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“If he gets insistent, I promise to yelp andkick him in the knee like I did when I—”
“Enough.” Adam grimaced. “Is this yourtorturous way of saying you can handle this?”
She watched him for another second beforeshrugging. “What the hell? As long as Vittorio’s ancientdick—”
“It’s his grandson! Jesus, girl. It’sJoseph. You’ve met Joseph.”
“Oh. Him?” Shehadmet Joseph DeLucca more than once. They had mutual friends and sometimesfrequented the same clubs. He had sandy hair, pretty brown eyes,and a friendly smile. Even Gia liked him, and she hardly likedanyone.
Zara considered again. He’d know the scorewith this arrangement too, and they’d both go in with equalexpectations and no agonizing daggers in their hearts every timethey looked at one another. She wouldn’t beg him to give up hislife and run off across the globe with her or wake up every nightterrified he’d get killed on the next assignment. She wouldn’tnearly combust whenever he looked at her or ache with want when hetouched her hand.
At least it’ll extend the life of myunderwear.She made her head bob. “All right. Joseph De Lucca.I’ll clear my calendar.”
Her father hugged her so tight, she couldn’tbreathe. She didn’t fight it. Not breathing felt better in somerespects. “Thank you, sweetheart. I promise you, I’ll get you outof this shit. Give me a year, and you’re out. I’ll fucking nukeRussia if I have to.”
“It’s okay, Dad. Joey’s a good guy. Whoknows? We might even get along. Hannah seems okay withKarl.”
“She does.” Adam’s smile didn’t match hiseyes, but he kissed her temple. “I’ll go make some calls. Catherineknows she might need to clear her schedule, so call her. I’m afraidit’ll be a quick job, kiddo.”
“That’s okay. I … I think the distractionwould be good for me.”
One more hug, a few more encouraging words,and then her father was gone with his cell phone already at his earand Fallon at his heels. Zara stared around the huge, empty kitchenand pulled her own cell out of her jeans pocket. Gia would knowwhere to start. Or how to blow everything up. Either option seemedworkable.
Chapter Four
DANE
Poosey Conservation Area, Missouri,September 7
Leave it to Bennett to be as big a painin the ass dead as he was alive. The thought was becoming amantra with each shovelful of dirt Dane tossed to the side. Hisphone vibrated, again, and Dane groaned. He stopped digging tocheck it.
Adam:Status?
Dane wiped flecks of dirt and grass off thephone screen.Really?He shoved it back into his jeans. TheSt. Michael coin clinked against the case, and he patted themud-caked pocket before wiping sweat off his nose with the back ofhis sleeve. His wary gaze swept around the pitch-black countrylandscape, lit only by faint starlight and a waning moon. He barelyheard the rasp of their shovels and Sawyer’s muttered complaintsabove the yipping coyotes and screeching bugs.Quiet countrynights, my ass.Dane took a deep breath of soupy,hay-and-mud-scented air, steeling himself for the next round ofexcavation.
On the opposite side of the freshly duggrave, Sawyer stabbed the earth with a trowel, grunting as helifted a hefty chunk of dirt, dropping it on a growing pile besidehim. “Who was that?” His voice rasped. Too loud to be a whisper butsofter than usual.
“Boss.” Dane hefted his own shovel, droppingmore damp earth between his knees.Good thing I’m not attachedto these pants.“Wants an update. I’ll give it to him when weget back to the car.”
“Again?” Saw sighed. “We’re gonna be makingreports every half hour at this rate.”
Dane shrugged. “Could be worse,considering.”
“Guess so. I’m taking a break.” Sawyer stuckthe trowel in the top of the pile like a cherry on a sundae, andsat back, stretching his legs out in front of him. Dane sympathizedwith his partner’s pained groan. His own hamstrings burned, and hisfeet felt like they might split at the arches. A blister the sizeof Illinois was swelling up across his right heel, too.My bootswere meant for hiking, but I wasn’t. Especially not in thegoddamn Missouri woods with coyotes yipping like teenagers who justdiscovered a new band. Probably pissed we were interfering withtheir next meal.
They could complain to the goddamn StormCrows. The Crows were one-percenters—the kind who welcomedprofessional fucking killers into their storied ranks. Danesuspected it when they watched three Crows carrying multiple trashbags to their decoy utility van. Now they’d dug one up and foundBen’s hands inside—prints burned away with acid—there was nodoubt.
Dane’s legs didn’t hurt half as much as hisjaw. He swung his chin from side to side, testing the ache.Iknow I asked Sawyer to hit me, but damn.He continued scoopingdirt out of the hole, his eyes searching out any hint of a shinyplastic surface amid the dirt. All that moaning, and you aren’t theone with a swollen face.”
“You’d rather be going back to Duro withouta bruise on you? Like, ‘Sorry I let your partner get iced, sir, butI was too busy running the fuck away’, would go down better?”Sawyer lifted his canteen to his lips, gulping loudly beforeattempting to catch his breath again. “Jesus! Why couldn’t theCrows toss his sorry ass in a dumpster and throw a match in? I’dtake a charred corpse over this huntsman bullshit any day of theweek.”
Dane didn’t answer. Mostly because he’dalready answered this a dozen times before.
God, is there anything viable?
Dane hoped for his head.Will anyone evenbelieve it’s him? If they’ve fucked it up as thoroughly aseverything else…
“Dane?” Sawyer flinched, and his hand flewto his holster. “They’re getting closer.”
