Cage
Monday morning starts the same way almost every week. We have a meeting in the large conference room to discuss upcoming projects, give updates on existing ones, and brainstorm ideas as needed.
My head isn’t necessarily into it, but I attempt to pay attention. Granted, my mind keeps wandering to my wayward wife, who refuses to give me the time of day. I had hoped dinner at her parents’ last night would go better than it did. I’m forever appreciative of their invite, both making it clear they are firmly in my corner. That doesn’t mean they don’t love Jaime with all their hearts and want what’s best for her.
It’s just that they’ve decided I’m what’s best for her.
Now I just need to convince her of that, but when I might have the chance, I have no clue. As she left her parents’ home last night, I reminded her that we had to talk. She put me off, and it was clear I was going to have to get creative to get her focused attention.
There’s a nudge to my arm from my left, and I swing my attention Jackson’s way. Leaning in, he whispers, “Am I the only one who doesn’t understand half of what Dozer and Bebe say?”
I snicker, cutting my gaze to them. They’re standing at the end of the room in front of a SmartBoard, rambling on about a new communication technology they are working on that will enable comms without a satellite signal. I had tuned out a bit when they said it was still a few years away from production, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think their work is important. Bebe is probably the best hacker in the world, and Dozer is a NASA scientist genius. Together, they’ve probably been the biggest deciding factor on whether our missions succeed or not.
Bebe and Dozer finish their presentation. Kynan gives an update on our most recent mission down to Colombia, reporting the rescued family has settled back into their homes and the children are in therapy. It may seem stupid to give us that follow-up information, but it actually helps in validating the importance of our work. These are real people we are saving from real horrors.
Kynan stands from his seat at the head of the large conference room table, a smart tablet in his hand with a stylus in the other. He used to do these meetings with an old-fashioned clipboard and paper, but it offended Dozer, who insisted he get with the technological times.
Kynan starts to go over the week’s assignments. “Malik, I want to put together a tactical seminar for the Vegas office focused on evasion techniques. I’d like to be able to do that in the next few months, so maybe you and I sit down this week and brainstorm ideas.”
“Got it,” Malik replies, leaning back in his chair. He swivels to look at Anna, who sits next to him. She’s busy typing notes on her laptop, recording every word of the meeting. She doesn’t notice him staring at her, but I can’t help but smile at the all-out love and devotion in his expression. Anna and Malik have been through their share of horrific struggles this past year, but they’ve both been healed through the power of love.
That was a notion I’d found slightly comical not but a handful of weeks ago.
Before I met Jaime.
Kynan hands out more assignments. He’s sending Cruce to meet with some high-up at the defense department to discuss future contracts, and Saint and Jackson are spearheading security for an upcoming visit from a foreign ambassador next month.
“Jackson,” Kynan announces, his gaze roving over his tablet. When he looks up, he says, “We’ve been contacted by the government of Bretaria. They are sending an emissary to the U.S. to do a tour.”
“Bretaria?” Jackson asks, frowning. He raises an eyebrow at me, but I shrug. “Where the hell is that?”
“It’s a moderately sized and incredibly wealthy island that sits off the Australian coast. It’s ruled by a monarch, and it boasts one of the world’s largest ruby mines. Our government is extending a hospitable welcome, but, frankly, the country has no trade relations and nothing of value to us. They’re not going to provide security. Instead, they have contracted us to handle it.”
“And I’m going to do it single-handedly?” Jackson asks.
“Not at all.” Kynan chuckles. “August is going to head up a five-man team of agents from here, and the Vegas office will handle the security plan as the delegation travels across the country. He’ll be in charge of the overall safety of the members who are coming over.”
“Then I don’t understand,” Jackson says, confusion clearly etched on his face. “What’s my role?”
“Your role,” Kynan replies, a slight curl to his mouth, “is to be the personal bodyguard to the Princess Camille of the House of Winterbourne.”
