Virtues (Base Branch Series Book 8) (7 page)

A
chemical burn
worked its way from Cara’s nostrils down the back of her throat. At the corners of her eyes, coalescing tears and sweat added to the violent sting, and her lids battled with furious blinks. Black chunks and brown suds covered both her hands. A smudge of dust, dirt, and the ever-present grease lashed the back of her wrist. Specks of tainted water ruined the blouse she’d haphazardly worn to the occasion.

“I thought I knew all of them, but this is a particularly cruel new form of torture.” Cara brushed rogue strands of her high ponytail off her cheek with the top of her forearm. She hunched at the waist to bear more weight on the front burner of the food truck’s stove and its stubborn halo of baked on fat.

“At least you’re upright. The shit keeps dripping in my face.” Luck’s voice echoed from the oven to her right below the sludge topped griddle.

“Don’t let it get in your eyes. You’d go blind. I think I might from the fumes alone.” A tear rolled down Cara’s nose and dripped onto the stove, creating a tiny clean spot among the swill.

“I thought opening the garage doors would help.”

“It didn’t.” The back double doors hung open, letting in light that streamed from the street but did little in the way of ventilation.

Luck extricated himself from the oven and the narrow alley that ran the length of the truck. He reached around her. Metal screeched against metal, forcing an ache into her molars. He trundled out the back, and seconds later, the food sale window bloomed wide, bringing with it a current of air not exactly fresh but certainly less toxic. The front door to the food truck opened, and Luck stepped inside.

“I thought you’d opened that door already.” Cara straightened. After hunched over for so long, the muscles in her lower back protested.

“Never occurred to me.” Splatters of brown soiled his face, but it couldn’t hide the wide grin that contorted his features, jaw to brows and everything between.

“Are the fumes getting to you? How long were you in here scrubbing before I showed up?”

“Don’t get all mom-ish on me. I’m fine, just distracted.”

“About?”

“The possibilities.” He actually hopped. Not a big leap, but a small fit of excitement his body couldn’t contain. His gaze immediately flew to hers. A manly throat clearing followed. “It’s open now. Is it better?” Without waiting for an answer, he riffled through a box full of old rags, scrub pads, and various cleaners.

“Yes and no.” Dust sticky with layers of oil stuck to the vents above the cook space. Mold grew like grass around the sink’s drain.

He looked at her from under his arm.

“For the price, you’d think the truck would’ve been clean enough to eat off the floor.” She pointed at the thicket of dirt covering the stainless steel under Luck’s feet. “I’m not eating off that, and I’ve eaten in some shitholes.”

“Oh. No, this isn’t that truck.” He stood and tossed a rag past her onto the yawning oven door. “I got this puppy for a steal and was able to put back a lot of the money from the sale of the Bentley for inventory and a down payment on a place.” His gaze slid over the sink, and his nose crinkled.

Rin and Luck had fought for everything they had. Adversity created character, strengthened dignity. They were proof. Cara didn’t want them to fight anymore.

“If you need money, you know—”

“I don’t want to touch that money.” Luck’s staunch tone bounded off the rigid surfaces.

He might as well have slapped her. She wouldn’t have been nearly as wounded by that. Pissed? Yes. But not this. The need to vomit toyed with her uvula, but she choked it back.

“
That
money bought the car you sold to buy this truck.”

“It’s different, and you know it.”

Cara knew how he justified his actions. She’d used the same rationale, only to a further extent. Now, things were different. After years of nothing, they were changing fast. Almost too fast for her to keep score. And she ran calculations like a beast. At least, she had until Rin popped back into her life.

“It’s just money, Luck.”

But suddenly, it wasn’t. She knew it. Luck knew it. His unwavering stare said he wasn’t backing down until she admitted it.

She tossed the scrub pad onto the counter and turned away. The truck that seemed inescapably small only moments ago stretched. It took too many strides to reach the rear and leap for freedom from the food truck before the sides closed in.

“Cara, I’m not judging you.”

Sure.

“I am,” she breathed. “Why not you too?”

“That money saved me. It got back your citizenship, your name, and most importantly, Rin.”

Cara stopped between the architectural beams just before the exit. Her chest rose and fell too quickly, pulling in noxious fumes.

“It also killed many on my road to redemption”—she shrugged—“or my race for revenge.”

“Popov deserved what she got.” Luck’s voice drew nearer. She wanted to run. Running was her default. His grimy hand wrapped around hers and tugged her away from the street. He turned her to face him and gripped her other hand.

“Gross.”

“Yeah.” His tongue lolled out in a gag. When he retrieved it, his expression sobered. “I want us to start over. New beginnings.”

