! We can keep our head on straight to accomplish the task at hand.
Finished with my pep talk, I went to respond but drew a blank. “Um, I’m sorry. What was your question?”
Someone coughed, and my cheeks flooded with blood, recognizing that the mystery person had tried covering a laugh.
Again, nothing on Payton’s expression shifted, but I got the sense that he was amused. “I asked if you thought we would be safe at home.”
“This is pointless,” Paride cut in, crossing his arms. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks. We’re not taking the risk. We can go to your place, and gather your stuff, but I’m putting my foot down on this. You’ll stay at Delta while we dig into this. That way, if he has any Callies or CJs of his own, he won’t send a team of mercenaries to rain hellfire down on your home.”
“You’re throwing around an awful lot of we’s in there,” Duane commented.
“Of course, I’m coming with you. As of now, consider yourself under protective detail until we verify that tumbling down this rabbit hole isn’t going to bite you in the ass.”