To Honour And To Protect. Debra & Regan Webb & Black
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and uncertain about what he’d just set in motion.
Not so long ago he’d been given a second chance and reunited with the only woman he’d ever loved. His personal success should give him hope for Drew and Addison, but he couldn’t quite drum up that elusive emotion for this situation. Sending Drew to track down Addison could backfire. Not just for the two of them—three if he counted the little boy—but for the integrity of the operational mess he’d inherited.
It seemed more and more challenging lately to think of his Specialists as assets. They were all capable and strong people who, at the end of the day, were here as tools to be applied to specific purposes and operations. It was a particular trial when the people he assigned, like Drew, weren’t even part of his elite program.
Time to hand over the reins. He stared through his big office window, blind to the stunning view. A knock sounded at his door. “Come in,” he called without turning.
“I saw Bryant leave,” Deputy Director Emmett Holt said. “Did he agree to help?”
Thomas loosened his tie as he returned to his desk chair. There was no need to stand on formality with Holt, who understood all too well what was riding on this operation.
“He agreed.”
“But?” Holt sank into one of the visitors’ chairs opposite Thomas. “You look like you’ve eaten bad fish.”
“I feel a bit like that, to tell the truth. This could backfire. In a big way.”
“Were there other options?”
Thomas drummed his fingers on the supple leather arm of his chair. “No.” The whole reason they’d brought Drew into this was because Addison had disappeared. Completely. “But it’s a lot to ask.”
“He’ll manage.”
Thomas met Holt’s sharp gaze. “I meant her. Addison’s running for her life, for her son’s life, and we’re sending out a ghost to find her. She has no idea what happened—only that he never made it to their wedding.”
“Then I stand corrected.”
Thomas arched an eyebrow. “He won’t manage?”
“No. She will manage.”
It sounded like a magic-wand theory to Thomas’s ears, and that was one theory everyone in his line of work always rejected. “He’s not a trained Specialist.”
“Oh, so that’s the problem.”
Thomas didn’t like the half smile on Holt’s face. “Explain.”
“You feel guilty for sending an unqualified civilian after a high-value asset.”
“That’s not true.” Where the hell was this coming from? He and Holt had different management styles, but this series of irritating questions wasn’t typical. “Bryant might be a civilian now, but he could step in and train our recruits on anything at a moment’s notice.”
“So he’s qualified.”
“More than.”
“Then I guess you’re feeling guilty because we didn’t have an equally qualified Specialist available?”
They both knew the roster and they both took great pride in the skills of the men and women on their team. “Why the hell are you being so difficult?”
“Because you need to ease up on yourself,” Holt said, his expression somber. “The woman and her kid are missing, Everett escaped with some damned sophisticated help and you just sent out the best option for everyone involved.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Thomas wasn’t sure how else to interpret that tidy speech.
“If that’s what you need, you’re welcome.” Holt leaned forward. “We talked about it, looked at every asset before you brought Bryant in. He is the only choice for this mission.”
Thomas knew that was correct. Even logical.
“Personally,” Holt continued, “I believe he’ll succeed, no matter how she reacts to seeing him again. He’s resourceful. He’ll bring her in or make sure we can.”
“You’re right,” Thomas allowed, though he knew this decision would haunt him well into his retirement if it went wrong. He rubbed the palm of one hand with the opposite thumb. “I’ve never once forgotten that our Specialists are people. We demand more than we should—”
“But never more than we’re willing to give ourselves,” Holt finished for him. “That philosophy—your philosophy—is at the heart of our entire program. Don’t ever doubt it.”
“All right.” Thomas raised his hands, palms out. There had been a time, not too long ago, when Thomas had doubted his philosophy and much more. He’d doubted Holt’s loyalty to the Specialists and the nation at large. Been certain he’d made the wrong call naming Holt as the next director.
No longer. Holt had proved himself in the field and protected the Mission Recovery office during a complicated attack from one of Thomas’s old enemies. Not only that, he’d recently become family by marrying Thomas’s sister. “Thanks for the pep talk,” he said, the burden feeling a bit lighter. “It’s the kid,” he added, finally articulating the real issue. He and Jo wanted to start a family soon, and although his wife was as independent and resourceful as Addison, Thomas knew how far he’d go if someone took aim at his wife or their children.
“I figured,” Holt said with a sympathetic nod.
“Cecelia is expecting you and Jo to join the family for July Fourth weekend.”
“We’re looking forward to it,” Thomas said, more relieved than he should be about the change of topic. “Jo is making noise about getting a boat of our own when I retire.”
“Want me to keep an eye out for you?”
“A casual eye.” He recognized Holt’s method of shifting the topic to something more normal. “But I don’t want her to know I’m looking yet.”
“Lucky for you, I can keep a secret,” Holt said, heading for the doorway.
“I’m well aware.” Thomas smiled as Holt walked out, the guilt of Addison and Drew’s situation muted. For now.
He’d needed the reminder that Holt provided. If Drew had given the first sign that he’d cave under the pressure of the request, Thomas would’ve found another way to track down Addison.
As it was, he was back to hoping the reunion, although certain to be awkward and emotional, would result in capturing the traitorous Everett and the root of his network so Addison and her son could return to life without fear of retribution.
Louisiana bayou
Saturday, July 5, 7:35 p.m.
In the fading light of another warm summer day, Addison came outside with two bowls of ice cream. Sitting next to Andy on the top step of the porch, she handed him one.
“We had ice cream last night.”
“It’s summer,” Addison said with a smile. “And you’ve played hard all day. Besides, it won’t keep forever.” Her friend Nico, father of Bernadette, her best childhood friend, had given her permission to stay here in his mother’s old place. He’d brought them out by boat and had delivered more supplies yesterday. Although she appreciated what the weather-worn shack provided, she didn’t trust the ancient freezer on the back porch.
Andy didn’t waste time arguing over the bonus treat and he dug in with enthusiasm.
As dark crept in from the edges of the swamp, the insects ramped up with an evening chorus that rose and fell with the soft breeze. In the tall marsh grass