“You, Rin—you two are young enough for that.” She squeezed his hands in return.

“Please.” Luck’s eyes bulged, and his head levered far back on his shoulders. “If you’re young enough to kick my ass—and I shamefully admit you are—then you’re young enough for a new beginning.”

Cara’s head had shaken before he’d finished his pitch. “Not yet.”

“When?”

“When I return some money.”

Wise investments ballooned her accounts well over the original amount in the last ten years. She’d be fine.

“No.”

“No?” Cara glared at him. “You don’t want it. Who would, knowing it came from a gang brutal enough to club you in the head for looking at them sideways.”

“They’ll kill you.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t die easily.”

“They’ll use it to further their reach.” He dropped her hands and put his on the worn top of his jeans.

“I’m not giving it back to Brödraskapet.” Cara’s upper lip curled without her consent. “That money belongs to Marina.”

“What?” Luck’s belly concaved. His shoulders hunched, as though her words had exhausted him. He swallowed a fortifying breath. “Double-crossers deserve a bullet, not a King’s ransom.”

“You don’t know she betrayed us.”

More than anything, Cara thought she’d been the forsaker. The young woman’s pixie, pale features painted themselves on her brain. Slender frame. Broken blue eyes.

Luck hadn’t been Cara’s only attempt at atonement. She’d found Marina Sorensen bloody and nearly beaten to death at the end of an alley on an upscale Swedish street corner, a street corner the Brödraskapet had put her on. Motherly instinct had taken over, and before she realized what she was doing, how vulnerable she was making herself and Luck, she’d scooped the girl into a cab and taken her to their temporary home. By the time Luck had returned from a trip where he’d gathered intel on Rin, Cara had bonded with the skittish girl. And none of his objections to the lunacy of taking in a stranger had registered.

There had been no turning back.

To strengthen Marina and acclimate her to their lifestyle, Cara schooled her in the art of survival. Evasion. Tactical. Incursion. Everything.

“You didn’t see her face.” The gusto of his shout drew Cara from her reverie. Luck wasn’t prone to yelling, except when it came to this topic.

“I know things aren’t always what they seem,” she whispered.

“And sometimes, they are exactly what they seem. You just don’t want to admit it.”

The clack of heels stilled them both.

“Are you two arguing over my crazy house hunting antics?” Since their house hunting adventure the previous afternoon, Rin had changed her mind about what type of place they should buy at least ten times. Cara’s mouth opened to reply, but her daughter giggled. “There’s nothing to argue about anymore. Look!” She rushed over to them, waving a piece of paper in her hand. Cara recognized the sheet. “This one has enough space inside
and
out and is in a good neighborhood.” She reached them and thrust the page at Luck. “Look.”

Rin brushed a kiss onto Cara’s cheek. Some of the tension coiled in her belly relaxed. “Thanks for finding this, Mom.”

And just like that, the tension returned. “I didn’t.”

“Who did?” Luck’s gaze lifted from the paper and snapped to hers.

“Tyler Grace.” No use in hiding it. It didn’t matter.

“The Base Branch operative?” Luck’s right hand returned to his hip.

“Yes.” She nodded.

“You haven’t decided to work for them, have you?” Luck’s other hand followed suit, holding the offending sheet between his index and middle fingers.

“I haven’t made any decisions.” She gave him a quick glare. “I’m kind of stuck right now.” Rin’s delicate hand warmed her shoulder, drew her attention, and cooled her temper. She returned Rin’s smile. “In the best spot I’ve been in, in longer than I can remember.”

“Is he the hot cowboy, the long hair, or the bulldog?” Rin asked.

Luck snorted.

“I said hot, not melt-my-mind sexy, and sweet.” Rin blew him a kiss and then returned her attention. “Well?”

Cara stared at her daughter’s buoyant smile and relented. “He’s the cowboy.”

“Is this cowboy looking for a ride?” Luck pointed at Cara from head to toe.

Rin gagged.

Shock at Luck’s comment quickly turned to, “Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence, dearest daughter.”

“She’s my mom,” Rin said, dividing a shrug between them. “She’s gorgeous and more than capable of wrangling that if she wanted to, but I don’t need to hear about it.” If Cara didn’t have hands covered in goop, she’d have shielded her face from the madness. The only people on earth who knew her—even a little—immediately thought of her and Tyler Grace as a possible item. They didn’t know her at all. Yeah, she’d been with men younger than she was, but this was different.

