Finn McIntyre awoke to that familiar painful fog, not so unaware that he didn’t sense the other presence in the bed.
“Get out.”
The bottle blonde rolled and covered her mouth, suppressing a booze-laced yawn.
“So not a morning person,” she drawled.
“Not a noon or night person either. I’ve got shit to do.”
“So, I’m guessing breakfast is out?”
Finn didn’t answer. He was looking at the text on his phone and furrowing his brow.
“Out.”
“What did I ever do to get hooked up with an asshole like you?”
“I’m guessing there’s a long list.”
The woman peeled the skin-tight dress back over her thin frame, stuffed her thong into her bag, and hop-walked to the door slipping into her heels.
“You know, I had a nice time last night. I wasn’t looking for anything more. For no reason at all, you turned the whole thing into a big pile of shit.”
Finn hobbled to the shower. He had maybe thirty minutes before they came to pick him up. Well, he thought as he fumbled with the water pressure, turning things into a big pile of shit? My specialty.
Nathan and Charlie were sitting in Charlie’s Royal Beach office when the call came.
“Sofria really came through,” Twitch spoke in one continuous stream. “I mean the kind of tenacity required to follow these threads is unbelievable. She’s only worked for the CIA for six months and probably gathered more information about Sava’s network than the entire team working before her arrival. I mean, wait till I give her the info that’s coming in from the virtual explosive dye pack. They can dismantle the entire organization. And not just cut the head off the beast. I mean, take the entire thing apart piece by piece.”
“Twitch!” Nathan rarely shouted, but circumstances were unusual.
“Sorry, Nathan. Okay, so the bad news is Dario Sava owns a lot of shit in the U.S. Because Tala was American and rich, they were able to purchase everything from vacation homes to office buildings with legitimate funds. There is good news, though.”
Charlie waved in Hercules, who was standing in the doorway.
“Tala grew up on a horse farm outside of Baltimore. I mean, you should see this thing, Nathan; this is some America’s Castles shit. Anyway, Tala was an only child and when she died, Sava inherited the farm. He keeps and maintains the property but only uses it once a year. At the exact same time.”
“Why?”
“Tala’s family cemetery is on the property. It’s a historic site. Some of the graves date back to the eighteenth century. Sava visits on their wedding anniversary. Not the anniversary of her death which was last month, but their wedding which is... tomorrow.”
That was it. Nathan knew it as soon as he heard it. Sava was a man who liked a certain artistry to his actions. Doing—he mentally skipped over whatever it was Dario Sava intended—this thing on their anniversary, at his wife’s grave, was what, in Sava’s dark mind, the situation demanded. Nathan stood with a warrior’s focus and texted a quick message to his pilot. When he turned, he came face-to-face with Hercules, standing at ease, the lightweight case that held his Remington bolt-action sniper rifle slung across his back.
The two men couldn’t be less alike, but Nathan liked the kid. He had a resolve that Nathan admired.
“I imagine you’re looking for a job.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
Nathan turned his attention back to the phone that Twitch had connected to the car’s Bluetooth.
“Twitch, forward aerial and topographic maps. We’re about two hours out. Where are you?”
“In a surprisingly crowded car. We just grabbed Finn in Philly and are headed back to Maryland.” Twitch paused as she presumably checked something. “There’s a diner in the small town near the estate. Molly’s Kitchen on Route 3.”
“Let’s meet up there at 1800 hours.”