Chapter Fifty
Between Boston and Portland
Caspian kept the Jeep Cherokee steady in the middle lane, his fingers drumming on the wheel to the rhythm of the country song that was playing on the local FM station.
Clara, Nelson’s girlfriend, was seated in the front passenger seat, her Ray-Bans pushed up into her auburn hair.
In her hands, she cradled what looked less like a water bottle and more like a hydration silo.
“To be honest,” Clara said, “I never thought I’d see so much action in Kenya. I figured I’d be stuck filling out immigration paperwork and answering the occasional legal question for the ambassador, you know? But I ended up working side by side with the legat. It was fun.”
“Legat?” Caspian asked, as if he had no idea what it meant.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Clara said. “It’s the term we use for the legal attachés. They’re FBI.”
“Wow, okay. Very cool,” Caspian said, doing his best to sound impressed. “But Nelson told me you were ready for a change? I mean, I don’t think I’d ever want to leave an exciting job like yours.”
“I wouldn’t mind staying another year, but my time’s up. It’s not really my call, to be completely honest. I’ll be in DC for the next three or four years.”
“And after that?” Caspian asked.
Clara glanced over her shoulder at Nelson, whose head was against the window, his mouth slightly ajar, snoring like a man who hadn’t slept in a week.
“Then we’ll see,” she said. “Another overseas posting, maybe, or I could move to private practice here in the US. I guess a lot depends on where Nelson is and if I still like him.”
Caspian chuckled. “Fair enough.”
Clara looked at him. “What about you? Nelson said you used to work for the United Nations?”
“Yeah,” Caspian said. “I did. But nothing as exhilarating as what you’re doing in Kenya, that’s for damn sure.”
“So . . . what are you doing now?” she asked, taking a long sip from her water bottle.
“Freelance consulting mostly. Most of my contracts come from the federal government. Like right now, I’m working on translating a nine-hundred-page document for the Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service.”
“The what now?” Clara asked.
“APHIS. It’s part of the Department of Agriculture,” Caspian said. “They regulate the importation of plants, you know? Think cut flowers, seeds, bonsai trees, that sort of thing.”
Clara leaned her head back against the seat. “Thrilling.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” Caspian said. “They even sent me on a weeklong assignment with Fish and Wildlife. That was so intense.”
“I bet,” Clara muttered, looking out her window.
Caspian decided to push the envelope a bit further. “They’re the ones who enforce compliance with international treaties on endangered species. Do you know how much contraband aloe vera is smuggled into the country every year?”
“I . . . I don’t know, Caspian. You got me there,” Clara said, then she shifted in her seat and asked, “Were you always that into federal regulations, or is this a new thing?”
Caspian smirked. “Only since I realized how hard it is to ship citrus across state lines. Did you know oranges can’t legally be shipped into California without inspection?”
Clara stared at him. “You are . . . alarmingly full of fun facts, aren’t you?”
Caspian shrugged, but he was still smiling.
“Nelson said he’d always thought you were dangerous, somehow,” Clara said.
“Did he?”
“Yeah, but I thought he meant in a Jason Bourne kind of way. Turns out you’re more like a particularly diligent park ranger, right?”
Caspian gave her a sidelong look. “Park rangers are armed, so not my bag really. And I’ll have you know park rangers have one of the highest rates of on-duty bear encounters.”
“Are you saying you fought a bear during your one-week assignment with Fish and Wildlife?”
“What I’m saying is that I’ve translated documents from people who have,” he said, deadpan.
They passed a green highway sign announcing that Portland was thirty miles away. To their right, the coastline came back into view between the trees. From the back seat, Nelson stirred.
“What are you guys talking about?” he asked.
“Your brother’s undercover gig at the Department of Agriculture,” Clara said. “Apparently, he’s become the Indiana Jones of houseplants and aloe vera.”
“Your words, not mine,” Caspian said. “Anyhow, you’ve been out for about ninety minutes, brother. We’ll be in Portland in half an hour, unless you two want to stop for a lobster roll? Because if you do, I know just the place.”
Clara’s eyes lit up at the idea. “That would be nice. I haven’t had one of those in forever.”