Tyler knew too much about the life she’d led because, to some extent, he’d led the life too. The differences between the two placed them on separate moral strata. Operatives used stealth, collaboration, and regimented training to complete their missions. Spies stood before their targets. Callousness, deception, and brutality marked their climb to victory. He’d seen enough to know exactly how she’d operated.

Nope. Tyler Grace was too close to home.

“What I do need to hear,” Rin added, “is that both of you are down for house hunting this evening.” She plucked the sheet out of Luck’s fingers. “I mean all of these are worth a look.” Again, her gaze bobbed back and forth between Luck and Cara. He nodded, and Cara smiled. “Great. I’m going to call the realtor.” Rin dialed and wandered off as her conversation with the realtor she’d apparently found during the workday evolved.

The moment she was out of earshot, Luck stepped forward. “Do you want me to take care of him?”

“No. I’ll take care of him.”

S
he sure as
hell would have taken care of him, if he’d shown up as he promised. Only he hadn’t. And she wanted to wring his fat neck for it. Tangling with Tyler kept her mind off things more troubling than the easy roll of his hips and how they’d feel thrusting against her skin.

His absence forced her to face too much.

Collateral damage surrounded Cara’s life like unflattering lace trim. Her parents had become two large pink bows at her collar. She’d obliterated their lives and left them to rebuild the shattered pieces and care for a bereft child. Her child.

Across the street, the canvas awning threatened to gobble her whole. Its scalloped forest green fringe flapped in the lazy breeze like jagged teeth. A clipart dove spread its wings above the text, Potomac Assisted Living Center. The starched bird gave Cara no peace. Neither did the overcast day nor the calmer temperatures.

Cara had always forced even the smallest thoughts of her parents from her mind. To bear the guilt, to survive, she’d had to force everything but Rin out. If she wanted any hope of a future without the panicky resurgence of crippling shame, there were more people she needed to reconcile with than just her daughter.

The soles of her heels stuck to the concrete, which was farther than she’d made it the last four days. Day one, when Tyler hadn’t shown up on her doorstep, and after hours of stewing, she’d allowed herself to think about her deceased mother and dementia riddled father. Day two, when Tyler still hadn’t come a-knocking, she’d driven her new rental car to the cemetery where her mother was buried. Buried believing her daughter was dead. Cara had sobbed for the second time in the last week…and the last ten years. She didn’t even know the location of her momma’s grave. Pathetic.

Day three, she’d driven to the assisted living facility, sat in the car, and logged another pitiful display of weakness before speeding away. That was when she’d caught her new tail. She hadn’t tried to lose the full-size SUV. If someone besides Tyler surveilled her, Cara wanted to know who and why. They’d been good, following from so far back that she couldn’t discern the make, model, or even the color. When she’d tried to make a block and circle behind them, they’d vanished. This morning, she hadn’t seen them, but it didn’t mean they weren’t there. It just meant they’d changed tactics.

Yesterday, cars had hiked wheels on the curb and wedged into unmarked spaces, trapping others in a greedy jail. Today, Sunday, over half the parking spots were vacant. Still, she’d parked in the auxiliary lot across the street.

Cara shuffled forward until she reached the sidewalk ramp. Would her father remember her? Would it hurt more if he didn’t or if he did? Emotion burned her throat. The burden of guilt bogged. Her legs seized.

“Are you going in already? I have to pee.”

Every nerve in Cara’s body zapped to life. Her head swiveled right to the male rumble that poured from the open window of a granny-gold Buick Lacrosse circa 2002. The longhaired Base Branch operative draped his hefty forearm on the door and bobbled his brows.

“Nice camouflage.” Cara let the sarcasm flow from her in an ugly wave.

“I thought so.” He grinned, unfazed.

She wanted to know why Tyler no longer watched her, but she refused to ask. It didn’t matter. As much as facing her past hurt, it didn’t create more problems. She’d wanted Tyler out of her hair since this craziness began a week ago.

“How long have you been following me?”

“A day and a half.” Fingers from his other hand toyed with the dusty blond mustache and goatee hiding a baby-fresh face. Without all the hair, the kid would look more like an underwear model than a certified badass.

Tyler hadn’t been on her in four days. She wondered why there had been a gap in her coverage. If they suddenly trusted her not to run, they wouldn’t have put Oliver on her.

“Where’s Tyler?” What the fuck. She and her subconscious were going to have a come-to-Jesus meeting after this. Tyler Grace wasn’t her concern.

“You don’t need to stall. Your dad will be happy to see you.”

Cara recoiled and her hands balled. The sudden tension in her back might snap her spine. She drew a deep breath and studied the operative’s face. He used just the perfect topic to distract her from the question she’d asked. Goose bumps traveled up her arm. He didn’t want her to know where Tyler was.

