Off Course, page 8
Evan shook his head. Kaye adored Carly. So did Evan. She was always welcome at their house.
“Of course not.”
“She’s a lifesaver.”
“You want some coffee for the road?”
“I didn’t mean to get you out of bed,” she said quickly. “I just didn’t want to leave without telling you. The girls were up until a little after one, so I’m sure they’ll sleep for a while. You should—”
“I’m up,” he said, pushing to his feet.
Becs’s eyes raked down his entire body, from his neck to his toes.
“Honey,” he said smoothly, “if I’m expected to be a gentleman, you’ll have to stop looking at me like that.”
Her lips parted with a gasp, her eyes shifting to his face. “I’m so sorry.”
He chuckled softly. “Don’t apologize. I’m not complaining. But…” He gestured toward the door.
She nodded curtly. “Right. Coffee. I’ll get it started.”
With that, she darted out of his bedroom.
Evan stared after her for several seconds before his feet got with the program. He ignored his eager cock, hoping the damn thing hadn’t started tenting his shorts until after she left.
***
An hour after Z had woken him up, after Brantley called JJ, unwilling to risk her not seeing a text message, and after a shower with Reese that lasted as long as the hot water did, Brantley was in the kitchen waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.
Reese was pulling eggs and bacon from the refrigerator, getting to work as he always did on Sunday morning. It didn’t matter that they had a case or would likely be on the road in a matter of hours; this was Reese’s way of creating some semblance of stability in their routine. Although Brantley had been driven by routine early in his military career, that had shifted when he joined the Teams. For the last several years of his career in the Navy, it had been lacking in his life. He figured that was the reason he’d begun to appreciate the sense of normalcy it provided.
While Reese worked at the stove, Brantley prepared Tesha’s food, delivering the bowl to her. While she chowed down, he rinsed and filled her water bowl. She was so focused on eating that Brantley heard the sound of footsteps outside before she did.
Clearly sensing there was no threat, Tesha let out a soft bark, sparing only a few seconds on the back door before it finally opened.
Baz was there, stepping out of the way so JJ could come inside.
“Are you wearin’ pajamas?” Brantley asked, staring at her long cotton pants, which had clouds all over them.
“Shut it,” she groused. “They’re comfortable.”
Brantley’s gaze snapped to Baz. He shrugged, a silent confirmation that, yes, he’d noticed that JJ wasn’t her usual chipper self this morning, too.
“I’m makin’ breakfast,” Reese said. “You two want some?”
“I’ll never turn down bacon,” JJ told him, pulling out a stool at the island. “Especially not when you’re cookin’ it.”
Baz nodded in agreement, and Reese went to work doubling the amount.
“Since you dragged me outta bed on a Sunday, this better be a damn good case,” JJ said, accepting the juice Brantley passed over to her.
“Might I remind you, this is your fault,” he quipped.
“Mine?” She frowned, glancing between the three of them. “How’s that?”
“You jinxed us,” Reese said without looking up from the skillet.
“He’s right,” Baz chimed in.
“Y’all are idiots,” she muttered. “What’s the case?”
Brantley shrugged. “Z said to get the team together. All I know is it’s not local.”
JJ sighed. “Don’t tell me he’s gonna have us playin’ bounty hunters again.”
Brantley grinned.
“The last time your brother”—JJ pointed a finger at Reese—“wanted us to help, he had us chasin’ a man up and down the I-35 corridor between here and Dallas.”
She wasn’t wrong. They’d been in pursuit of Tobias Land, affectionately known as Uncle Toby to Reese and his brother Z. For a guy who was a bit off his rocker, Toby had given them a run for their money. And that was before he’d kidnapped Reese’s mother.
“Well, if he plans to put us to work, he better remember you’ve got your tux fittings on the fifteenth. I pushed it out as far as I could. Whatever this is, better not take more than a week.”
Brantley practically had the day burned into his brain since JJ had been reminding them of it for the past month. As had been the case with everything JJ had needed them to address, it was a big deal and would require the presence of their mothers. Brantley had no idea why, but he’d stopped asking questions. His intention was to show up at the wedding and marry the love of his life. If his mother insisted on picking out his tie, he didn’t care.
