Days later I still cannot believe we actually lived through it.
Every time I think about how close we came it gives me a full-body shudder. I’ll probably have some pesky new trauma to work through. But it doesn’t feel quite so awful this time. I’m just grateful we’re both still alive.
The bullet from Rod’s gun only nicked Damon. The wound had to be treated and stitched up, but soon he was right as rain.
Carmella also survived. The second we made it safely off the float we ran back for her. She was shot through the thigh and hospitalized but okay. She was vindicated as McNair, who suffered from the bullet to the chest but also lived, will be recovering in a federal prison. Though he may not live long once the Kiev Solokovs find out he was behind Dax and Slade getting collared. Not to mention Dax’s unexpected demise.
Damon and I visited Carmella in a Florida hospital. When we entered with flowers, she groaned, “Uggh. It’s the Hallmark couple.” While we were there, I asked why she hadn’t taken the opportunity to kill McNair.
She shrugged. “I missed.”
I was unconvinced. “You missed? Notorious gunrunner Carmella Monroe missed a stationary target from ten feet away?”
Again the shrug. “Maybe I’m rusty.”
I also asked why she didn’t execute McNair, let Rod kill me, and run like McNair suggested. “Rod might’ve got off a shot at me,” she said. “Staying was the only guarantee I would survive.”
I couldn’t help smiling as I said, “Uh-huh.”
To which she snapped, “Shut up.”
As we left the hospital, I asked Damon what would happen to her.
“Not sure,” he said. “The Bureau will want to keep using her. She proved with this op just how valuable she can be. But now that she got her revenge on McNair she might walk away.”
“Can she do that?”
“She’d be violating her deal with the FBI that’s keeping her out of jail. But that wouldn’t matter to someone who’s used to dodging law enforcement. I bet she stockpiled cash while she was still in business. She could probably change her appearance again, retire to a remote location somewhere, and live out her life.”
“Do you think she will?”
“I doubt it. People like her crave the excitement, even if they’re suddenly playing for the other team. Besides, I think maybe she got a taste this time.”
“Of what?”
“What it’s like to do something for someone else. She’d never admit it, but she was guided by more than revenge there at the end.” He glances at me. “I think you had something to do with that.”
“Well, we did bond over folk dancing.”
Damon has been entirely cleared. Agent Barry Higgins saw to that.
That’s right—Barry! Apparently when the line went dead that day on the beach he was trying to tell me I’d signed McNair’s death warrant, not Damon’s. A truly terrible time to run out of change.
It’s all thanks to dear Bembe Bonaparte. Though he didn’t mean to help, he provided the evidence that proved it was McNair behind the nefarious business on the Dream. It was that phrase he said during our meeting: “If he can grave-dig a Russian mob, he can crush Bembe like bug.”
“Operation Grave Digger” was an extremely covert campaign the FBI planned as a possible move against the Solokovs in Kiev. It hadn’t been deployed but was held in reserve for when they could get the right support from Russian law enforcement.
Bembe’s boss used the description of the planned operation to scare him into loyalty. Perhaps even Mr. Bonaparte didn’t fully comprehend its particulars, but he grasped the general meaning.
Only about four top people in the entire Bureau knew the phrase “Grave Digger” and the details of its operation. And McNair was one
of them.
Barry instantly recognized what Bembe’s use of the code name meant. Since he already doubted Damon’s guilt, that’s all it took for Barry to launch a full investigation of McNair.
He paid an emergency visit to Slade Solokov in his jail cell. When Slade learned McNair had outed him and Dax just to take over management of the cruise line, he was happy to officially name Agent McNair as their plug in the FBI. He even sent Barry to an online drop box containing evidence of McNair’s involvement.
Slade had already suspected McNair of being involved in their downfall. Back when the Dream was only being used to bring in Russians for the casino, Slade recognized a need for a hacker on their team. They had McNair inside the Bureau pulling strings and Rod handling Interpol but no way to keep their eyes on other agencies. Slade knew an infamous hacker based out of Paris named Adele Denaiu. For a small fortune she was willing to come to Vegas and monitor law enforcement chatter for them. But she needed a clean way into the States.