“If his location is none of my business, just say so. Don’t be an asshole.”

“It wasn’t my intention.” He brushed a hand down his facial hair. “I just… A dad would want to know his child’s still alive, no matter.”

“Do you have children, Oliver?”

“No.”

“Then how do you—”

“But I have parents. Parents forgive everything. Their love overrides everything.”

Somebody had a rosy childhood. “Not that it’s any of your business, but my father may not remember me to forgive anything.”

“Alzheimer’s?”

“The very devil.”

“Go in. You both deserve to find out.”

“And you deserve to go to the bathroom?” She glared.

“Yes.”

“One condition.”

“I don’t negotiate.”

Cara knotted her arms over her chest. “I can make your job relatively easy.”

“Or?”

“Or not.” She gave her best disapproving mother expression. The perfect mixture of anger and cold disinterest. Her shoulders bobbed. “Choose wisely.”

“Damnit.” His fist smacked against his thigh. “I knew I should’ve taken the UN Summit’s security detail.” He gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “We don’t know.”

Her stomach sank. “You don’t know what?”

“Where Tyler is.” His gaze swung to hers and then bugged. Both hands waved her down as if she was a spooked animal. “He’s fine. Don’t worry.”

Had he seen the five different directions in which her brain had scattered? Nate Harlow, the tiny prick dick, took Tyler as retribution. His extra-large truck slid off the curve, down an embankment, and careened into a lake. One of her enemies had located her and removed her surveillance so they could get a clean shot of her temple. A horse had kicked Tyler in the head, and he lay lifeless in the dirt at that out of the way slice of heaven. Or maybe, just the one. Let him be okay.

“How do you know?” The plea in her voice said she was in over her head where this man was concerned.

“He sent a message a day and a half ago. Once he was good and gone. So no one could stop him.”

“What if someone hacked into—”

Oliver nixed the sentiment with a shake of his hairy jaw.

“Nothing’s impossible.”

“After our last internal breach, yeah, it is. Our fail-safes have fail-safes and firewalls have firewalls.” He sighed.

“What if someone forced him—”

“You met Tyler, right?”

“Of course, but no one’s infallible.”

“Tyler is.”

The guy’s nonchalance about Tyler’s absence crawled up her ass. “What did the message say?”

“Going off grid. Following a lead.” Oliver cleared his throat. “Tell Cara, ‘Try not to worry about me too much.’”

“Jerk,” she whispered. “Big country boy or not, he shouldn’t have gone off by—”

“Cara?” She’d recognize the cigar-worn voice anywhere. It had grown shaky and weak, but it still drew her attention as though she were a little girl.

The man sat in a wheelchair hunched forward as if he might tumble right out at the barest bump in the walkway. His unruly salt and pepper pouf had turned into a puffy white cloud. Tears slipped down his droopy eyes, catching between the wrinkles of his nearly translucent skin.

Her sob caught between her fingers.

Behind her, the car started with a quiet grumble, backed out of the space, and rolled away.

A woman bent close to Cara’s father’s ear. Cotton Lee’s head bobbed in slow, jerky movements. When she finally pushed him toward her, in the direction he pointed, he lolled farther to the left, as though the effort had drained him.

The lady in pink scrubs waved a fleshy arm. “Miss? I’m sorry to bother you. So, so sorry, but my patient… Well, this is Senator Cotton Lee.” She pointed at her father, as if she wouldn’t recognize him.

“I know.” Cara stumbled forward under the shadow of the hungry awning.

“Well, I’m sorry. He was sitting by the window and saw you. And you, well, look like… He has dementia and thought you were—”

Cara shouldn’t let this woman know who she was, but there was no stopping the crash. Emotional and literal. Her knees buckled. She didn’t feel them smack into the concrete, but the echo of impact rang in her ears. “Dad.”

“Oh, my God.” The nurse clutched her full bosom.

“Jeanine owes me five bucks.” His smile was an empty black gap where teeth used to be. It lifted her heart out of her toes and situated it firmly, warmly inside her chest.

“I’ll give you a hundred,” the woman guffawed.

The wheelchair stopped an inch away. Her dad’s shriveled hands lifted to her face, wrapped around her hands, and pulled them from her cheeks. “My Cara.”

She hadn’t realized she’d hidden her face. “Hi, Daddy.” Cara couldn't tell whose hands quivered, but the connection between them shook with a maelstrom of emotions.

