“It’sourfight,” Conor disagreed. “You want him on this, I’ll get him. I already told him that we’re leaving and to be on the lookout for trouble while we’re gone. He’s always prepared for war anyway. He’s probably got a dismantled AK-47 tucked into his pockets.”
Cin snorted. “Impossible.”
“I was being facetious. Can’t you take a joke?”
Not wanting them to start sniping at each other, I shook my head. “Let him stay here. If Cin’s complimenting him then I know he’s one of the best and that’s what I want protecting the family.”
Cin clucked her tongue but kept a lid on it, and Conor just watched me slip on a knife holster and two gun holsters.
Once we were suited and booted, we headed for the door, but not before Conor was pulled back by Brennan. Whatever they bickered about had Brennan scowling and Conor smirking, but he didn’t say anything to stop us from leaving, just watched us go.
When we were on the road, I felt better. Proactive. Veering toward a goal instead of wasting time. Not that meeting up with Kat had been a waste of time, but the cloud of anxiety I was existing in at the moment had definitely been stirred up by her.
For the whole of the hour-long journey, I drummed my fingers against the armrest, agitated and uncertain about what we were walking into.
Troy was as neurotic as anyone in the business, so I knew it wouldn’t be easy speaking with her. Especially if she didn’t want us there, and I couldn’t see her being welcoming.
Conor’s hand kept a firm grasp on my free one and I let our fingers bridge, allowing the connection to stop me from feeling like I was going to burst out of my skin.
When he offered me a Pixy Stix, I shook my head. The thought of eating made me nauseated.
After we crossed the state line and approached Stamford, I turned to him as a thought occurred to me. “Are you in contact with Dagda? I’m going to assume you are, seeing as you negotiated with him?”
He sighed. “Is this really the time for that argument?”
“No. But I’m not arguing. He could be in danger too.”
“You’re freaking out about this, aren’t you?” D muttered, staring at me in the rearview mirror of our SUV.
“I am. I spoke with Kuznetsov via text before we left—”
“And you’re just telling us thisnow?” she snapped.
“I had to let it percolate,” I retorted.
“Less bickering, more explaining,” Conor reasoned, tone calm.
“He knew his son was a Sparrow. He was a plant. Belyaev was passing information to him about…” I swallowed. “The CIA was involved in looting important artifacts in Afghanistan, D. It was one of the reasons why I was taken. Kuznetsov confirmed that Belyaev was feeding Aleks information about that deal.” It came as a pleasant surprise to be able to say, “Kuznetsov was looking for me.”
Conor’s hand tightened around mine in silent support, undoubtedly recognizing how much that meant to me.
“I’m glad,” was all he said though.
My smile was shaky. “He believed that Belyaev died of a heart attack in his hotel room in Cincinnati, so someone fed him bad intel.”
“What about that makes you think Dagda is in danger?” D questioned.
“I don’t know,” I said uneasily. “But what harm would it do to call him and check in?”
Nodding, Conor reached for his cell phone, and I watched as he hit connect.
“We’re about ten minutes away from Troy’s homestead,” Dead To Me informed us.
“Great.”
Tapping my toe now, I watched as Conor waited for his call to be picked up, but when there was no success, he shrugged.
“Keep trying,” I rasped.