Chapter 12
12
J ackson woke early, though slowly, clinging to the last vestiges of sleep. In the army, he could wake and be ready faster than a knife fight in a phone booth. But while he loved a lot of things about his time in the military, that hadn’t been one of them. Now, although still an early riser, unless he had to be up, he liked taking his time in the mornings.
Warmth curled over his body—not unusual, as he slept hot. Burrowing down into his pillow, a scent teased his nose. He stilled, his mind shaking off the cobwebs of his dreams. He inhaled again. Not his soap. The weight across his chest and the one against his shoulder weren’t his, either. And the silky skin under his fingers? Definitely not his.
It didn’t surprise him that he and Lina had tangled themselves up with each other in the night—her tucked against his side with an arm over his chest, a leg twined between his, and her body half lying on his. They’d woken that way after the shooting, too. Thinking the position might make Lina uncomfortable, he’d feigned sleep that morning until she slipped from his arms. He hadn’t expected her to leave before he could say “boo.”
The disappointment he felt that morning lanced through him, sharper than a three-month-old memory should. She couldn’t sneak out of Roxanne’s, but this time, he’d make sure the thought didn’t even cross her mind.
“Are you going to pretend to be asleep like you did last time?” Lina mumbled, her lips moving against the soft material of his shirt.
“You appreciated it. It let you slip away without saying goodbye.” Was that a hint of bitterness in his tone?
“You faked being asleep. I assumed it would be a problem if I stayed,” she replied.
“It wouldn’t have,” he said, the truth of the words hitting him harder than they should. He didn’t bring many women to his apartment these days—not like his younger years—and if he did, he never kicked them out. If he couldn’t stand spending a few hours with a woman, he didn’t invite them home in the first place.
But now, lying in bed with Lina in his arms, both reluctant to move, he realized he would have liked having her there. He could have made her breakfast. Asked all the things he hadn’t the night before, like whether she preferred sunrise to sunset or chocolate to vanilla. Or where she’d grown up, gone to school, and what she did for a living.
“Who trained you? And I don’t mean as a CPA,” he asked, his thoughts lingering on that last question.
She shifted, propping her chin on his chest. “The government,” she answered, surprising him. The answer didn’t surprise him, but the fact that she answered at all did.
He rolled his eyes. “I figured out that much. Not military, though, so thinking one of the alphabets. DEA? FBI? CIA? NSA?”
She leveled him with a flat look.
He chuckled. “Right, I’m going to go with answer C, the CIA.”
She let out a soft laugh as she rolled away. “I can neither confirm nor deny.” She swung her legs over the bed, then stilled. The T-shirt she wore hung loose over one shoulder, and her dark brown hair feathered across her back. She scooped it up and wound it together so it draped in a long lock.
“I don’t think we’re going anywhere today,” she said.
He pulled his gaze from the curve of her spine, lifting it to the French doors. Water poured off the eaves of the patio, and beyond that, rain lashed the landscape.
“Definitely not going anywhere today. At least not on my bike.”
“You have another form of transportation you’ve been hiding?” she asked, looking at him over her shoulder.
“Roxanne has a load of cars. She’ll lend us one.” He stretched, reaching for his jeans folded on the floor, dreading putting them on. Morning wood was a real thing, and after having Lina pressed against him, all warm and pliant, he and his zipper were going to have a little tussle.
“How’s her son now?” Lina asked, her voice soft with empathy.
“Alex is doing great,” he replied, keeping his back to her as he rose and pulled on his jeans. “He finished the PhD in psychology he’d started before Dieter came into the picture. He pays the bills by counseling children of the very wealthy, then donates his time to working with LGBTQ and at-risk youth. He lives in Seattle.”
“Is that a thing the Falcons do? Rescue people?” she asked, dressing as well.
“We don’t think of it as rescuing. We extract them from bad situations. Much like we did in the military, only…different,” he answered before pulling on his sweatshirt.
“How often?”
“Like I said last night, too often,” he replied, sitting down and grabbing his socks. “And I don’t mean that in the sense that it takes too much of our time, only that there is too often the need for it.”
“How many?” she pressed. He glanced over his shoulder. She stood, backlit by the gray morning, her hair falling over her shoulder, her arms crossed under her breasts.
“This week? This month? This year? Ever?”
Her expression softened. His answer didn’t give her any specifics, but it told her enough.
“How’d you get into it?” she asked.
“Long story. I need coffee,” he replied. “After I brush my teeth.”