“I figure there’s only one way to find out,” Reese said, pointing his spatula toward Brantley’s phone.
He was right.
Brantley dialed Z’s number and put the phone on speaker.
“About damn time.”
“You said an hour and a half. It’s been—” Brantley looked at the clock.
“Seventy-seven minutes,” Z chimed in.
“Still less than ninety,” Brantley countered. “I’ve got JJ, Baz, and Reese here. Tell us what’s goin’ on.”
“Mornin’,” Z said with that slow drawl that was eerily similar to his brothers. “One of our agents and the client he’s assigned to have gone missin’.”
Brantley stood tall, all teasing falling away as he waited for Z to continue. If the guy had mentioned that earlier, they could’ve been on the road by now.
“At the family’s request, we assigned an agent to keep an eye on a New York socialite. I’ve received daily updates for the past three weeks without a missed check-in. Four days ago, that stopped. I gave it a day before I got worried. On the second day, I sent one of the local agents to look for him. No luck. That’s where y’all come in. The jet’s on its way to you, and I need at least four of you on it when it gets there.”
Brantley hadn’t worked for Sniper 1 Security for long, but he knew the agents were kept to a strict check-in policy. The rule was every twelve hours, and if they hadn’t heard from him in four days, he’d missed eight check-ins.
“You know for a fact they’re in New York?” Brantley asked, glancing between the faces watching him closely.
“At last check-in, they were.”
“Four days ago? With that amount of time, they could be anywhere, Z.”
“Are you opposed to gettin’ on the damn plane, Walker?”
Brantley rarely heard Z get angry or frustrated, and it was apparent he was both. “Who’s the agent?”
Z sighed. “It’s Deck, Brantley.”
Frowning, Brantley looked at Reese for confirmation. Decker Bromwell had worked for the task force since the end of last year, but Sniper 1 had recently requested him to return temporarily. Brantley hadn’t been given any details about his assignment, nor had he asked.
Reese’s shrug told him it was news to him, too.
“This isn’t the first time Deck’s done this,” Reese said, his tone hard. “The guy’s not exactly known for followin’ the rules.”
Brantley was surprised by Reese’s vehemence. Although RT and Z had been the ones to suggest they bring Deck onto the task force, Brantley hadn’t seen any signs that the guy was anything but dedicated. Sure, he was more of a boots-on-the-ground kind of guy, but when they needed him to step in, he did.
“This time’s different, Reese.”
Reese looked up for the first time and met Brantley’s gaze as he spoke to his brother. “What aren’t you tellin’ us, Z? Who’s the client?”
“I take it they’re not the ordinary socialite?” Brantley stated.
Z sighed heavily. “No. She’s very high profile.”
Brantley noticed the curiosity on JJ’s face. She stirred her hand in his direction, urging him to ask.
“Who?”
“Saoirse Kavanagh.”
“Holy shit,” JJ muttered, clearly not meaning to speak loud enough for Z to hear her.
He did.
“I echo that sentiment, JJ. If you haven’t heard of her, you’ve been livin’ under a rock.”
Brantley didn’t bother admitting his residences tended to be under rocks. He had no idea who she was or why she was famous.
JJ noticed his confusion because she attempted to fill in the blanks. “Saoirse Kavanagh is the youngest of the Kavanagh siblings. The very same siblings who hold the reins to Kavanagh Holdings Group. They’re a titan in the investment and insurance world, with headquarters in Dublin, Ireland, as well as New York. The Kavanagh siblings are the only family members who reside in the US.”
“Why’d they ask for protective detail specifically?” Brantley inquired. “If they’re titans, as JJ said, shouldn’t they have around-the-clock security?”
“They do,” Z answered.
“So why this specific request?”
There was a beat of silence, and Brantley knew he wasn’t going to like the response.
“Deck made the request after Ronan Kavanagh contacted him directly.”
