Page 21 of Avenging Jessie
He stared at her long enough that she stopped what she was doing and stared back. “I didn’t…” he started. But his voice cracked.
He abandoned the coffee maker and sat down again, slowly. The chair creaked under his weight. Jessie finished pouring the water in and getting it started. Then she joined him at the table as the smell of ground coffee filled the air.
His hand dipped into his pocket.
The coin was warm from his body heat. He turned it over in his fingers once. Twice.
Then, he looked at her and told her something he’d never told anyone. Not even his adopted brothers, who knew all the dirt, all the ugliness about him. “I’m looking for my baby sister.”
Nine
Jessie
The way Spencelooked at the coin in his hand, like it held the weight of his entire past, made Jessie’s throat tighten. She didn’t speak, didn’t move—just watched him turn it over, his jaw clenched, eyes far away.
I’m looking for my baby sister, he’d said.
It was the kind of sentence that had so much behind it, so much more story. But Spence wasn’t one to embellish. He let it hang there, stark and raw, like an open wound he’d finally decided to show.
Jessie swallowed. The coin gleamed in the light, but it wasn’t the silver that held her attention. It was the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice. There was something different there than she’d ever seen or heard before.
She wasn’t sure, but it appeared that Spence Stirling, the man who built firewalls for breakfast and brought terrorists to their knees with one swift kick, had just opened the door to a secret side of him.
For her.
For a moment, she didn’t know if she wanted to thank him or run.
She opened her mouth—no idea what she would say—and the laptop chimed.
The soft sound managed to hit like a gunshot in the silence. Spence flinched. So did she. Whatever fragile thread had connected them snapped.
Spence was instantly back to his usual self, opening it and frowning at the screen. “It’s Flynn.”
“Already?” Jessie glanced at the kitchen clock, hurriedly whipping off the towel from around her neck and raking a hand through her wet hair. She joined Spence on his side of the table. “I thought we had?—”
He was already clicking to answer. Director Flynn’s lined face filled the screen, voice sharp with urgency before either of them could say a word. “We’ve got eyes on Brewer,” Flynn said. “In Paris.”
Jessie’s heart stuttered. “What?”
Spence cocked his head, every inch of him going rigid. “That’s not possible, mate. He was at the Görlitz compound less than four hours ago.”
“Then he’s either learned how to teleport,” Flynn said, voice strained, “or he has doppelgängers.”
Jessie leaned in. “You have photos? Video?”
“We do.” The sound of Flynn’s typing preceded a traffic cam shot of Brewer crossing a street. “Del has confirmed it’s legit.”
Itdidlook like Brewer, the bastard. Jessie’s guts crawled. “It can’t be unless he’s cloned himself.”
“She’s right.” Spence shared his screen and the security footage of Harris and Hastings outside the warehouse. “He’s teamed up with Jonathan Hastings, a former CIA handler, who now goes by Jonas Keller.”
Flynn grunted. “Hastings? Are you sure? You’ve located him after all this time? What the hell is he doing with Brewer?”
“He has an ax to grind with Langley, just like Brewer does,” Jessie said. “And since I was one of his operatives, I can confirm it’s him.”
There was a string of cursing on the other end. “Brewer had amassed quite a team, then, hasn’t he?” Another round of cursing and more pecking at a keyboard. “Del cross-checked the cam footage with his personal facial recognition. It’s solid—CCTV in Paris caught Brewer outside the Galerie Vivienne just before sunrise. Here’s another kicker—Meg swears she saw him in D.C. yesterday, outside the Naval Observatory. That’s three cities in under twelve hours.”
Spence’s fingers curled into fists. “Then it’s not him. At least not every time. He’s using decoys, impersonators. High-quality masks, makeup, implants—whatever tech he can get his hands on. He’s using them to muddy the waters.”
