Black Sheep (36 page)

“Where are you staying?” asked the daughter, who had a better command of English.

“Tonight? I don’t know. Are there any hotels near here?” All she’d seen on the windy
road up the barrier island were condos and large mansions.

The waitress spoke in Spanish to her mother, who nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
A few minutes later she emerged with a slip of paper and a key.

“Our cousin is a Realtor, rents out condos, houses,” the daughter explained. “We clean
them between guests. He says you can stay as long as you like—family discount rate.”

Caitlyn shook her head. Seemed like every family had an Uncle Jimmy. “Thanks. I’ll
just need it for two nights. I think,” she added, wondering what it would be like
to live on the beach. “I don’t have much cash, can I put it on my credit card?”

“
Sí, sí.
There are fresh linens already there. You can’t buy groceries tonight, but the Food
Lion opens again at nine in the morning.”

“You be okay?” the mother asked, worry crinkling her eyes. “Alone?”

“I’ll be fine.” She paid, leaving a generous tip, and stood to leave.

“You come back again,” the mother called, waving her apron. “Tomorrow lunch. I fix
you special.”

“Thank you. I will.”

The condo was a gorgeous two-bedroom, one half of a duplex that was on the second
row from the beach. She couldn’t see the ocean from her balcony in the dark, but she
could hear it. The air was crisp, more tang to it than the mountain air, still chilly
but promising sunshine rather than clouds and snow. She found cushions for the divan
on the balcony, brought a comforter out from the bedroom, snuggled in to listen to
the waves and think.

A man calling her name carried over the sound of the ocean. She struggled, trying
to orient herself. Dad?

She shook herself awake. The moon was directly overhead, and she could see its reflection
off the sand beyond the backyard. The tide had come in. There was the ocean; wave
after wave of white frothy moonglow.

“Caitlyn!”

She looked down into the backyard. A familiar figure stood on the other side of the
locked privacy fence. “Goose?”

“Can I come in?”

She ran down the stairs and let him in. “What are you doing here? How did you find
me?”

“GPS tracker on your car. I never had a chance to take it off.” He rocked on his heels,
hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “You mad at me for coming?”

She thought about it. Somehow it didn’t bother her that he was here, sharing a moment
that she’d thought was reserved for her and her dad. That aching hole Dad’s memory
used to leave didn’t feel so empty.

The head shrinkers at Quantico would probably have a field day with that, but she
didn’t care. She took his hand and led him back out the gate, following the boardwalk
over the dunes to the ocean. “No. I don’t mind. But why did you come?”

“You were right about the truck. We got them all. They’re sending me to DC. Grand
jury, debriefing, all that jazz. Trying to figure out what to do with me while I’m
waiting to testify. Anyway, I figured I might not have the chance to see you again
and, well”—he suddenly focused on his boots as if the shifting sands had left him
off balance—“we never had a chance to say good-bye.”

The high tide made the sand soft so that their boots sank into it as they walked.
Caitlyn gave up and sank down onto the sand. Goose hesitated for a brief moment, then
sat down beside her, stretching his legs out to where the incoming waves brushed against
the soles of his boots.

“What do I call you?” she asked. “I can’t stop thinking of you as Goose, but—”

“Goose is just fine. If you like it. Carver’s fine as well. Or Jake.” He shrugged.
Obviously it’d been so long since anyone used his real name, he wasn’t sure what to
call himself.

“Why Goose?”

“When you become a prospect for the Reapers they shave your head. Then tattoo it.”
He ran his fingers through the back of his hair. “Guess my head looks a bit funny
when it’s shaved. Like a big, old—”

“Goose egg.” She laughed. It felt good, not as painful as she thought it might. “My
dad was going to bring us here when I was a kid,” Caitlyn continued, smoothing her
hands over the wet sand, feeling its grit and heft before it slipped between her fingers
and was gone. “But then he died and I never made it until now.”

“Really?” He leaned back on his elbows, gaze fixed on her—or the moon beyond her.
“We used to come here all the time. Stayed a bit farther up the road, another five
miles or so. Not so crowded there.”