“Ronan’s the oldest of the four,” JJ supplied.
“I take it they’ve got history?” Brantley asked, looking at Reese again. He wasn’t sure why his partner was so quiet.
“Friendship,” Z said. “And no, I don’t know the specifics on who, why, or how. At this point, it doesn’t matter. What does is that we find Saoirse and Deck.”
Brantley knew he could argue until he was blue in the face, but Z was right. They needed to find Decker and the woman he was responsible for looking after. To do that, they’d need a hell of a lot more information than Z could provide, so continuing to ask questions was moot. It would be a better use of their time to get JJ and Luca digging up dirt. They were damn good at it.
“Fine,” Brantley said. “We’ll go to New York.”
“Just you and Reese?” Z asked.
“No. I’m gonna bring along more of my team. You’re footin’ the bill for this, Z. Don’t forget that.”
This time, the chuckle was a little lighter. “Understood. There’s somethin’ else you should know.”
Brantley didn’t like the tone, but he refrained from reacting.
“The Kavanaghs have ties to the Irish mob.”
“No shit?” JJ grinned. “That’s cool.”
It wasn’t cool, but Brantley glanced over at Reese.
“Hold up a minute,” Reese said, dropping the spatula with a clatter. “Tell me this isn’t the agent you sent in to be the eyes and ears.”
Z didn’t answer, which likely meant Reese had hit the nail on the head.
“Eyes and ears of what?” Brantley asked Reese.
A heavy exhale preceded Reese’s response. “A coupla months ago, Z mentioned he was sendin’ an agent to be the eyes and ears inside an organization.” Reese glared at the phone. “He wouldn’t tell me which organization, but now it all makes sense.”
Then it clicked for Brantley. “Let me guess, Max is lookin’ for some dirt.”
“He’s actually lookin’ for a person,” Z clarified.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Z,” Reese bellowed. “You couldn’t’ve put someone else on this?”
“No.” Z’s tone hardened. “I’ve got a missing agent. I want the best I’ve got. That’s you. I know you’ve got a beef with Max, but I need you to set it aside. Find Deck and proceed with your hatred of the man, but until then—”
“Brantley, I had no idea this—”
Before Reese could apologize for something far out of his control, Brantley stepped up to him. “We’re gonna find Deck and the woman. That’s our case. Nothing else matters.”
Reese nodded, but Brantley could see the uncertainty in his eyes.
When Z spoke, it was apparent he was frustrated. “You’ll be wheels up in forty-five, Walker. Can you make it?”
“We’ll be there.”
“Keep me in the loop,” Z said.
“Yep.”
“Who’s goin’ with you?” JJ prompted when the call disconnected. “And remember, Evan’s got his daughter’s party this weekend.”
“And you’ve got Charlie and Jay in Chicago,” Baz noted.
“We’ve already given Slade and Atticus a heads up,” Brantley informed them.
“And Becs,” Reese noted.
“I want you runnin’ it from this end,” Brantley told Baz directly, then looked at JJ. “I want you and Luca to give me everything about the Kavanaghs. Get every available person on this. I wanna know where they’ve been, who they’ve talked to. Hell, I wanna know what the fuck they ate for dinner before they went missing. I wanna know what we’re dealin’ with. And I want to know who the fuck Max Adorite is tryin’ to find and how it’s related to them.”
Baz nodded while JJ said, “Sure thing, boss.”
***
Atticus rolled over and groaned when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He’d fallen asleep on the damn thing.
“I think it’s safe to say someone’s lookin’ for you.”
Forcing his eyes open, he lifted his head, searching for the owner of the voice. He found Carson sitting in the upholstered armchair, a cup of coffee in his hand.
“What time is it?”
“A little after five. That’s not the first time your phone went off.”
Shit.
He grumbled as he sat up, shoving his hair back from his face as he dug his phone out of his pocket. He squinted at the screen, attempting to read the latest text message from Reese.
We’ll be wheels up in forty-five. Expect you at the airstrip on time.
“Dammit,” he muttered, pushing to his feet. “Mind if I use the head?”
