Washington, DC
10:07 PM Sunday, January 18
“Are you sure you don’t want to go home and get some rest?” Jack asked, entering SNAP’s office and holding the door for Brynn. “You’ve been here all day, and we can start first thing tomorrow morning.”
His thoughts went to the president’s final words. The ceremony for Wadi Basaela was scheduled for Tuesday, which meant they had less than two days to find out what Riad was investigating and whoever was behind the growing body count. “Whatever form necessary” meant they had been given the authority to intervene at all costs.
“I’m fine.” Brynn began to slip off her coat and then paused. “Unless . . .” Her eyes searched his face before moving to the couch. “If you’re tired, the couch looks comfortable. I can stay up and—”
“I can’t tell if your suggestion is genuine or a jab that I can’t keep up?” Jack tugged off his knit cap and gave her a sideways glance. “And the couch is comfortable.”
“Please tell me you have a regular coffee maker.” Walking into the kitchen, she looked over her shoulder. “I just got on Lyla’s good side and am not messing with her machine.”
There was a glimmer of amusement dancing in her eyes, and it sent a zip of energy rushing through him that had nothing to do with the urgency of their mission.
Brynn waited for his answer.
“Under the island.” Jack pulled a bag of Kona coffee from a cabinet next to the fridge. “Kekoa’s mom sent this over. White chocolate macadamia. Is that okay?”
“Perfect.” Brynn filled the coffeepot with water, and Jack heard her stomach grumble. She blushed. “Sorry.”
Jack opened the fridge and spotted his mom’s Tupperware container. He pulled it out and held it up for Brynn. “My mom’s ravioli?”
“Yes, please.” Brynn’s eyes lit up, and she grabbed for it. “How did Kekoa miss this?”
He held up a sticky note with his handwriting on it. “I labeled it tofu ravioli. Apparently there are some things Kekoa won’t eat.”
Brynn’s laughter mingled with the aroma of the brewing coffee and his mama’s ravioli, and his mind wandered into risky territory. Imagining this moment ever so differently, the two of them working an assignment late into the evening with nothing but leftover Italian food and the current of attraction spreading between them . . .
“You ready?”
Jack blinked, his gaze focusing on Brynn standing in front of him, two plates in her hand. “Yeah.”
Grabbing their cups of coffee she had poured while he’d been lost in his daydream, he followed her into the fulcrum.
“Do you want to eat first or . . .” She set their food on the conference table. “Eat and work?”
Brynn’s unwavering focus on the assignment was the cold shower his thoughts needed. Jack might’ve been enjoying exploring his attraction to Brynn, but it was clear where her thoughts were. It would serve him, and his heart, well to do the same. Especially since not even a few hours ago, she’d barely look at him much less speak to him. He’d been hoping to explain about Amy, but the day hadn’t gone at all as expected.
“We can work while we eat.” He set the cups down and moved to the whiteboard with their notes on it. He rolled it to the conference table, catching Brynn with a mouthful of ravioli.
“Sorry, I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”
“Eat up.” He smiled. “My mama would kiss you on both cheeks seeing you enjoy her food.”
“She can cook for me anytime she wants,” Brynn said around another bite. “Takeout and microwave dinners get old real fast.”
Jack’s mind threatened to go back to his imaginary scenario. Him. Brynn. Dinner. Late nights . . . He shook his head, reining in the squeeze of longing growing stronger. He looked over the board filled with their writing and notes taped up next to photos of Riad, the immigrants. Ansari. “I think we should start fresh.”
“Good idea.”
He pulled over a clean acrylic board and grabbed some markers. “Let’s start from the beginning.”
Brynn wiped her mouth and grabbed for the marker, but he stopped her.
“You eat, I’ll write.”
“But yours will get cold.”
“We’ll take turns.”
“I won’t argue with that.” She smiled appreciatively and took another bite.