“I’ll just give you two some time.” The nurse pressed the wheel locks into place and patted her father’s shoulder. “Senator, you holler if you need me. I’ll be just inside.” She cast a pointed look at Cara.

Message received loud and clear. Way to wait until it was almost too late. Have you no compassion for the old man? What a shitty daughter.

She was. Cara buried her face in her father’s lap. So much of the vibrant, powerful man she’d known had vanished. His career. His teeth. His height. His youth.

“Cara,” he cooed. “Don’t cry.”

Too late. Tears soaked through the blanket covering his legs.

“I’m so sorry, Daddy.” Convulsive heaves robbed her of breath. They stung her lungs and scratched her throat. She didn’t apologize often, but when she did, it came from the bottom of her soul and ripped a segment of herself free with it.

He stroked her hair and clutched her shoulder. “We don’t have much time, Cara.”

Instinct overrode sorrow. Cara jerked straight, and her head swiveled. No one approached. At the other end of the facility, an old lady sat on a bench in her Sunday best with a metal walker in front of her. Too many cars in the parking lot had tinted windows. Anyone could be lurking. She reached for the gun at the small of her back.

“Oh, Cara, not because of your enemies. Because of mine.”

“What?” Her gaze snapped back to her father.

He tapped the front of his head.

“Since Rin came to me with questions about you and concerns about the CIA, I’ve had longer stints of awareness. I guess hope and fear pumped this old body with adrenaline. But my wits don’t stick around as long as I’d like.” His cold fingers brushed her cheek. “I knew you’d come back.”

“You did?”

“I always thought your working abroad was fishy. After you had come back with a baby yet no pictures or stories to share from your time in Italy, my suspicions grew. When Rin’s father came for her, after you protected her” —his kind way of saying killed— “I knew a man in the business and had him do some digging.”

A cold sweat broke out over Cara’s upper lip. “He shouldn’t have told you anything. Nothing.”

“Humanity and secrecy are not kin. Never have been. Never will be.”

That simple statement held so much truth; Cara gripped the wheelchair to keep from fleeing.

“I knew you wouldn’t kill yourself. I knew you wouldn’t leave Rin unless it was necessary for her safety.”

Fresh air filled Cara’s lungs. It soothed the knots in her abdomen from always gasping shallow breaths, as though she didn’t deserve the oxygen. Knowing he’d known all those years, that he’d trusted her to do what was necessary to save her child, didn’t negate her guilt. It made it easier to bear.

She stared into his hazy, Irish green eyes. He’d given her so much. His unconditional love. His sense of justice. Not quite the value and equality of human life, but no one was perfect. He’d given her daughter stability and the freedom to make her own mistakes. Her father hadn’t done it alone.

“And Mom?”

“She wasn’t Irish.” His head shook, and a hint of a smile curved his sunken lips.

“What does that mean?”

“Your mother, God rest her soul, wasn’t as hearty as me or you. I told her you weren’t dead. Maybe she knew it all along too.” His skeletal shoulders bobbed. “It was easier for her to mourn your loss than to hope for your return.”

Tears dripped off the end of her chin. She’d hurt the people she loved so damn much.

“Oh, girl, don’t cry.” Arthritic, swollen knuckles brushed her cheek.

Cara clung to his hand and pressed it against her chin, desperate for comfort.

“Now. Now. Don’t cry. There is so much to be happy about.” He turned her chin toward his smiling face, and then shifted it toward the neatly manicured yard and pouring sunshine. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yes.” A smile stole her sorrow. Her father held no grudge. She hadn’t been too late for him. And she’d been given the opportunity to stay and help her daughter build the future she deserved. All she had to do was claim it. Senator Cotton Lee was right again. “So much to be happy about.”

“Wonderful.” He patted her back, and then straightened in his wheelchair in that crooked manner that was now his norm.

Stiff from kneeling on concrete so long, Cara shifted to stand. Her dad’s hand wrapped around her forearm with surprising muster.

“Promise me something, won’t you?”

“If I can.”

“A spry girl like you shouldn’t have any problem placing flowers on my wife and daughter’s graves.”

The realization that her father was no longer in full command of his mind knocked the wind from her lungs. She collapsed onto her heels. Only his grip kept her upright.

“My secretary will give you the flowers. I bought them on my way into the office this morning and planned to do it myself, but the gaps in my schedule filled to the brim. The people count on me, you know.” He slapped her forearm playfully. “It’s no trouble finding them just under the skinny oak in the southeast corner of the cemetery.” His gaze lifted to the sky. “I lay them together. It’s what Miriam wanted. Even though I told her Cara wasn’t dead. My little girl will show up one day. I know it.”