Jackson’s mouth hangs open. “You’re making that up.”
“I’m not,” Kynan assures him, and I have to suppress a laugh.
“I’m to babysit a princess?” Jackson sneers.
“Well, babysit isn’t exactly what I would call it,” Kynan replies, his voice going a little hard. “You’ll be personally responsible for protecting her.”
“From what?” Jackson demands. “A diamond falling out of her tiara?”
“It would probably be a ruby,” Kynan points out with a snicker. “But the truth is, she’s the heir to a kingdom and a vast fortune. She’s a valuable target. While there’s been no chatter that we know about that she’s at risk on this visit, her family doesn’t want to take any chances.”
“Christ,” Jackson mutters so only I can hear him, slumping in his chair and clearly unhappy with this assignment. “Another fucking babysitting job.”
I don’t reply, because Kynan isn’t finished. He gives a pointed look at Jackson. “I’m actually sending you and August to Bretaria next week to meet with the royal family’s security team to put together the entire plan so you can identify exactly what resources are needed.”
“Yes, sir,” Jackson says, his voice slightly antagonistic. I have no clue where this attitude is coming from as he’s generally a laid-back dude.
Kynan stares hard at him a moment, perhaps debating whether to call out his attitude, but then moves on. After fifteen more minutes, we are dismissed.
I have no current projects, for which I’m grateful since I need to stay in the area until I can get my marriage straightened out. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have work to do. I’ll actually sit in on planning sessions for the active missions as well as offer any consulting services Kynan deems appropriate. It’s one of the things I love about this job.
It’s never boring.
We file out of the conference room. Jackson and I are the last two to leave. I put my hand on his shoulder as I can feel the tension vibrating off him. “Hey, man… why so bent out of shape about your assignment?”
Jackson whirls on me. “You mean you’d be happy babysitting a fucking princess?”
I think about that a moment. “Well, it’s not a sojourn through a Central American jungle to rescue hostages, but it’s not without its importance. Sounds like she’s a high-risk target.”
“Princesses are brats,” he growls.
“Now, you don’t know that for sure,” I chastise.
“Regardless,” he says with a shake of his head. “It’s not what I signed up for.”
Jackson pushes past me, and I consider going after him. There’s something much deeper than disdain for royalty or whatever he’s got going on. But before I can make a move to follow, I see Clay Brandeis standing out in the pit, talking to Kynan.
Jackson forgotten for the moment, I move their way. I’m sure Clay is here to give us an update on Jaime’s kidnappers.
He sees me heading his way and smiles, giving a small jerk of his head to indicate he actually needs to talk to me.
We shake hands when I join them, and Kynan says what I suspected, “Clay stopped by to give us an update.”
“We’ve obviously turned the cases over to the district attorney since it wasn’t a federal crime,” Clay says. Kynan and I both nod. We knew that would be the case. “I also talked to the DA, and she said if Brian is willing to testify against them regarding the rest of their criminal enterprises so additional charges can be brought, they will give him immunity.”
That’s good news indeed, but there’s danger there. I lean in. “How far up the chain do they want information?”
Clay nods, understanding my concern. It’s one thing to turn on his low-level street pals, but it’s another if the DA is going to insist on information about the organized crime syndication, which is fronting all of it. That will make him a target and could even mean his death.
I get a reassuring smile from Clay. “I already sort of put a bug in her ear that he wouldn’t be willing to do more than what he knows on the low level. The DA seems satisfied with that, and she thinks she’ll get the kidnappers to take a lesser plea in exchange for information.”
That makes me bow up with indignation because now we’re talking about giving leniency to the fuckers who kidnapped and terrorized Jaime. And well, I’m not in favor of that at all.
And yet, Jaime would want any opportunity possible given to her brother. If I interfere with his chance, she’ll never forgive me.
So I keep my mouth shut.
We chat for a few more minutes before Kynan excuses himself to handle the pressing obligations of running a large security firm. I offer to escort Clay back out. Instead, he asks, “Hey… you mind giving me a tour of the place? Griffin says you actually have an indoor firing range here.”