He felt her eyes on him as he moved across the room toward the en suite bathroom. It was more of an ugly story than a long one. One he didn’t want to talk about when other things needed their attention more. Or without coffee.
When he reemerged, she didn’t raise the question again, just swept past him for her turn in the bathroom.
Wandering out to the kitchen, he found Roxanne curled up in a chair in front of a bank of windows, a crossword on a clipboard in her lap and a cup of coffee on a side table, along with a flask.
“She’s got your number, my friend,” she said without looking up. “Coffee’s in the urn. If you want anything fancy, call Klaus.”
Having Klaus skulking around was the last thing he wanted on a dark and stormy morning. Ignoring her comment about Lina, he poured himself a cup of coffee, added cream and sugar, then joined her in the second chair, swiveling it to look out the window.
“She’s used to being alone. She’ll have to decide if you’re worth making changes for.”
“Why do you think she’s used to being alone?” He’d had the same thought a time or two. Having good friends and working for the CIA, especially as a field agent, didn’t go well together. And with her mom passing away and her dad little more than a ghost in her life…yeah, the thought had occurred to him.
“Hollywood, darling. There’s no lonelier town. All those people and so little connection. I recognize the look. What are you doing about it?”
He thought about ignoring her question—and its implications. Maybe Lina did have his number. Maybe not. He couldn’t deny that he’d walk through fire for her, though. He’d already jumped on his bike, ridden hours to see her, and didn’t blink an eye at being her sidekick for the quest her father set her on.
He was a nice guy. He helped folks out when he could. But his actions in the past few days were those of a man compelled to do something. Not that he hadn’t chosen this path—chosen to be with Lina—only it hadn’t really been a choice. Which made no sense while also making complete sense.
“We’re going to figure out the mess her father left. After that, we’ll see,” he replied to Roxanne’s question.
She remained quiet; the only sound the clink of the flask against her mug as she emptied the contents into her coffee. Then, with a sigh, she added, “Probably for the best.” He glanced over. “She’s the sort you need to let come to you. And she’ll only do that when she trusts you aren’t going anywhere. Something only actions, not words, can show her. Coffee’s in the urn,” she called out as the woman in question joined them.
Lina eyed them before turning and heading for the coffee.
“Klaus will prepare breakfast for us shortly,” Roxanne added.
“He doesn’t need to do that,” Lina said as she topped her mug off.
“He adores cooking for people. He’s been prepping every meal since Jackson texted yesterday.”
Viper arched a brow. He doubted Klaus adored much of anything other than being a butler.
“What’s your plan now?” Roxanne asked.
He offered Lina his more comfortable chair, but she waved him off and took a nearby seat at the cozy kitchen table.
“You’re not going anywhere on your bike today,” Roxanne added, mirroring their earlier conversation.
“I was hoping you might have a car we could borrow,” Viper said. “We’re headed to Seattle, and I could either drop it with Alex or have a contact bring it back.”
She waved him off. “The police are looking for you, darling,” Roxanne said, raising her flask in Lina’s direction. Lina arched a brow. “I didn’t survive in Hollywood as long as I did without understanding the importance of information,” she added with a tip of her head.
“You snooped,” Viper said.
“I did an internet search. Talked to a few people.”
“I haven’t looked at my phone since yesterday. What did you find?” Lina asked.
“No updates on who might have murdered your father. The police are concerned about your welfare as they’ve been unable to reach you. It’s possible you’re a person of interest.”
Viper studied Lina, who rolled her eyes in response. “If they did their homework, they’d figure out I couldn’t have done it. I was with a client all morning.”
“Until you weren’t,” Viper said. “Maybe they think you murdered your father after you left your client?” he suggested, then winced. “Sorry to be so crass.”
She shrugged. “My meeting ran from nine in the morning until one in the afternoon. We started with coffee and ended up having lunch. Given the state of the blood trail when I arrived at the house around one thirty, I’d say he’d been dead for at least two hours already.”
“And prior to nine?” Roxanne asked.
“The gym in my apartment building from six until seven thirty. After that, I went back to my apartment to shower and get ready. It’s a thirty-minute drive from where I live to the coffee shop. My building also has cameras in all the public spaces. Like I said, if the police are considering me a suspect, they need to do their homework. They’ll easily be able to confirm my whereabouts from six in the morning until one in the afternoon, which is a bigger window of time than the ME will probably give them for his death.”
“Still, you took off. That’s not a good look,” Viper pointed out.