She looked up and down the dark beach. No lights visible except for the one she’d
left on behind them at the condo. “Crowded?”

“We came during the summer when school was out.”

“Sounds nice.”

He sighed. “It was. Haven’t been back in, wow, ten, eleven years.”

“I hadn’t been back home to Evergreen for twenty-six years. Guess maybe I should’ve
stayed away longer.”

“You still think of it as home? Despite everything?”

“I don’t know. Not sure where my home is.” The only constant in her life as she’d
moved from assignment to assignment was the old gun safe her father built. The one
piece of him her mother hadn’t gotten rid of. Now she wondered why. Maybe Jessalyn
had a conscience after all, had been punishing herself all these years every time
she looked at that beat-up old gun safe—or looked at the daughter who was the spitting
image of the man she’d killed.

“You going back to Quantico?”

She’d thought she’d need a few days to think, but suddenly the decision was clear.
“It’s funny. Friday night when I got to Evergreen my mom and I argued about my job.
She wanted me to quit. So did Paul. Everyone wants me out.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to do my job. I’m good at it—damn good. Even if I have a hard time playing
by the Bureau’s rulebook. So”—she heaved in a breath—“yes. I’m going back to Quantico.
I’m not quitting. If they want me out, they’ll have to find a reason why. Hell, this
time I didn’t even shoot anyone.”

He nodded as if her answer was exactly what he’d expected. Then he sat up, leaned
in to face her. “Too bad. Because my understanding is that fraternization is against
FBI rules.”

A grin danced across his lips. Too enticing to ignore. She cupped his face between
her palms, smearing sand through his beard and hair, and kissed him hard.

“You know me. I love breaking the rules,” she said when they parted for air. Before
he could answer, she pressed her weight against him, leaning him on his back in the
sand, and kissed him again.

*   *   *

They spent the day walking on the beach. The water was freezing but Caitlyn couldn’t
resist taking off her shoes and playing in the surf.

Paul texted. Again. Goose watched as she stopped and read it. Again.

Heard about your mom. So sorry. Words fail. Call me. Love you.

Saltwater spray made her eyes water. She pocketed her phone, ignoring the text. Again.

“You’re not going to talk to him?” Goose asked after the fourth time.

“He wants closure, doesn’t realize he already has it. Better this way. A little pain
now … Besides, he’s a doctor. Has his work, his patients. He’ll be fine.” She wished,
she hoped. Paul deserved better than she could give him.

“The man really does love you, you know.”

“That’s what
she
keeps saying, too.” Jessalyn. Who did everything for love of family. Love for her
daughter. Who wanted or needed that kind of love in their life?

She dug her toe into the sand, enjoying the cold sensation as the tide buried her
foot. It hurt, a little, sharp needles freezing her skin. But she’d get over it. So
would Paul.

“I think some people know how to give love but not how to receive it,” she finally
said. “Some can do both, some can’t do either. After all, giving and receiving are
different skill sets, you’re not necessarily born knowing how to do both, right?”

“And which group are you?” His tone said he thought her theory a load of crap but
was willing to humor her to keep her talking.

She didn’t answer right away. “I’m still figuring that out.”

*   *   *

Bernie woke to bright lights and a throbbing headache. He blinked, and the lights
were blocked by a beautiful face smiling down on him.

“Lena,” he gasped. “Where am I? Are you really here?”

She pushed a button, and his hospital bed raised up. “Of course I am, silly. Where
else would I be?” Before he could answer, she raised a glass with a straw to his lips.
“The doctor says to drink plenty of fluids. You got an infection from one of the animals.
Leptospirosis. They’re giving you medicine, you should be fine, but he said it was
a close call. Your liver was inflamed and your kidneys almost shut down. But everything’s
fine now, you’re okay.”

He pushed the glass away, saw an IV poking out the back of his hand. “Never mind me.
Are you okay? What about the animals? What happened? All I remember is—” Panic flooded
over him. “Weasel. He had a gun. Did he shoot you?”

“Nope. It was a miracle straight from Heaven. He shot that gun four times but didn’t
hit anyone. Not even Lucky.”

“Who’s Lucky?”