An hour later, Caspian guided the Jeep into one of the long, straight driveways on Eastern Promenade.
His parents’ house was a stately, sea-facing property with clapboard siding and navy blue shutters.
It was the kind of house that screamed old money, but the truth was, it hadn’t always looked like this.
Richard and Elizabeth Anderson had renovated it themselves, slowly, bit by bit, by scraping together the necessary funds.
As he rolled to a stop, his eyes landed on a dark gray sedan already parked near his father’s GMC Sierra 1500 Denali. The car’s windows were tinted, and the license plate was from New Hampshire. It looked like a rental car, but it could also belong to a federal law enforcement agency.
Like the ATF.
“Hey, Nelson, did Mom and Dad tell you there would be someone else here?” he asked.
“No. Why?”
“Just wondering who owns that gray car,” he said.
Caspian’s father hated surprises. If the feds had shown up uninvited, Richard or Elizabeth would have reached out.
While he didn’t completely rule out the sedan and whoever had driven it to his parents’ house as potential threats, Caspian didn’t think someone who meant them harm would have parked their ride in the driveway.
He turned off the engine and resisted his urge to adjust the pistol holstered at the small of his back.
Moments later, his parents appeared on the front porch. Both were beaming and waving at them, clearly happy to see their two sons. Before he could exit the Jeep, his phone buzzed. It was Ranger.
“You guys go ahead,” Caspian told Clara and Nelson. “I really need to take this.”
“More aloe vera coming across the border?” Clara asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Either that or someone is trying to import illegal citrus fruits into California,” he replied.
Clara shook her head, then climbed out of the Jeep as Nelson grabbed the suitcases from the back. Caspian took the call.
“Yeah?”
“Can you talk?” Ranger asked.
“I’m alone, and you’re off speaker.”
“We ID’d the woman who shot at you in Valencia,” she said. “Name’s Mia Hernandez. Ring a bell?”
“Afraid not.”
“Believe it or not, she has a website. Professional pianist, apparently.”
“A pianist,” Caspian repeated. “More like a professional assassin, if you ask me.”
“She was supposed to perform in Budapest and Dubrovnik this week—”
“But let me guess,” Caspian interrupted. “Both events were canceled.”
“You got it,” Ranger confirmed. “Unfortunately, we don’t have much else for now except that she lives in Miami. We also think she’s single, but that’s not confirmed. But we’re digging.”
“Okay,” Caspian said, opening the door. “Thanks for the update, and let me know when you find more.”
“Sure thing. I’ll call you tomorrow. Just . . . watch yourself, Caspian. This Mia is a capable lady.”
The screen door of his parents’ house creaked, and Caspian’s gaze drifted back in that direction. His parents, Nelson, and Clara were inside now, but another figure stepped into view.
Caspian’s heart skipped a beat.
Liesel leaned against the railing, her arms crossed casually. She wore dark jeans and a red, baggy sweatshirt. Her dark hair was tousled from the breeze coming from the bay. Her eyes were fixed on him, unreadable. But her expression wasn’t hard, just cautious.
And maybe a little hopeful?
For a long moment, Caspian didn’t move, happy to only stare at her.
Then, all the tension in his body subsided, like a muscle unclenching.
Just seeing Liesel smoothed the hard edge he’d felt since the last time he’d seen her.
Somehow, he felt lighter on his feet. The way she hadn’t replied to his emails or to his calls, and how she’d pulled back after Istanbul and let the distance, and silence, grow between them, had bothered him.
But he hadn’t realized how much weight it had added on his shoulders until now.
But damn was he happy to see her.
“Caspian?” Ranger’s voice crackled. “You still there?”
“Yes,” he murmured. “I gotta go, Sam.”
He ended the call and fully stepped out of the Jeep. The sea breeze hit him, and cool air filled his lungs. Liesel was the one thing in his life he hadn’t been able to file into a compartment. She was the risk, and the exception to every rule he’d set for himself.
“Hey, Casp,” Liesel said, her soft, familiar voice anchoring him.
He shoved his phone into his pocket and found himself grinning.
“Hey,” he said, then started toward the steps.