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AT GRINCH’S HOUSE, Nash got out of the car, drained as if it was his first day out of bed after surgery. He’d told Danika things he hadn’t revealed to anyone else. What about her made him willing to slice open a vein and bleed away his secrets?
Didn’t matter. What was done was done, and so far, she hadn’t been solicitous. She’d made him clean the kitchen after lunch. You poor thing didn’t seem to be part of her vocabulary, but she’d seemed to be choosing her words—and tone—with care.
Dogs barked from the yard as he and Danika approached the house. Elizabeth greeted them at the door. She’d changed into jeans and a turquoise fleece pullover, her hair now hanging loose around her shoulders. “Come in. Grinch said you’d be dropping by. He’s working on football drills with the boys—although I think he calls them drills so it doesn’t sound like he’s having too much fun. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Herbal tea? Water?”
“I’m fine,” Nash said, and Danika echoed his words.
“I’ll let him know you’re here. Make yourselves comfortable.”
Nash took in the room. Warm. Cozy. Lived in. A lump rose in his throat. Talking to Danika had lifted his memories too close to the surface. He needed to round them up, bury them where they belonged.
Moments later, Grinch appeared. “Let’s adjourn to the den.” He led them to a room down the hall.
In addition to a desk with the expected computer, there was a large-screen television, a video game player setup, two dog beds, and a wooden box filled with sports equipment.
If the living room had looked lived in, this room looked full of love. Nash swallowed another rising lump.
Grinch tapped a key and the computer woke, revealing an image of Grinch standing beside a small private plane, a broad smile on his face. “You wanted to use my printer. You have the file on a drive?”
“Cloud.”
“Works for me.” Grinch tapped a few keys and slid out of the chair.
Nash took the chair Grinch had vacated and accessed his own cloud account. “This might take a while,” he said to Danika. “No need for you to hang around.”
“You could tell me to leave while you carry on with more secret guy stuff,” she said.
Ah, the snark was back. So much better than carefully measured words and tones.
“Danika, please leave us alone so we can carry on with secret guy stuff,” Nash said, a smile breaking through.
Grinch lifted a brow. “Elizabeth’s taking over the football practice. If you’d like, you can join her and the boys.”
Danika huffed. “I think my football skills fall into the realm of cheerleading, not passing or tackling.”
“It’s touch, but the boys can always use a cheerleader,” Grinch said.
Danika rolled imaginary pompoms in front of her chest, raised her hands in the air, and did a small leap. “Go team go.”
Once she’d left, Nash accessed the files, sent them to the printer, and gave Grinch his chair back. “Does Elizabeth know what you do? Did?”
Grinch chuckled. “Elizabeth was my final assignment. She was relocated here with a new identity. She was aware of Blackthorne’s covert side before I met her. In fact, she’s good friends with Dalton’s wife.”
“Dalton? As in our Dalton?”
Grinch smiled. “The one and only. In my day, Dalton was a teammate, not head honcho. He met Miri on an op, and Miri had been helping Elizabeth.”
“Small world,” Nash said.
“It is. You know anything about Horace and Grace Blackthorne?”
“I know Horace Blackthorne ran the company before Dalton. Who’s Grace?”
“Now, his wife,” Grinch said. “Then, she ran a network of safe houses and helped create new identities for people in trouble. Hell, for all I know, she still does.”
“So, the house we’re in is a safe house?”
“When it needs to be.”
“Which means Elizabeth must know there’s a Blackthorne connection for me and Danika.”
“That’s why she sent the food. She doesn’t do that for normal renters.”
“I haven’t mentioned Blackthorne to Danika yet.”
Grinch’s brows lifted. “There’s no need to keep the company name a secret. If she looks for information, she’s going to find the public side. After all, if Blackthorne can’t keep its covert side hidden, they’re not a very good company.”
Nash had to grin. “True enough. Did you find out anything about the fire?”
“No, but I’ve been giving back-to-back flying lessons for the last three days. I do occasional search and rescue work, so I have a few contacts in the county.” Grinch checked his phone, wrote down a name and number. “Alan Vidro’s with the fire department. You can use my name.”
Nash pocketed the slip of paper. “Thanks.”
The printer beeped that it was finished with the job, and Nash collected the papers. “What kind of strings did you pull to get Blackthorne to help us? I’m on leave, and Danika isn’t a client.”
“You’re a Blackthorne employee, and the cabin that exploded belongs to another Blackthorne employee. The company takes care of its own.”
“Danika has no Blackthorne connections.”
“Doesn’t matter. She should consider herself lucky that she chose a Blackthorne-related cabin to hide in.”
Nash had always considered Blackthorne the family he never had—even more so than his army buddies, although at the time, his fellow grunts were his brothers. But when he’d mustered out, they hadn’t kept in touch. When he’d met T-Bone and joined Blackthorne, it had been like finding a real family.
