23. Operation Tiny Rock
OPERATION TINY ROCK
MILES
Having a stone try to make its way to your bladder isn’t the most dignified feeling in the world. My instinct is not to let anyone witness it. But Reese is right—I can’t exactly tell her that helping someone isn’t a tax you pay for loving them, and then not let her help me when I need it.
Plus, I do like having her here, even if I’m feeling way too pampered. She’s already got me comfortable on the couch, organized my medication, given me lemon water, started heating soup, and declared that we need to name my kidney stone.
“What about Kidney Spears?” she says.
I hurt, but the pain isn’t crushing right now. And this helps. “Or Mick Jagger, since this thing making its way through my body is literally a rolling stone.”
She tilts her head. “I don’t know—it feels more like a Keith Richards to me. Oh! Or Urethra Frankstone.”
I chuckle a little, even though it hurts. “What about Dwayne ‘The Kidney Rock’ Johnson? Or Stony Stark.”
“I’ve got it,” Reese says. “The Rock Ness Monster.”
I grin. Reese really does make every bad situation better.
“Chuck Norris once had a kidney stone,” Reese says. “The stone went to the ER.”
I shake my head. “Chuck Norris doesn’t get kidney stones. His kidneys grow ammunition.” I think for a moment, then say, “Maybe we really should name it Chuck. Because it’s been roundhouse-kicking my ureter all day.”
Reese laughs, and I swear the sound makes my body hurt less. “We should definitely name it Chuck. Anything capable of taking down Miles Lancaster deserves the respect.”
And now it’s named Chuck.
I bolt upright when another wave of pain hits, and Reese is immediately at my side, offering her hand. I take it without hesitation, and she keeps me breathing through the pain. I keep thinking that when another wave hits, it won’t be as bad as the last, but every time, it is.
I am good at being injured. I’ve stitched cuts in places where medical assistance wasn’t available. I’ve finished operations with fractured ribs. I once spent nine hours pretending that I hadn’t dislocated my finger because the man I was negotiating with would’ve considered it a weakness.
I know what to do with pain. I’ve gotten through so much of it without her. But facing pain with Reese at my side is different. It’s... I don’t know. Manageable. Better.
When this round of body-wracking pain subsides, I collapse back into the couch. Reese suggests I take a sip of lemon water, so I do.
My phone starts vibrating on the coffee table, and we both glance at it. It’s work. Reese says, “I’m guessing that’s about things I’m not cleared to hear. I’ll go check on the soup.”
She doesn’t sound hurt—just understanding, and I love her even more because of it. I pick up the phone. “Lancaster.”
“How’s little Chuck doing?” Charlie asks.
I close my eyes for a moment, chuckling. “Reese texted you?”
“Yep. And you know, it’s like Dad used to say, ‘If you ever happen to get kidney stones, urine trouble.’” She laughs at her own joke, then says, “Maxwell cleared.”
I sit up straighter, my exhaustion seeming to disappear. “Final vetting?”
“Yep.”
I stand, but the motion hurts. Apparently, I made a sound, too, because Charlie immediately says, “Sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“Reese also texted that you are banned from using that phrase.”
“Charlie. I need more details.”
“Rooke’s people sent the invitation to bid on the asset roster twenty minutes ago. You can do one sealed offer. The deadline is three tomorrow afternoon.”
Finally. For weeks, we’ve been trying to get my alias, Maxwell Shaw, close enough to the sale to matter. Celeste opened the first door, and now Julian Rooke is finally letting him into the room where it happens.
“What do we know?”
“Not a lot. Just enough to authenticate what’s being offered, but not enough to expose the full package. Emerson and his team are doing their magic to estimate the bid range.”
“I’m coming in. I can be there in thirty minutes.”
“Mom says absolutely not. You can barely stand.”
“I’m standing.”
“We don’t need Maxwell physically tonight. We need the offer built, and we need it to sound like him. Emerson can send it all to your secure terminal, and you can work from home.”
I let out a breath that comes out sounding a little like a growl. “I do not want to be sidelined by a kidney stone.”
“Mom says if you show up here tonight, security has instructions not to let you in.”
I close my eyes and take a slow breath to try to manage the helplessness and frustration of my mission moving forward while I can’t be where I need to be. “And if Maxwell wins the bid?”
“Transfer instructions come after the seller selects the buyer.”
“When?”
“Unknown.”
