“This isn’t your responsibility, Decker. Go home and get some rest.”
“I found her. The sister will have questions.”
“I’ll send her your way if she does.”
I waited until I got back to the ranch, where I lived and worked, to pull my second cell out of the truck’s console. I stuck it in my pocket, grabbed the takeout food I’d picked up when I left the airport hours ago, and went inside.
I set the two phones and my food on the kitchen counter and went into my office to power up the monitors. There hadn’t been a whole lot going on here in the last week, and it would be fine with me if it stayed that way.
Summer was typically a slow season, but this year, more would fall on my shoulders than usual. Quint Alexander, the ranch’s owner, was away for a month on the honeymoon he and his wife had been trying to plan since January. Not that I minded the extra responsibility. I’d lived and worked on this ranch since I was thirteen years old, and had been the ranch manager since I was twenty-three, when Quint and I took over running it full-time.
Before that, Quint’s father—who everyone called Z—had run it, usually with Quint and me by his side. When he felt we were ready, Z announced his retirement from ranch life and returned to London where he was currently Chief of Her Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service, otherwise known as MI6.
I never met Z’s late wife and Quint’s mother. She’d died before I came to live on the ranch. She was the one who inherited the property from her daddy, Wasp King.
Hell, even before I knew a thing about the Alexanders, I’d heard stories about ol’ Wasp. Just about everyone in this part of Texas had. If I remembered correctly, Wasp and Judd Knight, father of the dead woman, had been tight at one time, even though Judd was several years Wasp’s junior.
Walking back into the kitchen, I opened the take-out container of Mexican food, dumped half of it into a bowl, and stuck it in the microwave. It was close to one in the morning, and the last thing I should be doing was eating food likely to give me heartburn, but I hadn’t eaten since before I left the UK.
I’d been there for a friend’s wedding, and on the day before I left, I’d been invited to attend an impromptu meeting for a start-up business. It was the kind of side work I already did in addition to my work at the ranch, only instead of being contracted when needed, I’d be a founding partner of the new company.
It was tentatively named Invincible Intelligence and Security Group—a name as long as it was pretentious—not that I gave much of a shit about stuff like that.
The meeting had been called by Cortez “Rile” DeLéon. Rile’s father, Carlos DeLéon, Duke of Soria, was the youngest brother of King Felipe VI of Spain. Rile’s mother was eighth cousin to Elizabeth II, Queen of the United Kingdom. With dual citizenship and connectivity to royalty, Rile had become an early asset to MI6.
The other two men at the meeting were Keon “Edge” Edgemon and Miles “Grinder” Stone. Both men were with MI5—the national intelligence side of England’s secret service.
All three men were ready to leave formal employment and strike out on their own. I, on the other hand, had always been a private contractor. The idea that I’d have more administrative responsibilities with this new entity didn’t thrill me, and I’d said so.
Rile had asked me to stay behind when the meeting adjourned. “We need you, Decker,” he’d said. “Please consider joining us.”
The man hadn’t insulted me with sanctimonious platitudes, and that was the only reason I even considered accepting the offer. I knew exactly how good I was, and I didn’t need anyone blowing smoke up my ass to confirm it.
Before I walked out, I promised Rile an answer within the week. First, I needed to talk the proposal over with the two men who had been my mentors for most of my life—Z Alexander and Laird “Burns” Butler.
Z was well aware of the new venture but told me to think it over before we spoke.
It was likely Burns was equally aware. Nothing in the intelligence world escaped the man who was renowned worldwide for his contributions to security technology—my specialty. I was good, but Burns was the best in all the world.
I walked back into the kitchen, dumped the food sitting in the microwave into the trash, and went to bed. It had been a long damn day, and something told me tomorrow wouldn’t be much better.
4
Mila
“I’m coming with you. This isn’t something you should do on your own,” Adler said as we stood at the airline ticket counter the next morning.
“This isn’t your responsibility. I can pay for my own airfare.”
When I pulled out my wallet, Adler covered my hand with his. “Please, let me do this,” he said.
I nodded, trying my hardest not to jerk my hand away. I was too exhausted and overwrought to argue with him.
Last night, after I’d dropped my phone w
ith the news of my sister’s death, Ad had picked it up and finished the conversation with the man I’d been talking to.
“They’ve asked you to come and identify the body,” he’d said after the car service he’d called dropped us off at our building and he walked me to my apartment.