Page 65 of Fire for Effect

He did the air quotes again. He had a disdain for so many things, and he liked to put them in bunny air quotes.

“You really should be off somewhere, sitting on a lawn and screaming at kids who play their music too loud,” I chuckled.

“That’d be the life,” he said. Then he went back to the SEAL. “My contact at this company says Trout might be recruiting the Prodigal Sons into his little revenge scheme. They want to roll him up and bring him in for questioning…”

“Before they dump him into a black site never to be seen again?” I finished the thought for him.

“Bingo!”

“And how do I know that this is legit, and you don’t just have a beef with this guy?”

“What kind of beef do you think I could have?” he lifted his silver brow, which still had a small line of black on the arch.

“I dunno, maybe he banged your wife at a Jody bar or something.” I turned my head to Kai, wincing even though he couldn’t hear my off-color joke. Sometimes I forgot that’s what Kristin had done to him. Except it was worse.

Noam pulled on a drawer again and pulled out an object, and bounced it in the palm of his hand.

“Brett Bradley left me this, in addition to the payment that I’ll very graciously share with you,” he said, dumping the large metal disc onto his desk. The disc spun on its edges before settling onto the table. It was a large challenge coin with a tree of life. The branch above ran as deep as the roots below. An old Celtic symbol of community, growth, and some other mystic bullshit.

That wasn’t what was of interest to me. It was the embossed name of the company this illusive Brett Bradley was a part of. The Green name in plain, bold, Times New Roman: Paradigm.

“We worked with them in the service,” I said, remembering the time those spies had come into our team room. A strange looking guy with brown hair and brown eyes, along with a guy who could have been his more charming brother. Corbin, or something. He was staggeringly good looking, and I almost let my mouth hang open, tongue falling to the floor like a red-carpet unfurling.

“So you know how rare these coins are,” Noam said. “And you know how especially valuable an IOU from them can be.”

That was the point of the challenge coin. It was a blood chit. A marker. A favor to be cashed in at a later date. It was an oath given in the most earnest pledge.

“Bring Mike in, and I’ll give you the cash. This,” he said, picking up the coin and letting it glint in the light. “Is all the payment I need.”

I finished my cigar, putting it out into his glass ashtray, which had a dummy bullet embedded into the side, with the phrase “De Oppresso Liber” carved into the brass - the motto of the Special Forces.

“Any idea where those maniac Prodigal Sons hang their hat?” Noam asked.

“Yeah,” I said, remembering Cobra from the other night. “I have an idea.”

Chapter 17

My friend in Washington

Griff

She got on her bike and gave me a small tour of the town, my eyes barely coming off her ass for a second. If a woman - any woman - couldn’t keep a man’s attention while leaning forward, straddling a sports bike, then the man’s just not into her.

As it stood, I was very, very into Taz Guerro. So into her that my dick was ready to be in her.

I was sure she was trying to piss me off when she turned into the bail bondsman, and spent over an hour sitting there with her feet on his desk, smoking a cigar and rifling through some papers. I couldn’t see clearly through the glass and the two of them kept their backs to me as they talked. No listening devices, no lip reading. And worse yet, they knew I was there, and were purposely keeping any papers turned away from me.

Was I jealous of her and that old man? Fuck yes. And I knew I would be, so long as she and I were in this strange limbo. But the moment she was tied to me, I knew that this simmering hate would melt the fuck away. I just needed some certainty… I needed her to know that I was the man. I was her man.

But she and Noam Braun were making a fucking game of it, and she and the old man were getting too fucking close.

When he came over and gave her a hug, I was ready to get out of the car and punch him in the dick.

She left her bike behind, opting for one of the company cars with bars on the back seat.

This wasn’t some two-bit alleyway bondsman. The man was professional. I could see it from the uniform company cars in the side lot. The building might be run down, but his security cameras were legit, state of the art, federal-grade surveillance on a continuous, closed-circuit system.

Who is this Noam Braun, and what have you gotten yourself into, Taz?

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