For the next hour or so, in between pausing to finish the last of their dinners and for Jack to refill their coffees, they laid out the facts of their assignment along with a list of unknowns. The latter being the longer of the two and the most troubling given President Allen’s trip.
Jack respected the president’s mission, but he couldn’t help agreeing with the NSA. The worn lines of stress marking Doug Martin’s face weren’t there for nothing. The responsibility of protecting the nation and the American president from known threats was daunting, but having to predict, plan, and forecast unknown threats was unnerving.
There was no way to catch everything.
Brynn pulled her hair out of a bun, letting the long blonde strands fall over her shoulders. “Riley couldn’t find a connection between Seif El-Deeb and Tarek Gamal. They lived in different cities in Egypt. They attended different mosques. There’s nothing to indicate their paths would’ve crossed.” She ran her fingers through her hair, the movement bringing the soft scent of her floral shampoo to his nose. “And the security footage Kekoa pulled from Dulles airport shows them entering customs on two different days.”
“At some point, these two ended up at the farmhouse in Clifton.” Jack searched through the paperwork. “Do we know who owns the house?”
“The home belonged to an elderly couple who died in the eighties. The children hung on to the property but recently sold it to an investment company, which appears to be a front.”
Jack scratched the scruff on his chin. “The perfect place to hide illegal immigrants.”
“Or traffic them.” Her tired gaze met his.
“Maybe we should call it a night.”
“No, I’m all right.” She straightened in her chair. “You heard the president. We owe it to Riad to find out what’s going on.”
Jack studied the exhaustion tugging on Brynn’s features. Was this what she did? Poured herself into every assignment? Except for the silent car ride to the White House, Brynn hadn’t reacted to Riad’s death. Was it her ability to separate herself emotionally that made her better suited for the CIA than him? Where was the balance?
On the days when chemo had ravaged his body, the last thing he’d wanted was people in his home, caring for him, but it was the very thing he’d needed. Who was taking care of Brynn?
“It still doesn’t make sense.” Brynn drained the last of her coffee. “Why would someone kill El-Deeb and Gamal and leave the other two alive?”
Jack released a sigh. Brynn was like the Energizer Bunny. “I don’t know. And we still don’t know what the connection is to Joseph Ansari, if there’s one at all.”
“Besides me.” Brynn twisted her hair back into a bun but stopped, her eyes widening at something over his shoulder. “It’s so pretty.”
Jack followed her gaze to the panoramic windows on the south side of the building, facing the Capitol. Large, white flakes rushed past the windows, making it feel like they were in a snow globe.
Brynn walked to the window and pressed her palms to the glass, her expression awestruck and full of wonder—beautiful. Jack couldn’t believe how quickly the old feelings he carried for her rushed back. But the truth, he was beginning to see, was that those feelings had never really left.
“Brynn, about last night.”
“It’s fine, Jack.” She faced him. “It would be stupid to think our history wouldn’t come back up, but you’ve got a girlfriend and we’ve got a job to do.”
“Amy’s not my girlfriend. Or isn’t anymore. We sort of broke up.”
“Sort of?” Brynn looked at him, nose wrinkled. “How do you sort of break up with someone?”
“We weren’t technically going out. It’s a long story, beginning with Lyla trying to set me up with the one person who loves her job as much as maybe you do.” The space between Brynn’s brows crinkled. “What I mean is, Amy and I never really became anything more than the other’s plus-one for events or dinner companion when she was in town. Not a lot there to break up, ya know?”
“I’m sorry.” Her words were tender and genuine. A twinge of anticipation hummed inside of his chest at the transparency in her blue eyes. Until they shifted to that familiar look of detachment. “So, should we look further into Joseph Ansari? His background? His connections at the mosque?”
The sudden jump back to work jarred him. A thousand memories crashed over him from their time at the Farm, bringing a flood of emotions ranging from bitterness to anger to confusion and twisting his heart like a dishrag, because even in the pain he couldn’t stop loving her.
“Brynn—”
“Jack . . .” Brynn faced him, putting her inches away.
