Page 8 of The Primary Pest
Dmytro sighed. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
“You need to detour to the coast as soon as you can. Head for the Santa Barbara house. Someone from our team will arrive before you to make sure it’s secure and provisioned.”
“Thank you. Will do.”
Dmytro opened the front passenger door and relayed the news to Bartosz.
Ajax got into the back. Sweat still clung to his skin. He didn’t look like he was going to stay awake for very long after they took off.
Dmytro buckled his seat belt. “Are you all right?”
“Sure,” Ajax muttered.
“You two are sick Furbies,” Bartosz said as he keyed the engine. “Bump one and the other goes.Splat. Wait until I tell the rest of the team.”
Dmytro ignored him. “There’s been a change of plans, Ajax. We’re heading for the Santa Barbara safe house now.”
Ajax frowned. “Why?”
“The other safe house might be compromised. Seat belt, Ajax.”
“Okay. Um… wait.” Ajax grabbed up his hat and scarf and bolted from the car. Cursing, Dmytro followed, angrily moving around the SUV. Ajax hung his things from the side mirror of a pickup truck with veterans’ bumper stickers on the glass in the back of the cab. He darted back to the car before its owners noticed and practically dove inside. That left Dmytro standing outside, pretty much holding his dick.
Oh, they were going to have a talk about this later when he wasn’t angry.
Dmytro returned to the front passenger seat. Ajax rapped on the window as if Bartosz were his chauffeur.
“Drive, Bartosz.”
“Sure thing, boss.” Bartosz complied, turning the big vehicle. As they waited to pull out, the couple Dmytro had been watching returned to their battered truck and found Ajax’s abandoned winter gear. Hiding his face, Ajax ducked down so they couldn’t see him. The man eyed Bartosz and him suspiciously before picking the scarf up to check it out. Evidently he found nothing wrong with the scarf—it was aludicrouslyluxurious cashmere knit—so he wrapped it around his wife’s neck. She put the hat on and adjusted its angle in the driver-side mirror. The color looked good on her. The two strangers waved as Bartosz edged the car back onto the two-lane highway.
In Dmytro’s world, people didn’t give anything away for free. They didn’t do anything without taking credit. He liked that Ajax wanted to give his gift anonymously, though it didn’t jibe with the intel they had on him. Ajax Freedom would have Instagrammed the event and posted pictures for everyone to see.
Dmytro was forced to admit Ajax Fairchild might be okay.
In the bruised purple darkness, melancholy flooded Dmytro’s heart. The couple reminded him of his much younger self and his wife, Yulia. He’d looked at herjust soa thousand times, imagined their happy future, imagined they had their whole lives ahead of them. He’d held her close and felt his children kick against his belly from inside hers.
Yulia had lost her life because of him, because of his choices and his failures.
He needed to be there for his girls, so he kept on—for Yulia, for Sasha and Pen. For everyone but him.
He wondered what the insouciant Mr. Fairchild/Freedom would make of that, since despite his kindness, the boy apparently held his own life cheaply.
Ajax’s breathing slowed and evened out.
He wasn’t really a boy, Dmytro realized.
He looked young, but he had beard stubble. Just now, his dark hair created a curly halo around his head. His lashes cast half-moon shadows beneath his eyes. He looked a little too much like one of Caravaggio’s paintings for Dmytro’s comfort—Amor Victorious or David with the head of the slain Goliath still dripping from his hand. Beautiful and powerful but innocent in a way men like Dmytro, Zhenya, and Bartosz had never been.
Caravaggio had a way with dark hair and dewy youthful skin that would do Ajax justice.
Ajax. Even his name was extra.
Still, Ajax had noticed the woman at the vista point was cold, and in his own way, he’d offered her his warmth. Maybe Ajax Fairchild wasn’t so bad after all.
Bartosz drove with the windows down for a few minutes because the scent of sickness had filled the air. The resulting wind chilled him, but when you could smell the stink of yourself, you shouldn’t ask for special favors. As soon as he noticed Ajaxshivering, though, he asked Bartosz to roll up the windows. Bartosz did so without complaint.
“Thank you,” said Dmytro.