Lina shrugged as she sipped her coffee. “My father’s house doesn’t have any cameras. It’s unlikely they know I was there, much less that I was there and left.”
“And what’s the reason they haven’t been able to reach you?” Roxanne asked.
“My neighbor will tell them I often take off for weekend rides if they bother talking to her. As far as I’m concerned, I met with a client, then took advantage of the rare, beautiful weather to embrace my weekend warrior in an area with shitty cell reception.”
Viper didn’t think it would be quite that easy to explain. While there might not be any cameras at her father’s house, he doubted that was the case for the entire neighborhood. And before discovering her shadows, she’d used her credit card at least once in Portland and again in Redding—both cities with perfectly fine reception. But Roxanne spoke before he could voice his concern.
“Good,” she said. “Not that your dad is dead, but that you don’t have to worry about proving your innocence,” she clarified.
Lina chuckled. “Oh, I’ll still have to do that. But managing the cops isn’t my biggest concern. I’m not sure how to get my dad’s copy of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy . I might look suspicious now, but other than taking the pink backpack from the crime scene, I haven’t broken any actual laws. I’d prefer keeping it that way.”
“I have someone who can help,” Roxanne said, surprising Viper. He had a contact, too, but if Roxanne’s was better, he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. “An FBI agent based in Seattle. His mom and I went to school together. He’s my godson. He can ask to see the scene.”
“For what reason?” Viper asked.
Roxanne lifted a shoulder, and her amethyst silk robe slipped. “He’ll come up with something. Most likely say it has similarities to another case, and he wants to see it firsthand,” she said, repositioning her robe.
Viper looked at Lina, who weighed the idea before nodding. “It could work,” she said. Then, glancing outside, she added, “Now we have to figure out how we get to Seattle.”
“Can we borrow a car?” Viper asked again.
She shrugged again. “Of course. Or I could fly you. The plane’s always ready.”
“You fly?” Lina asked.
Roxanne smiled. “After the second Della Lane movie, I insisted on learning a few of the skills they had me pretending. Turned out I liked flying. We have an airport in town. I keep two planes there.”
Lina’s eyes dropped to the flask sitting on the side table. “We wouldn’t have transportation once we arrived. Driving might be better.”
“You’re worried about this?” Roxanne lifted the flask.
“Not passing any judgment, but maybe it’s best not to get behind the wheel—or steering—of a motorized vehicle.”
Roxanne chuckled. “It’s a tiny bit of maple syrup dissolved in hot water.”
Lina flickered her gaze to him in question. He inclined his head. “And the martinis last night were water with lemon or cranberry juice, and her wine was a fancy sort of grape juice.”
“Black cherry, actually,” Roxanne said. Lina’s brows dropped. “I’ve been sober for thirty years, but I like the ritual.”
Jackson stifled a laugh at the flummoxed look on Lina’s face. “Doesn’t that, I don’t know, feel like tempting the devil?”
Roxanne’s famous husky chuckle filled the room. “Except for Nazis—the original and the neo—the whitewashing of history in our schools, and the sound of someone whistling, there is nothing I hate more than myself when drinking. Why would I ever go back to something I hate? Especially when I have a choice?”
Lina frowned. “Okay, good point. I’m not sure that’s how addiction works, but I’m glad it’s working for you.”
“We still need a car when we get there,” Viper said.
“And you don’t want to rent one because they’ll need a credit card, which can be traced,” Roxanne finished. “I love flying in storms,” she said on a wistful exhale. “It’s exciting. But I do see your point. Of course, you can take a car. Not the McLaren, though. I’m sure you are both excellent drivers, but those tires are not meant for wet roads.”
“It’s also a bit flash,” Viper said. “What else is available?”
“The Range Rover has been prepared for you,” Klaus said, appearing in the doorway.
“Have you ever considered putting a fucking bell on him?” Lina muttered. Roxanne grinned.
“Breakfast is ready,” Klaus added before turning and disappearing.
“What time will you leave?” Roxanne asked.
Viper glanced at Lina. “When can you arrange things with your FBI godson?”
“By the time you arrive in Seattle.”
Viper frowned. “You haven’t even called him. What if he’s not in town?”
“I spoke with him yesterday. It was his fortieth birthday. I sent him a case of eighteen-year-old Macallan. He’s home.”
Lina snorted a laugh. Viper smiled, too, even as his stomach churned. For more reasons than one, he hoped the man hadn’t gotten drunk on eighteen-year-old Macallan.
“Then we’ll leave after breakfast,” Lina said.