Page 39 of Lethal Vengeance
The lady laughs and hands me the phone in her hand. “She said to tell you. ‘Double tag, you’re out.’ She’ll wait for you at the pastry shop around the corner from the apartment.” Her eyes skim me from head to toe. “Lucky woman.”
Stunned to find I’d lost, I stand in the middle of the sidewalk, letting pedestrians flow around me. It suddenly hits me. I haven’t had this much fun in ages. With a quick pivot, I start the run back with a huge smile on my face.
She’s sitting at one of the café tables out front, sipping a frothy concoction, and eating a chocolate croissant when I arrive. The clouds from this morning have gone. A smile lingers on her face. Maybe I didn’t lose after all.
“Good morning, minx. Well played,” I congratulate her and bow.
She waves a hand to the seat in front of her with all the elegance of a British lady inviting someone to tea. “Please join me. Our server will be right out.”
I place her phone on the table. “I’ve never heard of the double tag rule.”
She chuckles. “Tag was my sister’s favorite game, and we played it all the time. The age difference didn’t matter. We were both stubborn and competitive… and utterly unwilling to concede to the other. My stepfather got tired of us running around the house, so he made up the double tag rule. If your opponent tagged you twice in a row, you were out and couldn’t go back in for twenty-four hours. His ingenuity earned him a few hours of peace.”
My brow furrows. “I didn’t know it would remind you of her. My intent was the opposite.”
Her strong fingers clasp mine. “Thank you. The good memories are hard to recall unless something triggers them. This is the first time in a long time I’ve felt her close, and it means a lot.”
My fingers curl around hers, lightly playing with them. “How long has she been gone?”
“Three years. Yesterday. A lifetime. Time is a funny thing,” she replies.
The server comes up and I order black coffee, a butter croissant, and a bowl of fruit. “It is.” I tilt my head. “Zane told you about rescuing the men from Africa, right?”
She nods.
The server returns with my order, and I take a much needed sip of the dark brew.
“One of those men was my… father. Technically, my stepfather, but I’ve never thought of him in those terms.” I stumble around the words a bit, but it’s been a long time since I willingly explained my past to someone.
“I’m sorry,” she inserts, rubbing her thumb over the back of my hand. “I know what it’s like to lose both a father and stepfather. It’s like this huge rock is removed from the center of your life, and suddenly, you’re adrift in a strong current with no way to get back to shore.”
I think about it for a second. “Exactly. I’ve felt that way twice, though. When my biological father found out about me, he forced my mother to send me to boarding school. One day, I was home, enjoying life with my family, and the next, I was alone in a world radically different from the one I’d left. It was a bit screwed up for a while. The dust finally settled, and I got to spend time with the man I considered my father. But for a few years, it felt like I’d lost him. Later, I did lose him when he died.”
She props her chin in her hand. “Zane told me a hacker intercepted a communication from the terrorist with a ransom demand?”
Picking up the strawberry from my plate, I place it on hers. My mouth twitches. She’s been staring at it for a while. “When they told me he died, I didn’t believe it. He’d been larger than life and tough. They didn’t find a body, and I couldn’t rest until I knew for sure. By day, I was Lord Northbrook’s proper British heir, but at night, I hacked into everything looking for some clue that they were wrong. I found one.”
“You and Zane rescued him,” she surmises, taking a bite of the strawberry. Juice runs across her bottom lip, and her tongue swipes across to catch it.
Transfixed by the sight, I stare at those lips, surprised by how much I want to kiss her. Instead, I just nod. My mouth opens to say more, but I close it.
“A lord, huh? Youareinsufferably posh,” she decrees with a snicker, waving her hand at my jogging attire. “Makes the rest of us look so utterly common.”
My mouth twitches. “Not impressed by the title, huh?”
“Oh, I’m impressed,” she drawls. “By how graciously you accepted your defeat today. Manners are the hallmark of a true gentleman. And a lord, apparently.” She laughs.
The darkness has receded, which means it’s time to go. Handing the server money for the bill, I pull her up from the table.
“That’s enough laziness for today. We’ve got a lot to get done.”
* * *
My eyes followthe woman pacing back and forth across the living room floor. She’s been on the phone calling contacts for the Chicago transport, but without luck so far. With her distracted, I call Zane and Cruz over, and hand them the folder with her background information that came in about a half hour ago.
Zoe Fairchild, born in Texas. Grew up mostly in Coppell. Father was David Quinn Fairchild, Texas Ranger, died in a shootout when she was eight.
There’s a picture of a little girl at a funeral surrounded by men wearing the badge with the large trademark star.
