Tackle and I lived in DC, but both sets of our parents lived in Newton, Massachusetts.
“I was thinking of doing the same.”
“Striker isn’t making you babysit over the holiday?”
I told him about the call I’d just hung up from and also about the impending offer.
“About damn time,” he muttered. “When do you get in?”
“I haven’t booked the flight yet, but I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”
“Roger that. I land at
four this afternoon.”
“I’ll see what I can arrange.”
Tackle offered to pick me up whenever I landed, which I was sure my parents would appreciate. More, my younger sister would, since she was the one who usually got stuck doing airport runs.
“It was nice of you to bring Knox home,” my mother said to Tackle the next day when he dropped me off at my parents’ place and came inside.
She put her arms around me. “I can’t believe you’ll actually be with us for the holiday this year.”
My father, Benjamin Knox Clarkson, Sr., an American, had never cared much about holidays. He’d worked for the State Department most of his life, traveling the world. However, my mother, who was Venezuelan, loved holidays—any holiday. Almost too much, overly embracing decorating for any occasion. Presently, my parents’ house looked like it had been the venue for a pilgrim party.
“There are six days between now and then,” I said. “Don’t tempt fate.”
I don’t know who should’ve kept their mouth shut—her or me—but here it was, the day before Thanksgiving, and both Tackle and I were on a transport to Atlanta. There, we’d be on standby until we were given the word to connect with Montano “Onyx” Yáñez and fly to Bogotá.
Once we arrived in Columbia’s capital, I’d be going undercover into one of the drug cartels while Tackle was positioned inside the US embassy.
Hadn’t I just been wishing for a mission more interesting than watching over Aine McNamara? I scrubbed my face. Be careful what you wish for.
The next afternoon, we received our orders and boarded a plane belonging to K19. Onyx was piloting, and another operative I’d heard of but never worked with, Sofia “Corazón” Descanso, was his copilot.
We’d been in the air for almost five hours and were just past Aruba when all hell broke loose.
Tackle and I jumped up from our seats and raced to the cockpit when we heard a shot being fired. When we slammed through the door, guns cocked, Onyx was slumped over the plane’s instrument panel and Corazón had her gun pointed directly at me.
Either way, I was going to die today—if I fired first, the unmanned plane would crash. If I let her shoot me, she’d kill Tackle too, and then she may have a chance of getting away with a triple murder. I pulled the trigger.
2
Tara
Why in the hell did I come to California for Thanksgiving? I’d only done it so I didn’t have to be alone. But here I was, surrounded by people, four of my best friends in the world, and I’d never felt more alone in my life.
From the time we were seven years old—when we all showed up at the same boarding school—until just recently, we’d been the Tribe of Five, always looking out for each other in a way no one else did. All of our parents—to one degree or another—had lives that didn’t include much time for child-rearing. That’s why we’d banded together in the first place. Shared misery, loneliness, and a profound sense of abandonment.
I couldn’t pinpoint exactly when Quinn, Ava, Aine, Penelope, and I had started to grow apart. More and more, I felt like I no longer connected with the four of them. I couldn’t say or do the right thing—ever. What we all used to find funny became me being a bitch…or immature.
Part of it was that, in the last year, our lives had all gone in different directions. Quinn got married first; Ava followed not long after her. Penelope got a job she loved, as a physical therapist, and Aine had been in a committed relationship that, while she said they’d broken up, seemed as though it was back on.
That left me. I had a degree in art history and no idea what to do with it. Sure, I could work in a museum, but where I’d have to start would bore me to tears. It wasn’t like I could show up and immediately get a job as a curator. I’d have to start as a curatorial assistant. No, thanks.
I noticed the key fob for the rental car sitting on the counter, picked it up, and sneaked it into my pocket, wondering if I left, how long it would be before anyone even noticed I was gone. Or maybe they would notice and be thankful.
Even I had to admit I was bitchy. Ever since Pen and I decided at the last minute to fly here for the holiday and a couple of my credit cards were declined, I’d been distracted. I called my dad before we left to find out why, but so far, he hadn’t returned my call.