Slade was the one who realized they could use the cruise line to get Denaiu through customs. And while they were at it, they could find a female computer expert, get her on the ship, and steal her identity for Denaiu to use once she was in America. Denaiu’s work for the Solokovs didn’t require such a particular identity, but she wasn’t content working a single job at once. An identity with legitimate credentials she could use when she pleased was like a signing bonus for taking the Solokovs’ job.
So Sophie Borant was lured on board, and her papers were stolen and passed to Denaiu. Slade continued bringing Russians in only on the Dream. But using the ship to target specific people for identity theft started McNair thinking. He even proposed an expansion of the business to Slade. But Slade considered the importation business too similar to his family’s trafficking business and wanted to focus on the casino system he’d designed himself.
After the Solokov brothers were arrested, Slade began to doubt McNair’s insistence that he’d been unaware of the investigation that had impeached them. McNair had an awful lot to gain by their demise. But it was only a theory on Slade’s part. Once Barry confirmed it, he gladly drove the nails into McNair’s coffin.
Barry’s next call was to Interpol Agent Yuri Mikhailov on their secure line.
First-generation American with Russian parents, Yuri had been embedded in the Solokovs’ organization in Kiev for years, feeding information about their crimes to Interpol and the FBI all the while. A year ago the Solokovs transferred him to the Siren Dream to oversee security with their assassin-import system.
Of course, he didn’t know where the Russians were going once they entered the country or that they were being filtered into the Tropicali casino. Yuri’s job was to keep passengers and straight crew away from the closed cabins and patrol the decks for trouble.
His role was kept obsessively separate from every other player’s, and theirs from him. That way no enforcer or crewmember knew enough to fit the pieces of the organization together. Yuri made little progress in his year aboard the Dream in pinpointing each gear in the transport machine or who was behind the wheel, but he learned the faces of everyone on McNair’s payroll.
Only a few top guys, including Barry, knew Yuri was undercover on the ship. They were all surprised when an operation to send Agent Wade was suggested and then pushed through further down the ladder. They assumed someone involved in the planning had ulterior motives but couldn’t identify the culprit. They alerted Yuri to keep his eyes open and sent along Carmella as insurance.
When Damon and Agent Mikhailov had their altercation on board, Yuri didn’t know whether Damon could be trusted. For all he knew, Damon was the FBI plug running the criminal travel agency. Rather than blow his cover, Yuri let Damon throw him into the brig. Captain Flemming believed Yuri was still his agent and let him go the night we jumped ship.
By then Yuri was convinced Damon was clean. Why would Damon arrest Yuri and take him to the captain if Damon and Flemming were working together? It didn’t track.
Which explains why he let us go when he intercepted us on the gangplank. Without numbers on our side, he could do little else for us at that moment. The next day, shortly before the parade began, he received the call from Barry telling him McNair was the guy and Agent Wade and his wife were to be protected.
By the time Yuri shot Rod and saved me on the float, Barry’s reinforcements had arrived and were rounding up the crew members. Yuri helpfully named every single one of them.
Yuri and Sully took Bembe into custody. But they were unable to retrieve my bribe cash or my engagement ring.
Damon was baffled, horrified, and impressed to learn I’d gone back to Bembe alone and tried to buy evidence of his innocence. When he asked, “Where did you get the money?” I covered my naked finger and whispered, “Please don’t be mad.”
In fact, he cried. Not the same way I cried on the walk from the Gray Goat back to the shack. But his eyes filled with tears, and he held my face in his hands, saying in wonder, “You gave that up to exonerate me?”
I smiled. “Gotta have your back, right? I’ve been told that’s what partners do.”
He smiled in return. “There is an opening, if you’re interested.”