Carson gestured toward the hallway.
Atticus used the bathroom, then took a minute to splash water on his face. He glanced at the toothbrush in the holder and considered borrowing it. Instead, he used toothpaste on his finger to get the foul taste out of his mouth. He could change on the plane or when they got to wherever they were going. The last thing he wanted was to risk being late. He’d been toeing the line with the team until he could figure out the rules. Something told him that being late for a flight would likely get him booted from the case, and Atticus happened to like working on the task force—more specifically, a steady paycheck—so he wouldn’t be doing that.
When he returned to the living room, Carson was still sitting in the chair.
“Did I wake you? Was I snoring or something?”
“I’m an early riser.”
Well, that was good to know.
“But you do snore.”
Atticus grinned. “So do you.”
“Only when I drink,” Carson defended.
“I’ll have to take your word for it.” Atticus looked toward the front door. “I hate to run out, but we’ve got a case, and there’s a plane waiting for me.”
Carson set his coffee mug on the small table beside him, then pushed to his feet. “Thanks for drivin’ me home last night.”
Atticus nodded. He didn’t want this to be weird, so he started toward the door.
“And for givin’ me your phone number.”
Atticus stopped and turned. “I didn’t.”
Carson’s smirk was slow and wicked. “Not yet.”
Atticus pulled his phone out of his pocket. “What’s your number? I’ll text you so you have mine.”
Carson rattled off the number, and Atticus entered it into a text message. He sent an emoji, then tucked the phone back in his pocket.
“I guess I’ll see you when I see you.”
His hand was on the doorknob when Carson grabbed his arm. Atticus pivoted slowly, then found himself up against the door, Carson’s lips sealed to his. Relief was sharp and potent, surprising him. He hadn’t realized how much he hoped last night was real. That Carson had been serious about seeing him again.
“Text me when you get a chance,” Carson told him, nipping his lower lip. “And I’ll see you when you get back to town.”
Atticus nodded, smiled, then opened the door and slipped out. He smiled all the way to the airstrip.
Chapter Nine
While Brantley rounded up their weapons, Reese packed the rest of their things.
He grabbed enough to get them through four days, figuring that would be plenty. If not, they’d figure out what to do at that point. Reese knew Brantley preferred to pack light, and now wasn’t the time for Reese to worry about the piddly shit. From the instant his brother had informed him that Decker Bromwell was officially MIA, a switch had been flipped on. And while he wanted to explain away Deck’s absence as a result of his lack of maturity, he couldn’t brush it off. He recalled all too well what it was like to be captured and held prisoner, wondering if anyone was even looking for him. No way would he leave Deck to wonder, regardless of where he was or what he was doing.
Brantley appeared in the bedroom doorway, phone to his ear. “You want to bring Tesha or leave her with JJ?”
“Bring her.”
“We’re gonna take her with us, JJ,” Brantley said, turning away.
Reese made a mental note to grab Tesha’s fresh food from the refrigerator, along with her go-bag, which he kept stocked and ready with everything she might need. Although he didn’t mind leaving Tesha with JJ from time to time, he preferred she go with them, and now that she was undergoing advanced training, it benefited her to get some field action.
Forty minutes after the call ended with his brother, they pulled into the private airport with Tesha riding in the backseat. Sniper 1’s private jet was waiting for them. Reese wouldn’t pretend this wasn’t his preferred method of travel. It allowed them to bypass the rigorous security as well as giving them the ability to take their weapons along with them. He figured the only thing that might’ve been better would be if he were the one in the cockpit. There were times he missed navigating the sky.
“There’s Slade and Becs,” Brantley announced as they parked the truck inside the private hangar. “Let’s hope Atticus—”
Reese pointed toward the plane’s nose, where Atticus was talking to one of the maintenance workers. If he had to guess, Atticus was unabashedly flirting because that was what the guy did. The only upside was that it kept the kid from flirting with Brantley. Which he also did unabashedly. And yes, it appeared he wasn’t as cool with it as he was pretending to be.