A bright light blinded Jack, startling him backward and away from Brynn. He blinked, but it took several seconds for his eyes to adjust to the fluorescent lights shining down on them and highlighting the blush on Brynn’s cheeks.
“Brah, you said it was tofu ravi—” Kekoa walked into the fulcrum and then stopped. His wide eyes bounced between Brynn and Jack for several seconds before he realized he must’ve interrupted something. “I’m just gonna”—he took a few steps backward, hands in the air—“let you two get back—”
“We’re just going over the case notes again.” Brynn walked to their board and studied it. “Trying to figure out what we’re missing.”
“I thought you were done for the night?” Jack asked Kekoa. There was no disguising the frustration in his voice, but given Brynn’s reaction earlier, the moment—his chance to explain or figure out where they stood with each other—was gone.
“I was.” He lifted the laptop messenger bag slung across his chest. “But I think I figured out a program that might be able to hack Riad’s laptop.”
“You did?”
Brynn began walking toward Kekoa, renewed energy in her posture even as it left Jack feeling the distance he remembered from eight years ago. After their conversation last night, he’d allowed himself to believe maybe she had changed. That the attraction he’d been feeling for Brynn wasn’t one-sided. Or was it?
Unfortunately, that question wasn’t going to be answered tonight. Jack followed Brynn as Kekoa led them into his cybersanctuary. The hum of computers buzzed around them, and a cool blue light underlit the perimeter of the room, giving it a gamer vibe—except for the tens of thousands of dollars in technology.
Kekoa spun in the computer chair and faced a long workstation with several computers and screens on it. He plugged a wire into his laptop and connected it to another one, which Jack assumed was Riad’s.
“Do we want to know what you’re doing?”
Kekoa shrugged. “I doubt you’d understand anything I said even if I tried to explain it to you.”
Brynn smiled, her amused gaze flashing to Jack’s for a second.
“That’s fair,” Jack conceded. “But if you’re about to hack into Egypt’s intel server, an explanation will be required.”
Kekoa twisted in his chair, stretched his arms in front of him, and popped his knuckles. Pride emanated from his grin. “If?”
“You did it?” Jack leaned forward, focusing on the random numbers filling the screen and not on Brynn’s closeness as she also moved in. “What’s it doing?”
“Coding,” Brynn and Kekoa answered at the same time.
“Can you decode it?” Brynn asked
“Sistah, that’s the easy part.” Kekoa faced the computer again and began typing. “It’s breaching the firewalls that are killah.”
“Sounds like a long night.” Jack turned to Brynn. “You should probably go home and get a few hours of rest.”
“I’m not tired.” But the exhaustion coloring the skin beneath her eyes and the yawn she couldn’t stifle said otherwise. “I want to be here if he finds something.”
“And unless she’s got her snowshoes on, she’s not going anywhere.” Kekoa shook his head. “Roads are packed. Metro’s closed. It’s Snowmageddon out there.”
“Guess I’ll get to test that couch of yours.” Brynn yawned again. “Come get me immediately if you find something, Kekoa.”
“Shootz, sis, I got you.”
“Kekoa, make sure you don’t bother us for the next few hours.” He eyed Brynn. “We don’t know what he’ll find or when he’ll find it, but we both need to be rested when he does.” He pointed down the hall. “The couch turns into a sleeper. There are blankets and a pillow in the chest by the wall.”
“Good night, boys.” Passing him on the way to the front living space, Brynn gave him a glance he could not decipher—much like the feelings swimming in his chest.
“Good night, Brynn.”
Kekoa looked over his shoulder in the direction Brynn had left and then up to Jack. “Brah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I didn’t know you and Brynn were—”
“We’re not,” Jack said, not even sure how to explain what Kekoa walked in on. “I’m going to rest my eyes on the couch in Walsh’s office.”
“Sure, boss.”
Jack left Kekoa to his task but not before he heard the Hawaiian’s abysmal attempt at whistling the theme song to The Love Boat.