“Back to Danika,” he said. “Or rather Elizabeth. I assume she knows the drill and won’t let anything slip.” Nash lifted his hands. “Forget I said that. Of course she’s trustworthy. My bad for bringing it up at all.”
“Understandable. Take it from me, you’ll never feel like you’re walking around without a target on your back.”
“You know anything about the op T-Bone’s on? He was looking for more intel about Danika, but I’m comfortable her story holds. She’s a blacklisted reporter, and there are people who want her out of the way.” Nash lifted the stack of papers. “Here’s hoping we can find answers.”
“Can’t help with any active ops. I’m not in those loops anymore. If you want to come by and use this computer while we’re out during the day, I’ll get you a spare key and let Elizabeth know.”
“Thanks, man. I can always call HQ and square things away if there’s a problem.”
Grinch gave a noncommittal shrug. “That’s how we roll.” He pushed away from the desk. “I’d better go rescue Elizabeth from football duty before she screws up everything I’ve taught the boys.”
Nash trailed Grinch through the house to the back door. Danika had actually made good on her offer to be a cheerleader and was shouting encouragement at the two kids. The smaller, a freckle-faced redhead, the other, a couple years older, a fair-skinned blond, were running plays, juking left and right as Elizabeth threw wobbly passes to each in turn. Two dogs raced along the sidelines.
Nash recalled his father teaching him the ins and outs of football. The memories didn’t hurt the way thoughts of what Nash considered his before life usually did.
“Clean up, homework, and dinner,” Grinch said. The boys dashed for the house. Grinch exchanged a glance with Elizabeth. “You two are welcome to stay,” he said.
“Thanks, but we should get back and deal with all these papers,” Nash said.
Danika agreed.
“Hang on a sec,” Grinch said. He stepped to the back door and whistled for the dogs. “Reggie and Chester.” The brown-and-white dog flopped onto his back, feet in the air, waiting for a belly rub. “Reggie’s all about fun, but Chester’s trained as a guard dog. He needs to know who you are. Chester, sit.”
The spotted dog plopped its bottom on the ground and gazed at Grinch.
Grinch tapped both Nash and Danika on the shoulder. “Friends, Chester.”
The dog tilted his head as dogs do. “Tell him to shake,” Grinch said.
Both he and Danika complied, and Chester’s tail wagged like windshield wipers trying to stay ahead of a rainstorm.
“They won’t give you any trouble if you come by when we’re not here. Treats are in the jar on the counter. That should seal the deal.”
Danika gave Reggie another belly rub. “That’s a good boy.”
The women went off—to the kitchen, Nash assumed—while Grinch went off in search of a spare key. When he returned, he handed Nash a sticky note. “Here’s a password for guest access to the computer. You’ll have internet access and can log into Blackthorne.”
After bidding their good-byes, Nash and Danika headed to the little house on Cottonwood. Nash thought the place felt a little homier.
“Time to work,” Danika said. “Give me the printouts and I’ll try to organize the notes.”
While Danika was busy, Nash called the number Grinch had given him.
“Cabin’s pretty much toast,” Alan Vidro said.
“What about the bomb?” Nash asked.
“Went to the experts at CBI—Colorado Bureau of Investigations. Don’t have their report yet.”
“Is there a problem if I go take a look, see if any of my possessions are salvageable? If I need to have an escort, I understand.”
“We’re a volunteer department, spread pretty thin. If Grinch says you’re okay, I’m cool with it, but let me verify the arson squad’s done.”
“Understood. I wouldn’t want to mess up any evidence.” Nash gave the man his number and disconnected.
He found the remote for the television, turned on the set, and flipped through the channels searching for something mindless to watch. Did they have reruns of Family Forever? Not that seeing Alexandra Sullivan playing a role would help him understand her as Danika’s mother.
He occupied himself thumbing the remote, looking for the news.
The forecasters had predicted clear skies and cold temperatures for the next three days when Danika rushed into the room, waving pages of the printout.
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before.”
*****
DANIKA GLANCED AT THE television. A commercial. She sat next to Nash on the couch. “We’ve been looking at the stories from the paper, and the one I hadn’t written yet. What if it was a story I’d done that never made it to the paper?”
Nash hit the mute button. “I thought you either pitched a story or your boss assigned one.”
“Most of the time, yes. There were several that I’d pitched, gotten the green light, and turned in, but for whatever the reason—not enough room, another paper had already run a similar article, or a better, more important story needed the space—the story was bumped. A couple times, they made it into another edition.”
Nash shifted so he faced her. “Whose decision was it whether it ran or not?”
“Depended on the reason. Jorge, my boss, was the conduit. According to the paper’s hierarchy, mere reporters didn’t have permission to deal direct with the decision makers in the editorial department.”
Danika saw the wheels turning in Nash’s head. “Jorge? You think Jorge is behind these attacks? I don’t believe it. He had nothing to gain by having me fired.”
“You weren’t a threat to his position?”
“Me? No way, and I wouldn’t want his job. I like the reporting, not the managerial side of things. He’s a war veteran. Double amputee. Confined to a wheelchair.”
