Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
“Jesus Christ,” I groaned.
I wanted to say that she should know me better than that… but based on recent events, she obviously knew me exactly the right amount.
“Anyway, if you go back to Maiori, you’ll raise a whole lot of suspicion. And anyway, the investigation’s not centered there anymore. Chatter says al-Qadiri upset the wrong people in the process of a power grab from his father-in-law. They’ve got a couple leads they’re following up in Qadara.”
I closed my eyes. I was sure that story was a plant, and I raised a mental toast to the Paxis Council.
“One thing that’s bothering me, though,” Rocky mused. “Two of the ships involved in the blockade were Maris ships. And al-Qadiri was assassinated at Locke Maris’s house.”
Interrogation 101: don’t answer questions that weren’t asked.
I waited her out until she finally said, “But then again, there were other ships involved. So there’s no clear evidence pointing to Maris.” She sighed.
“Do we have a mandate here?” I wondered. Because we could be curious cats all we wanted, but if there was no indication of danger or illegal activity that could lead to global instability, then what was our interest in al-Qadiri’s death? “I can look into it?” I tried to sound eager. “Ask around—”
“No. God no. Go back to your vacation. Keep staying out of trouble. We’ll see you in a week and not before.”
I hung up the phone and squeezed my eyes shut.
I should have felt like I’d crossed a Rubicon, I was pretty sure. Yes, I was not Rocky’s most rule-following agent. Yes, there were times I’d taken risks—like staying under way too long in Germany—that she didn’t agree with. But I had never overtly disobeyed an order. I’d never questioned or tested my loyalty to ESP.
But if I were being brutally honest, my frustration with the job had been a constant drip, drip, drip that had, over the years, built into a tidal wave. So many times, I’d seen higher-ups—people who’d never had their boots on the ground in the agency—make decisions that enabled small-time criminals like Ronald Gillen to keep living their best criminal lives, with no thought to the people they hurt. So many times, I’d been pulled from cases right before they broke because diplomatic channels broke down and our authorization to operate was yanked.
I’d joined ESP because I wanted to do good in the world. I’d told myself that it was worth all the sacrificed time with my family and friends. That it didn’t matter that I’d lived more of my adult life as a made-up persona than I had as Jett Marian.
But more and more often, I’d felt caged.
Worse, I was afraid I’d started to forget who Jett Marian even was or what he wanted…
Until Locke Maris had helped me remember.
The following morning, I flew home from Liorland in a private plane and spent twenty hours asleep in my own bed. Then I woke up and caught a ride to the airport.
If I didn’t get the hell out of this city, I would drag my pathetic ass to Locke’s doorstep and throw myself on his mercy.
If Locke was still being watched, which I had to imagine he was, this would have made it very clear to my employer that I was a lying asshole.
None of which I needed right now as much as the loving arms (and horrible Dad-joke humor) of my parents.
The sun was setting as I drove over the bridge to Rabbit Island. The familiar expanse of my hometown was like serotonin mixed with Valium. The stress began to melt away as if I were passing through a protection barrier that surrounded the island.
The streets were peppered here and there with kids riding their bikes or people walking a dog after supper, but when I got to the house I’d grown up in, the one that had been in my dad’s family too long to remember, no one was outside.
I climbed the stairs to the front door and opened it, not surprised it wasn’t locked since doors on Rabbit Island rarely were.
Inside, my family was shouting at each other. Familiar voices raised in incredulity competed for dominance.
“You scratched me!” Becca wailed with all the drama of a telenovela.
“To be fair, sweetheart,” Mav said calmly, “Gabe’s still bleeding from the last round where you smacked his face instead of his hand.”
Gabe’s friend Hunter muttered, “And yet you won’t let me murder her.”
“Alright,” Beau said, heaving himself up from his chair at the game table in the corner of the family room. “Refill time. Who wants another glass of wine. Gabe, another beer?”
As I came into the room, the dog ratted me out. Pepper’s nails scrabbled on the hardwoods as she woke up and bolted toward me. Beau looked to see what had woken her and found me standing there.