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Jaia added the spice mixture to the heating pot and shook it around to toast everything evenly, releasing the heady, blended fragrance of cinnamon, cardamom, cloves, and black peppercorns into the air. A rich, complex scent that always made her think of her mother.
Authentic Masala Chai took some effort, but it was worth it, and nothing else tasted quite right to her.
The water came next. Once it was at a simmer, she grated a small knob of fresh ginger into the pot, then added the loose-leaf tea and sugar. As soon as the mixture came to a boil, she added the milk and turned the heat back up.
Once it began boiling again, she turned off the burner and covered it with a lid to steep while she gathered her strainer and favorite earthenware mug from the cupboard. When all was ready, she strained the creamy liquid gold into her mug and lifted it to her nose, closing her eyes as she inhaled the fragrant steam.
This was her most cherished morning ritual. One sip and she was transported back in time to her childhood in Delhi when she, Sukhi and their mother had lived there together. Warm memories flooded back. A sense of peace stealing over her for a few precious moments.
A telltale beep from the next room made her eyes spring open. She lowered the mug to the counter, the tea suddenly turning sour and acidic in her stomach as she strode for her office.
Her computer screen showed a new conversation going on in her boss’s car. Without even checking she knew Lawrence was the other speaker. The two of them were headed to a secret location to meet with people Jaia was desperate to know the names of. Maybe then she could start to crack open this risky investigation she’d started.
She sat and put on her headphones. The feed was clearer this morning now that the storm was over. There was faint music on in the background, but the voices were easier to hear.
“Who else knows?” Lawrence.
“We’re not sure. That whole mess with the Ayers woman in Oregon created a total shit show,” Robert said.
Beth Ayers. Disgruntled former employee of a law firm representing Graystone. She had been killed in a shootout in the woods on the coast after murdering two of her bosses and attempting to kill a former coworker—Kerrigan Whitaker. Who happened to be the sister of the man Jaia had reached out to anonymously with evidence connecting the law firm to Graystone.
“How much did the Feds find on her hard drive?” Lawrence asked.
“No idea, but anything is too much. We’re no longer involved with that firm, and we’ve taken every precaution on our end to sanitize the situation, but there’s a chance some of it leaked.”
“And what about the Yemen POW?”
Jaia’s attention sharped. They hadn’t said his name, but she knew exactly who they meant.
“I’ve seen the statement he gave in the debriefing after his rescue,” said Robert. “He knows too much. He hasn’t gone public with anything yet, but he’s been talking to some of the guys.”
“Yeah, but they’re not talking to him.”
“Because they know better,” Lawrence said hotly. “With the amount of heat we’ve already taken, we can’t afford any more fuck ups.” Lawrence paused. “You know what has to happen.”
Jaia frowned, aware of a faint prickle at the base of her neck as his possible meaning registered. No. No way.
A beat of silence passed. “It’s too big a risk,” Robert said. “We can’t.”
“We have to, and you know it as well as I do,” Lawrence snapped. “I assume you’ve found out where he is?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Only question is, who to send. Who’ve we got the most leverage on?”
She made a sound of mingled shock and disgust and kept listening, her heart beating faster. This was unbelievable.
“I’ve got someone,” Robert said. “When do you want this done?”
“A-fucking-SAP.”
“All right. I’ll get it rolling as soon as we get to the meeting point and let you know.”
Lawrence grunted. Something crinkled in the background. “Pull over up ahead, will you? I need to take a piss.”
Jaia stared at the transcribed dialogue on screen before her, a strange roaring filling her ears and revulsion making her skin crawl. Lawrence had just casually ordered a hit on an innocent man to cover up his company’s evil deeds, and her boss had agreed. Not only that, it sounded like this op was going to happen.
She forced herself to keep listening to the remainder of the trip to the meeting site, though neither man said anything else useful. Instead, they were talking about golf and their latest weapons purchases for the company, some of which they were keeping for themselves.
She set the headphones down, anxiety humming like a live wire inside her. It seemed unbelievable that they would have discussed something like that so openly together. They had used semi-coded language, not mentioning names or saying it out loud. Yet there was no way she had misunderstood their meaning. Unless...
Unless someone had found the bug she’d planted and said all that to set her up.
“Shit,” she whispered under her breath as she got up and accessed the hiding spot beneath a loose floorboard beneath the rug. Three burner phones were inside it.
She took one out, turned it on and brought up Brandon Whitaker’s information. Everything she had compiled about him, including images and clippings of articles after he’d been brought home to the States from Yemen.
He’d barely escaped the country with his life. Now two of his own countrymen were potentially about to initiate his murder.
She rubbed at the center of her forehead, trying to see every angle of the situation. Think, Jaia, think. Was it a trap? Had Lawrence and her boss known she was listening in and were about to spring a trap on her too?
She pulled up Brandon’s cell number, hesitating. What if she was wrong? If she warned him, he would alert the police and probably the FBI. Lawrence and her boss would be called in for questioning at the very least. They would know someone had leaked the intel and begin their own internal investigation.
No. She set the phone down in her lap, forced herself to slow down and think this through more. She couldn’t afford to make a rash decision here. She had to be sure.
And the only way to do that was to wait a little longer and keep listening in.
****
Val cupped his hands around his mouth to call out over the noise of the other game happening across the park. “Nice job, buddy! Way to go.”
