Washington, DC
7:59 AM Thursday, January 15
Ms. Taylor. Jack hadn’t called her by her first name or even slipped up and called her by her nickname. He’d called her Ms. Taylor like it was a reminder that their relationship was professional and she had no right to call him out in front of his colleagues.
Brynn had tossed and turned all night, wondering if she should call him and apologize or send him a text. Then she realized she didn’t actually have Jack’s cell phone number. But her mind kept imagining the conversation anyway.
Stepping out of the elevator on the eighth floor of the Acacia Building, she shifted the bag of breakfast tacos in her hand. An offering she hoped would convey the apology she owed Jack and everyone else. And maybe she was trying to win the team over.
Does that include Jack?
Brynn sighed and pressed the call button on the security panel by the door of SNAP’s office. It had only been twenty-four hours. One day. How had Jack gotten to her so fast?
The door swung open and Kekoa stood there, dark curls spilling over his shoulders, eyebrows wiggling to the same rhythm as his bouncing shoulders as he danced to . . . no music at all.
“Aloooooha!” He smiled.
Behind Kekoa’s bebopping form, Brynn managed to get a glimpse of Lyla shaking her head and Garcia frowning.
“Uh, aloha.” A flutter of nerves hit Brynn’s middle. “I brought breakfast tacos.”
Kekoa stepped aside and rolled his fists over one another, hips swaying as he backed farther into the room. “You see, Lyla. Feed the men in your life, and they’ll make you a wife.”
Garcia cringed as Lyla’s eyes bulged.
“Excuse me?” She yanked her cell phone from the pocket of her frayed jeans and held it to her ear. “Uh, yes, 1950s, we found your Neanderthal.”
“I’m joking.” Kekoa stopped his spastic dancing and smiled. “You know I love me a hard-working wahine who can do it all. Like my mama.”
Brynn stepped into the modern living room and kitchen that anywhere else in DC was nice enough to be in someone’s home. Jack’s words from the day before rushed back. Was this space designed with that in mind, the expectation being that the team would spend more hours here than in their own homes? She knew a thing or two about long hours, and Jack’s comment about life outside the office had stung. Still stung.
Jack entered the kitchen. “Good morning.”
“Morning.” The twinge humming in Brynn’s stomach all morning picked up, its beat almost as erratic as Kekoa’s dance moves. She dropped her attention to the buttons on her coat in an attempt to buy her face some time to cool down. The downfall of being fair-skinned was the alert system her cheeks revealed.
“Brah, you really need to talk to Walsh about recruiting Brynn to our side.”
She looked up at Kekoa, who was pouring salsa into his taco. He winked at her. Her gaze moved to Jack. He was watching her with those brown eyes that always seemed to read into her soul. She offered a timid smile, and when he returned it, it was like a kick start to her pulse.
“Coffee?” Jack asked Brynn as he started to walk around the island. “I can make you a latte or cap—”
“Stop right there, Jack.” Lyla stepped in front of him, waving a finger in his face. “Don’t you touch the machine.”
Jack stepped back with his hands raised, a playful grin lighting his face, and Brynn’s cheeks warmed again. She knew that look . . . at one time loved that look. At least when it was directed at her.
“Fine.” He backed away. “I wasn’t going to touch your precious machine anyway . . . unlike Garcia.”
Lyla spun on her heels, her gaze zeroed in on Garcia, who seemed to shrink a little. “Nicolás Garcia, do I hop on to Kekoa’s computers and check my social media?” Kekoa looked at Lyla, amusement mixed with alarm all over his face, which Lyla ignored. “Do I tell Jack how to do his job even if I have concerns?” Brynn stiffened. “Do you see me playing with bombs or weapons even though I’ve been begging you to take me to the shooting range?”
Kekoa made a face. “I really hope you don’t want to play with bombs.”
“All I’m saying is”—she walked over to the built-in coffee machine and ran her hand along the stainless-steel front, the black display lighting up at her touch—“I don’t step into your world of expertise. Don’t step into mine.”
There was a touch of hurt in Garcia’s eyes, but a shake of his head cleared it. “Whatever happened to a regular machine making a regular cup of joe?”
“You’re not in the desert anymore, soldier.” Lyla winked at Garcia. “You get the good stuff here. Now, what can I make you?”
“Coffee. Black.”
Jack and Kekoa laughed. Lyla gave an exaggerated eye roll at Garcia, followed up with a wink that had him quickly averting his gaze. Brynn slipped out of her coat and set it on the couch with her purse. Taking the stool Garcia offered, she couldn’t help but appreciate the camaraderie among the team. It wasn’t only the comfort of the space that made this place feel like a home—it was the people standing around the kitchen island. Jack’s team. It was so different from the CIA. Most officers at the agency preferred to keep their work life separate from their personal life.
Not that she minded, really. It kept her busy and focused and fulfilled. But glancing around the room, that last part didn’t feel true anymore.
“I’ll take an Americano. Brynn”—Jack glanced over at her—“vanilla latte?”
“Yes.” She looked at Lyla. “Is that okay?”
Lyla pressed the touch screen and the sound of coffee beans grinding filled the room. She leaned a hip against the counter. “I can pretty much make anything.”
It felt a little like a challenge, but Brynn wouldn’t engage. “A vanilla latte would be great, thanks.”
As Lyla turned and grabbed some mugs, Jack pulled out the stool on the other side of Brynn and reached for a wrapped breakfast taco.