“That’s the leopard’s name. She and the others are over in Asheville, at the zoo.”

“They’re okay?”

“Thanks to you, they are.” She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks to you,
so am I.”

“But did you find what you were looking for?”

She sat back, the light overhead giving her a halo. Like an angel. His angel. Smiling
at him and only him. “I sure did.”

The way she squeezed his hand he hoped she meant him. But … “The land grant you and
Caitlyn were talking about. My dad, the casino—”

“I have the original pact. The tribe and the freedmen descendants will work something
out so that everyone benefits. I’ll see to it. Starting with the tribe taking responsibility
for running the casino themselves now that your dad’s gone.”

“He’s going to jail, isn’t he?” Bernie sighed. He knew this day would come, but it
was still hard.

Lena moved from the chair to sit beside him on the bed. God, she was even more beautiful
than the first time he’d seen her.

“Bernie,” she said in a low voice, taking his hand in both of hers, “I have some bad
news. About your dad…”

*   *   *

Caitlyn lingered in Goose’s arms as long as she could before leaving to drive back
to Quantico. Who cared if she didn’t shower or wear clean clothes when they were just
going to fire her anyway?

The traffic gods smiled on her and it was only nine oh five when she arrived at the
corridor outside her office. LaSovage waited, pacing the hallway, her office door
shut behind him.

“This is it?” she said.

He seemed more upset than she was. “Assistant Director Yates is in there. Waiting
for you.”

So. The powers-that-be made the trip from their cushy offices in DC instead of summoning
her to come to them. This did not bode well. Still, she just couldn’t get too upset
about it. She’d told Goose that she wanted to do her job—and she did—but one thing
she’d realized lying awake last night was that there were always possibilities. She
didn’t have to work for the FBI to do the job she wanted to do. The FBI had been her
father’s dream, and she’d made it come true. But if it was time to move on, she could
accept that.

She reached for the door but LaSovage stopped her. He handed her a DVD wrapped in
a clumsily tied red ribbon. “No matter what happens, this is for you.”

“What is it?”

He shuffled, nervous—totally out of character for the
über
-confident HRT guy. “Just a few clips of what you missed around here this weekend.”

“Mike, what did you do?”

“Not me.” Yates could be heard stirring on the other side of the office door. “Good
luck.”

He was gone, leaving her alone to face Yates. She opened the door, surprised to see
the assistant director sitting in the spare chair in front of her desk, watching something
on the TV.

“I see you received one as well,” he said by way of greeting. He held up a DVD case
labeled:
FIRST ANNUAL ADVANCED TACTICS COMPETITION
.

“Just now. What’s going on?”

“You tell me, Agent Tierney.” At least she was still “agent.” For now, at least. He
paused the DVD. “Seems your unorthodox teaching methods inspired some of the agents
in training. Two of them held an impromptu review session in the commons Friday night,
where they shared your tactical advice with the other agents in training. This in
turn inspired Special Agent LaSovage to set up a voluntary tactical competition between
the new class and the class due to graduate next month. He said he wanted to combat
any skill deterioration the long holiday weekend may induce by creating a little collegial
rivalry.”

Didn’t sound at all like LaSovage, but maybe bullshitting was part of his skill set
in addition to being a crack marksman.

“I don’t understand what that has to do with me or why you’re here, sir.” She added
the last belatedly, but Yates didn’t seem to notice.

“LaSovage used real-world scenarios not found in our training materials, judged by
members of the HRT and some National Academy instructors who volunteered.”

He hit
PLAY
on the DVD. LaSovage stood in front of a crowd of NATs sitting in the grass in front
of the 9/11 Memorial. “And the first annual Golden Donut Award”—he held up a donut
spray-painted traffic-stop orange—“plus this box of Krispy Kremes.” He opened the
lid, revealing a half-empty box of donuts. “Excuse me, what’s left of this box of
Krispy Kremes, goes to our newest class of agents in training.”

A roar of applause drowned him out as a woman bounded up to accept the award. It was
the female NAT Caitlyn made cry last week. What was her name? The image of a nun flit
through her mind. Maria? No, Mary Agnes. Garman like the GPS.