His ten-year-old son grinned at him from second base and tipped up the brim of his batting helmet. They’d been working on his swing for a few weeks now in preparation for this weekend’s tryouts, and an RBI double was bound to impress the coaches.
After the game finished, Kev came barreling out of the dugout, an ecstatic smile on his face. “Did you see how hard I hit that, Dad?”
“Sure did. Proud of you, buddy.” They bumped fists, and Val pulled him into a one-armed hug before turning him and heading for the truck. “Got time for an ice cream stop before I drop you off?”
Kev’s face fell. “Oh. Mom’s picking me up here because we have to go to dinner at Gran and Gramp’s.”
He clenched his jaw in irritation. “She didn’t tell me.”
“I was supposed to, but I forgot. Was too focused on the tryouts, I guess.”
“It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine, but there was sweet fuck all he could do about it now. His time with his son was precious, but his ex didn’t seem to care.
The sharp beep of a horn came from the road. His ex had pulled up in the no-stopping zone and was gesturing for Kev to hurry.
“I gotta go,” Kev said, sounding apologetic.
“Sure. Call you later, okay? Maybe we can do a bit more BP before the practice Thursday.”
His son’s face lit up. “Yeah, cool. See ya, Dad.”
“Bye.” It was a uniquely helpless feeling, standing there watching his kid leave.
Joint custody sucked, especially when it wasn’t equal and the other party allowed zero leeway in the schedule. She got Kev seventy percent of the time, and Val got him the other thirty. Sometimes less, depending on his work schedule. And not at all when he was deployed.
He waited until Kev got in and buckled up, raised a hand in farewell. Kev waved back, but his ex completely ignored him. That pissed him off too. Would it kill her to at least try to be civil? They had to raise a son together. For Kev’s sake it would be so much easier if they could get along.
Everywhere he looked, he saw other dads with their kids. Family units going about their business, their lives still blissfully intact without any idea of how fragile and fleeting it all was.
After what happened in Yemen, Val couldn’t meet their eyes.
Shame and that acidic, corrosive guilt ate at him as he walked back to his truck, his depression made worse by knowing he had no one to blame for his present circumstance but himself. All those years he’d thought he was doing the right thing by taking deployment after deployment, making bank and then socking it away for retirement...it was all bullshit.
His job had cost him his marriage, and he’d lost half of everything he’d built in the divorce. Since then, he’d pieced together an income by taking small contracts here and there, no longer interested in doing overseas deployments because it meant missing time with Kev.
And anyway, what had happened during his final stint in Yemen was enough to cure him of ever signing up for that shit ever again.
He’d just reached for the ignition button when his phone started ringing. He pulled it out, frowned when he saw the number of a work contact. “Hey,” he answered.
“You busy?”
He adjusted the brim of his ball cap and continued sizing up the people walking to and from the parking lot out of habit. “No.” He hadn’t been busy in a long damn time.
“Got a job for you.”
“Where and for how long?”
“Short. One-time deal. Few days at most, here in the US.”
That sounded a hell of a lot better than most of what he’d been offered lately. “Personal protection?”
“No. Bosses want something wrapped up.”
He stilled, cold spreading through his gut. A hit. On someone here on American soil. “Not interested.” Not for any amount of money. Not after everything else.
“They want you, Val. The order’s specific.”
He lowered his free hand to his thigh, fingers clenching into a fist. “So it’s an order?”
“Yeah.”
Icy tendrils of fear began to twine up his spine. He understood what it meant. Everything his contact wasn’t saying.
Still no. “Like I said, I’m not interested.” He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, suddenly feeling queasy. What would his son think if he knew his dad was the sort of guy people called when they wanted someone eliminated?
He wasn’t that man anymore, and never would be again.
Anger punched through him as he started the truck and drove home. His one-bedroom apartment was still and silent, amplifying his sense of isolation.
His phone buzzed. He reached for it, saw he’d missed half a dozen texts on the drive here.
And what they said chilled him to his marrow.
Blackmail. The motherfuckers knew what he’d done. What he’d allowed to happen. They had it all documented. Were throwing it back in his face now with pictures he would give anything to be able to erase from his mind.
But the last one. The last one made him suck in a breath, every muscle in his body pulling tight as a cable about to snap.
A picture of Kev in his uniform, taken today. The bastards had been there at the park, watching him. Waiting. Getting ready to squeeze him until he broke.
Hell of a hit today. Talented kid. Be a shame if he didn’t get to grow into his full potential.
His resolve crumbled, his insides turning to water as panic spurted, hot and terrifying.
He knew. Knew there were guys around that were so depraved, morally bankrupt and mentally fucked up that they would be willing to kill a child for the right amount of money. Knew that threat wasn’t necessarily idle if Val didn’t do what they wanted. Rather than hiring one of them, they wanted him.
He had no clue why. And it didn’t much matter at this point.
Refusing this job wasn’t a risk he was willing to take. He had no one to turn to with this. Not the FBI. No one in the military. Because he was already in too deep, and too compromised.
Kev’s life was worth a thousand of his. And Val would protect his son with his final breath.
He clenched the phone hard enough to turn his fingers white, took a slow, measured breath before calling his contact back and raising the phone to his ear.
“It’s not personal,” the guy said, as if that made it all better and they hadn’t just threatened his son’s life. “It’s business.”
“Fuck you,” he snapped, aching to put his fist through the bastard’s face. “Just send me the goddamn details.”