Which means it could be tomorrow night. Or the next morning. Or ten minutes after the bid closes. I run a hand over my face. “Okay. Send me everything.”
“Will do,” Charlie says and ends the call.
Since there isn’t any kind of barrier between my kitchen and my living room, Reese knows the moment the call finishes, and she comes over with a bowl of soup as soon as I set down my phone.
“That sounded promising.”
I sit back down on the couch as she puts my soup on the coffee table. “Promising and frustrating.”
“Because something important is happening and your body has chosen now to revolt?”
I give Reese a smile. “You really do know me.”
“Well, I have had five years of field research.”
She settles in beside me with her own bowl of soup, and for a moment, we both just eat. But I can’t keep my mind from running through the Rooke case and everything I’d be handling right now if I were at the agency. “I hate this.”
“The soup?”
I chuckle. “No. Being useless.”
Her spoon stops halfway to her mouth. “You’re not useless.”
“I’m sitting on a couch, hanging out with my favorite person, eating soup, while my team works.”
“You just took a classified phone call.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No, you’re right. Sitting on your couch while helping to catch international criminals is much less impressive than doing it standing up.” I give her a look, and she smiles. “Miles, you’re allowed to need things.”
I look down at my soup. Apparently, I’m better at taking care of people than letting them return the favor. I need to work on that.
Then, another wave of pain comes, and I bolt upright, grabbing the edge of the couch for support as sharp pain tightens through my side.
Reese is by my side, holding my hand and walking me through breathing.
Ever since Jace compared the pain to labor contractions, that’s all I can think about as Reese coaches me.
The pain moves significantly lower, and I close my eyes, trying not to breathe fast through clenched teeth. Reese’s grip on my hand tightens.
When the worst of it passes, I look at Reese. “I think Chuck is making progress.”
Her eyes widen, and she looks delighted. “Operation Tiny Rock is entering its final phase?”
Forty-three minutes later, I’m standing in my bathroom, holding the plastic strainer and staring at an object so small it’s difficult to reconcile it with the pain of the past twenty-four hours.
From outside the bathroom door, Reese says, “Well? Did you catch Chuck?”
I look down at the little guy. “Yes.”
A cheer erupts from the hallway. An actual cheer.
I wash my hands, and then open the door to a grinning Reese. “Congratulations! You produced a whole rock. I’m so proud of you.”
I laugh, and show her the stone I “produced.” The stone that just made its way through my ureter like a drunk, blind Roomba with sharp edges.
To me, it looks insultingly tiny. Like I shouldn’t have been in so much pain from something so small. But Reese takes one look at it and says, “That kidney stone deserves its own birth certificate.”
Somehow, that makes me feel better.
And I realize I’m actually feeling better. Everything doesn’t hurt as it did. I’m still very sore and exhausted. And there’s the general sense that part of my insides has just finished waging war on another part, with both sides taking heavy damage. But the terrible, gripping pressure is gone.
“Better?” Reese asks.
I nod. “Much.”
Reese’s whole face relaxes. Her whole body, actually.
The tightness around her eyes eases, and her shoulders drop like she’s finally letting go of a breath she’s been holding for hours.
I hadn’t realized how worried she still was until this moment.
She steps forward and wraps both arms around me, and I hold her close, neither of us saying anything.
Then, she murmurs into my chest, “I hated watching you hurt like that.”
I tighten my arms around her. “I know.” And I do. The thought of Reese doubled over in that kind of pain makes my stomach twist. Yes, I know exactly what today cost her.
She slips her hand in mine, and as we head back to the living room, she says, “You know, I think I’m going to have to get you a new trophy now. Maybe one that says, For Outstanding Achievement in the Field of Internal Geology. Or For Surviving the Smallest Adversary of His Career.”
I laugh pretty heartily, and this time it doesn’t hurt nearly as much.
I’m about to ask if she’s interested in watching an episode of The Village Detective when my agency phone buzzes on the coffee table.
When I look at it, I realize I don’t feel quite so trapped by my own body.
I kiss Reese’s forehead, then I kiss her lips, and I can feel her relief in her kiss. When I pull away, she smiles.
I pick up my phone and see that a secure message from Emerson waits on the screen.
Bid model ready. Needs Maxwell’s review.
I look at Reese, and she points upstairs, toward my office. “Go do mysterious government things.”
I smile and head to my office. Operation Tiny Rock is now complete. And Maxwell Shaw has a bid to win.