“You don’t have to keep bringing us food—”
“Eh.” Kekoa arched a brow at Jack. “Speak for yourself, brah.” He pointed a thumb at Garcia. “I’m living with Captain Turkey Burger, remember? His refrigerator is like that weird aisle at Whole Foods.” Kekoa shuddered before glancing back at Lyla. “You’ll be my favorite wahine if you find me a new place ASAP.”
“Working on it.”
Jack’s cell phone rang, and he set down his taco and stepped away to answer the call.
Kekoa picked up his second taco and smiled at Brynn. “Mahalo.”
“You’re welcome. Any progress on Riad’s laptop?”
Doubt crept across Kekoa’s eyes for a second before a determined look settled into the roundness of his face. “Nope. Encryption is different than I’m used to, but I’ll get it.”
Jack walked back in. “Lyla, can you make our coffee to go, please?”
“No.” Jack tilted his chin at Garcia. “We are.”
Her shoulders fell, watching Garcia rise and grab his coat. No questions asked. Indignation filled her chest. “Where are you going?” Was Jack punishing her? “Does this have to do with Riad?”
“It doesn’t have anything to do with Riad.” Jack slipped on his coat. “Garcia and I are needed elsewhere.”
“Oh.” His tone wasn’t harsh, but she couldn’t help feeling embarrassed.
“You and Lyla can work together while Kekoa continues to work on the laptop.”
“Oh.” Her eyes flashed to Lyla, who stood watching, expression full of amused curiosity. Great. It probably sounded like she didn’t trust Lyla, which wasn’t the case. “That should be fine.”
Lyla handed Garcia and Jack two to-go cups along with a look Brynn read as “Are you seriously leaving me with her?” Brynn worked to fight the exhale of frustration growing in her lungs. Why did it matter if she worked with Lyla instead of Jack? The fluttering in her stomach held her answer. She wanted to work with Jack today.
Jack and Garcia, with coats and coffees in hand, walked out. Lyla turned on her. “Looks like it’s just the three of us.”
Brynn’s phone rang. She glanced down at the screen, expecting it to be Olivia, but the random digits triggered a quick response. She stepped away from the island and answered.
“This is Brynn Taylor.”
“Brynn, it’s Joel Riley.” His voice echoed. “Can you talk?”
A nervous energy pulsed through her, and she glanced over at Lyla, who was working on their coffees, and Kekoa, who was working on his taco. Not knowing what Riley was going to share, she decided to step into the fulcrum. “Yes.”
“I spoke to our assets here in Egypt, and there’s nothing to indicate Riad had an agenda other than attending the DI-AC program. His relative . . . connected with the Brotherhood died eight months ago . . . there’s no indication any communication . . . passed between him and Riad . . . over thirty years. However”—the lag in the call caused Brynn to pointlessly press the phone closer to her ear—“a friend of Riad contacted him a few months . . . wanted him to check on his son . . . America . . . a student . . . Moustafa . . .”
The phone went quiet, and Brynn quickly pulled it away from her ear to make sure the call hadn’t disconnected. “Joel?”
“Sorry.” His voice sounded a little clearer. “We’re getting closer to Cairo. Moustafa Ali. He’s a sophomore at George Mason University. His parents hadn’t heard from him in a couple of weeks and wanted Riad to check on him.”
Brynn chewed on her lower lip. If what Joel had learned was true, then it turned her suspicion back on its head. Riad checking on the son of a family friend sounded more in line with his character. Maybe that was the favor he’d needed?
“Do you have anything else?”
“May have . . . more . . . but . . .”
“Joel, you’re breaking up again.”
“I’ll call . . . more . . . bye.”
Brynn checked the phone and confirmed the call had ended. Frustration nipped at her nerves as she stepped back into the kitchen and met Lyla’s suspicious stare.
“Everything okay?”
Under any other circumstances, Brynn would not be allowed to disclose details about CIA cases, but this was different. She couldn’t pursue any leads stateside without SNAP, which meant she needed them to help her.
“That was my colleague Joel Riley. The one in Egypt. Riad was asked by a family friend to check on their son. Moustafa Ali. He’s a student at George Mason.”
“GMU is in Fairfax.” The hissing of the milk frother nearly drowned out Lyla’s comment. “Might be why Riad was at the shopping center.”
“If he was meeting this Moustafa guy there,” Kekoa said around the last bite of his breakfast taco, “he could be the other person in the video.”
It made sense but didn’t explain why Riad would take off and not explain the situation. Brynn reserved the pinch of hope that maybe they had a viable lead.
“Let’s call George Mason and find out about him, shall we?” Lyla picked up her cell phone and tapped a few things before finally setting the phone on the island, a ringing noise echoing around them.
Brynn chewed her nail, anxious for something in this case to go the right way. Unfortunately, after two more rings a voice mail message told them the George Mason University offices were running on a holiday schedule and wouldn’t be opening for another hour.
“We’ll keep trying,” Lyla offered before handing Brynn her coffee. “What do you want to do next?”
Is Lyla asking me? Lyla widened her blue-green eyes at Brynn expectantly. Biting the inside of her lip, Brynn thought over the new information. “If Riad was looking for Moustafa, then we have a couple of options. He could, like Kekoa suggested, have gone to the shopping center to meet up with him and that’s the other person in the video.”
“And if it’s not?” Lyla sipped her coffee. “Riad is a foreign spy on the run. If he did find his friend’s son, why would he take off? Seems a little suspicious to me.”
Brynn didn’t appreciate Lyla’s accusatory tone, but she wasn’t wrong and that was a troubling and irksome truth. She turned to Kekoa. “Can you send us the GPS location for the area Riad traveled to in Clifton?”
“Sure,” Kekoa answered hesitantly. “Why?”
Turning to Lyla, Brynn asked, “You up for a field trip?”