Laughing, I clap him on the shoulder. “Sure. Be glad to.”
I start weaving through the pit desks, and he follows. “This is obviously the main floor where we do administrative work. You came through the garage and first floor, so you can see we like to keep our place well camouflaged.”
“Yeah.” Clay laughs, shaking his head. “It was a bit disconcerting coming into what looked like an abandoned building, then needing a security scan to get inside.”
“The technology we have here is better than you feds will ever see,” I tease. Who knows, maybe one day Clay will want to move from the Fibbies to the private sector?
We make it to the floating staircase, but I point over to the elevator just ten feet away. “You can take either up to the third and fourth floors, but most of us use the stairs.”
Clay glances over to the antique freight elevator that chugs at the speed of molasses. I think the only use it got recently was just before Anna gave birth to her daughter. Those last few weeks, she took the elevator rather than the stairs.
I put my hand on the stair railing, intent on starting upward, when I note Clay’s gaze slide to the right. He makes an almost strangled sound in his throat. He’s staring at the first glassed office there, which belongs to our resident shrink, Dr. Corinne Ellery.
She’s sitting at her desk, head bent over her laptop. She always keeps her fluorescent overhead lighting off, preferring the ambient glow of a few lamps set about her space instead.
When I swing back to study Clay, he has the most stunned expression I’ve ever seen on anyone before. Without even a backward glance at me, he starts moving toward Corinne’s office, but in an almost hesitant kind of way. He looks as if he’s seen a ghost and is compelled to go see, but might be a bit afraid of what he may find.
I hold my place, watching as he moves to her open office door. He stands there, practically drinking her in with his gaze. She has no clue she’s being observed.
Finally, he says, “Corinne?”
As if he really can’t believe it’s her, despite the fact there’s a brass nameplate next to her door.
It’s a subtle movement, but I can see her actually stiffen at the sound of Clay’s voice, then her head slowly rises as she takes him in.
Clearly, they know each other, but for the longest time, they just stare. It’s obvious they have history. By the tense lines in both their bodies, it’s clear it’s not the good kind.
Corinne rises slowly from her chair, a smile starting to curl incrementally across her face. “Clay?”
“It really is you,” he says quietly, again almost disbelieving.
“Been a long time,” she says as she comes to stand before him.
“Nine years,” he murmurs.
Again, another long moment where they just stare at each other, and I wonder what’s between them. Were they lovers? Coworkers? Enemies?
Corinne provides a bit of an answer when she moves into him, putting her arms around his shoulders and drawing him in for a warm hug. “I’m so glad to see you again.”
They must have been friends at the very least, as I can see the fond look on her face over his shoulder as a serene smile plays at her lips.
My powers of observation are sharp, though, and I note that Clay barely gives her a squeeze in return, hands at her waist, before he draws back. Scraping his hands through his hair, he mutters, “Yeah… good to see you too.”
She can sense his discomfort, but she doesn’t give up. Sweeping a hand toward her office, she asks, “Want to come in? Have a cup of coffee and catch up?”
Taking a step back, he shakes his head and looks at his watch. “Actually… I’ve got a meeting I need to get to.”
“Oh,” she replies, clearly disappointed. “Maybe some other time?”
“Yeah… sure,” he mutters, and I know she can hear he has no intention of taking her up on that invitation.
Clay turns, offering me an apologetic wince. “I’m sorry, Cage. Maybe I’ll take that tour another day.”
“Anytime, man,” I reply, giving him a nod.
Clay moves to the elevator, which is the only way down to the first floor from this one, and Corinne just watches in silence, disappointment making her frown.
When he’s gone, I cock an eyebrow at Corinne and ask, “You two know each other, huh?”
“Yeah,” she murmurs sadly, then pivots back into her office. She shuts the glass door behind her, making it clear she doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.