That’s been the hardest part for Damon—that his old friend Rod reached such a level of corruption. For a guy who already has trust issues, this was a serious blow. But I feel like he finally trusts me all the way. And that’s a big step.
He didn’t tell me about the op, and I didn’t tell him about the stalking ginger; it all sort of equaled out. After St. Pierre the whole fight seemed pointless anyway. We only cared that we were alive together.
We’ll choose vacations together from now on. And even though he can’t tell me everything, he’ll mention any time we’re walking into mortal danger. I can live with that.
Still, I wasn’t thrilled about our honeymoon being hijacked first by the op and then by the endless questions and paperwork at the FBI office in Tampa. I get that the investigation into McNair and Rodriguez’s misconduct is massive. But after being asked the same things nine thousand times, I vowed never to go on vacation again.
Which is why the Bureau sweetly offered to compensate us for lost romance by sending us to St. Thomas for a week! It was the least they could do after letting me be used as a pawn in their game of death. But they supplied a cottage with a private hot tub on the deck, so all is forgiven.
St. Thomas is all sandy white beaches, cobalt waters, and limitless room service. Our little rented cottage sits right on the beach, just fifty feet from the waterline. Absolute paradise.
And not a single criminal in sight.
On our fifth day I’m soaking in the hot tub with my eyes closed and my head tipped back, debating whether or not I want to order double chocolate or cheesecake for my predinner snack, when a pair of lips meets mine.
“Mmm,” I murmur as Damon drops another kiss on my chin. “You should always say hello like that.”
Damon chuckles. “So the honeymoon has improved?”
“Absolutely.” I sigh. “The FBI can manipulate me anytime.”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
My eyes pop open. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” He sits on the edge of the hot tub, feet in the water. “This isn’t the time.”
I swivel toward him. “Yes! Yes, it is the time! This is exactly the time.” I lean on his knees. “What did you mean?”
He’s laughing. “Well, you know how our new policy is complete honesty about any operation that might involve you?”
“The ‘Remember the Caribbean’ policy, yes.” I nod.
“That’s why I’m coming to you now.”
“Because?”
Damon hesitates.
This is maddening. “Because?” I press.
He’s tentative. “When we get back, the FBI wants to talk to us about something. A . . . possible assignment.”
I can’t quite breathe. “For both of us?”
“That’s the idea.”
“Seriously?” I can’t help it—I victory dance right there in the hot tub. Then I see Damon’s expression and heave myself out to sit beside him. “What’s wrong?”
Solemnly he takes my hands. “Look, Jack. I’m not sure I want you anywhere near that world.” He looks sheepish. “I know you getting involved this time was my fault. But once the bullets started flying . . . I’ve never been more terrified. And I’ve never regretted anything more.” Damon pauses. “But you’ve always supported my work. And . . . if this is something you really want, and you feel it’s what you should do, I’ll try my best to get behind you on it.”
A lot of shocking things have happened to me over the past two weeks, but this has me absolutely speechless.
“Really?” I manage at last.
He presses a kiss to my palm. “Really. It may scare me, but . . . I can’t imagine anyone I’d rather partner. At home and in the field.”
I look out toward the waves, overwhelmed. This is something I’ve been dreaming about, but now, to be faced with it as a real possibility, I have no idea what I would choose.
“Look, we don’t have to decide anything now,” Damon says. “We don’t even know what they want. Let’s wait until we get back and hear all the facts before we try to figure it out.”
“Okay.” Wait until we get back. I can handle that.
“In the meantime . . .” He kisses my neck. “It is still our honeymoon.”
“Right,” I agree, starting to smile.
“And we do have a lot of time to make up for.” He’s kissing my ear now.
“True,” I giggle.
“And for once . . .” He glances around. “We seem to be totally alone.”
“Also true.” I give a large, false sigh. “But I was about to order some cake from room service.”
Damon’s already scooping me up, dripping, and carrying me toward our room. “Cake can wait!”
I’m laughing as the door closes behind us.
Best honeymoon ever.