“None of which are reasons to eliminate him,” Nash said. “What did he do in the war?”
The hairs on Danika’s arms sprang to attention. “He defused bombs.” Her mind raced. “You can’t think that because he knows the ins and outs of explosives, that he had anything to do with the bomb at the cabin?”
“From what you say, I doubt it, but we should check him out, for elimination purposes.”
Nash moved to the dining table and powered up his tablet. Danika followed, with a detour to grab a pen and notepad from the phone table. She reluctantly wrote Jorge’s name down.
“How many stories fall into this category, say in the last three months?” Nash asked.
Danika thought back, counting on mental fingers. “Three. One was going to be about a disabled veteran’s basketball league that was about helping at-risk kids. Get them off the streets, give them a safe place to hang, learn teamwork. Jorge liked it, because he was part of it, but it didn’t make the cut.
“Another one was about ethnic groups and cultural diversity. I wanted to show people that New Mexico has a much more diverse population than Hispanics, Native Americans, and African Americans. That one got canned immediately.”
“The third?” Nash asked.
“That was for a weekly series about scams and consumer fraud. Trying to keep the people, especially seniors, from falling for ruses. So many new scams are popping up, and the scammers are getting better at making them look legitimate.”
“Seems like a worthwhile project,” Nash said.
“I thought so, but Jorge said it didn’t fit my brand, that it would be better off in another section of the paper.” She fisted her hand around the papers she held. “I kept trying to break into the actual news department. I know I’m as good as any of the reporters covering those stories. Better, even. Half the time, all they do is rewrite stuff from the wire services. Phone calls. They don’t get out and talk to people.”
She ducked her head. “Sorry about the rant.”
“No apologies necessary. Passion for your job is admirable.”
“Are you passionate about your job?” she asked. “You work as little as possible—enough to make the money you need so you can continue to work as little as possible.”
Nash’s eyes went flat. “It’s a mixed bag. I need to be around for my father, even though he doesn’t know who I am. I’m still twelve in his memory. He had trouble recognizing me when I hit my early teens, and I don’t think he knows who the adult me is. My visits usually upset him, but I keep hoping—” His voice cracked.
“That one day, you’ll be his son again,” Danika said. “I understand. I have these dreams where Alexandra shows up and we go to the museum, or to a movie—not one she’s in—or out for drinks. Life rewinds to what I imagined it would have been like if she’d been a normal mom. One who acknowledged her daughter.” Her voice broke, too, and she wiped her eyes.
“Not much we can do but move forward,” she said, chin lifted. “Have you ever considered settling close to your father and being a nine-to-fiver?”
Nash shook his head. “Been there, done that. Lived and worked from home after the army so I was always with my father. Didn’t help either of us. Things work better the way they are.”
“Except you got shot.”
“I’ll heal.”
“So whatever got you shot was worth it?” she asked.
“If I didn’t think so, I’d be in another line of work.”
Would he ever tell her what had happened? Or was his high-end security job classified? Maybe she’d write Nash’s story. She wouldn’t use his name, of course, but people risking their lives to help others was always an attention-grabber.
Could she freelance under a pseudonym? What would the tabloids pay if she outed her mother?
Nope. Wasn’t going there. Ever. She’d be a Walmart greeter before she’d sell her soul—or her mother—to the tabloids.
Nash interrupted her woolgathering. “Why don’t you add the people who might have known about those three stories, and tomorrow, I can send them off to my company. Grinch said we can use his computer while he’s working. I want to go to the cabin, too. Take a look around. If the arson squad’s done, we have the green light.”
“When will you know?”
“Tomorrow, I hope. Meanwhile, if you give me names, I can start doing searches, see if I come up with anything.”
“I’ll get them onto a more decipherable list.” She paused, almost spoke, but changed her mind and went to the kitchen island to work.
She found the page where she’d been writing names in the stack of printouts, and added Jorge’s name there. To the bottom, below Hiram Begay. She’d worked with Jorge for years, had learned to read his moods. Until Nash had questioned Jorge’s motives, Danika thought she was pretty good at telling whether he was holding back. Jorge had been ... fatherly. At least what she thought a father would be like.
She glanced Nash’s way, watched him as he tapped the keyboard, using the touchscreen. Every now and then, he’d turn toward the television set, using the remote to mute or unmute stories and commercials. Would a firebomb at a local cabin be worth a minute of air time on the local news?
And maybe it was, but with television, you had to be watching to catch the stories.
Then again, they tended to repeat them ad nauseum, as if there were only four or five stories worth telling the world about. Online was better when it came to finding what you wanted.
Nash had said they’d check the cabin. Dare she hope the fire hadn’t destroyed the entire structure? That some things had survived? Like her laptop. Had her clothes been spared by being inside the washing machine?
She sucked in a breath and went back to work. Tomorrow would be here soon enough.
Assuming she’d get through the night without Nash taking over her dreams.