to be cracking my skull open, sometimes my memory faded in and out. But this I remembered clearly. I nodded.
“Let’s extrapolate this out. Your psychic knowing was about a crime and Iniquus. You intellectually knew that there was something wrong with our planning. Do you think they are connected?”
I let the thought churn around for a minute. Did I?
Before I could reach a conclusion, Striker sat up. “Lexi, something is happening at Iniquus. It’s bad.”
My eyes widened, and I shifted onto my knees. “How bad?” I whispered, resting my hands on his thighs.
“Missions keep going berserk. Our clients are losing confidence in us. The caseloads are seriously down. Spencer all but begged for this contract with the FBI. Told them he was sending in Strike Force, and you were back on the team. It was Michaels who decided to sign the contract.”
“The one that gave me the commendation for catching the Dirt Boys in the act the day of the bank robbery?”
Striker nodded. “He’s the one. Spencer was calling in the chip that he owed us. Owed you.”
“But if we’re not getting any more contracts. . .” I let my eyes rest on the crease between the ceiling and the wall – my thinking spot. And my thought was - no contracts? No money. No money meant bankruptcy. The end of Iniquus. How could Iniquus have fallen into such dire circumstances? This was unfathomable. When I looked back over to Striker, I saw him waiting for me to reach those exact conclusions.
“They’ve already furloughed most of our Middle Eastern teams and one out of Africa. They’re pruning down the workforce here as best they can. Grant and Spencer were depending on a stellar outcome with the D.O.A. mission.” He shook his head. “I’ve had missions fail before—it happens—but not this spectacularly, and not outside of war zones. I’m not sure how they kept it out of the news. It’s a damned good thing that they did, though.”
That was the second time today Striker cussed. It was jarring. He never used swear words. “Because Iniquus might have dragged down the FBI’s reputation along with our own? The Bureau certainly doesn’t need another Waco or Ruby Ridge.”
“Roger that,” he said.
Iniquus was like the Avengers to me. Unconquerable. Mighty warriors with good on their side, overcoming evil. “Have you talked this over with Spyder?” I asked.
He shook his head. “He came by the hospital. We weren’t in a secure room, so we didn’t discuss anything mission-related. I don’t know what he knows. He said he had a tiny window to check in before his next mission began.” Concern flickered in Striker’s eyes. “He said he was going to find you. You saw him, didn’t you?”
He lied to Striker. No, wait. None of those words were lies. He merely offered words that Striker would interpret in a way convenient to Spyder. So Striker didn’t know Spyder had set up shop just eight miles down the street. “We had an ice cream and took a walk.”
Striker gave me the gentle smile he used when he was charmed. Spyder and I having a walk and an ice cream did seem like a Norman Rockwell moment, and nothing like heading to the shore where no one could overhear us as he told me Dad was an operative, and that I had picked up the spook gene when my very first X chromosomes zipped themselves together.
Striker lay back down. He was naked, and it was sidetracking me. I reached over and pulled the sheet across him. “So nothing from Spyder’s end. Tell me, when did this start at Iniquus?”
“I was distracted, Chica. Strike Force’s mission was to find you.” He reached up and spun a piece of my hair around his finger. “Command asked little of us other than that. General Elliot went on vacation with his wife and got sick.”
“I haven’t seen him since before I was kidnapped.”
“He’s on medical leave. He’s been out for a while now, since right after Miriam Laugherty started working with our team to try to find you
“Let’s extrapolate this out. Your psychic knowing was about a crime and Iniquus. You intellectually knew that there was something wrong with our planning. Do you think they are connected?”
I let the thought churn around for a minute. Did I?
Before I could reach a conclusion, Striker sat up. “Lexi, something is happening at Iniquus. It’s bad.”
My eyes widened, and I shifted onto my knees. “How bad?” I whispered, resting my hands on his thighs.
“Missions keep going berserk. Our clients are losing confidence in us. The caseloads are seriously down. Spencer all but begged for this contract with the FBI. Told them he was sending in Strike Force, and you were back on the team. It was Michaels who decided to sign the contract.”
“The one that gave me the commendation for catching the Dirt Boys in the act the day of the bank robbery?”
Striker nodded. “He’s the one. Spencer was calling in the chip that he owed us. Owed you.”
“But if we’re not getting any more contracts. . .” I let my eyes rest on the crease between the ceiling and the wall – my thinking spot. And my thought was - no contracts? No money. No money meant bankruptcy. The end of Iniquus. How could Iniquus have fallen into such dire circumstances? This was unfathomable. When I looked back over to Striker, I saw him waiting for me to reach those exact conclusions.
“They’ve already furloughed most of our Middle Eastern teams and one out of Africa. They’re pruning down the workforce here as best they can. Grant and Spencer were depending on a stellar outcome with the D.O.A. mission.” He shook his head. “I’ve had missions fail before—it happens—but not this spectacularly, and not outside of war zones. I’m not sure how they kept it out of the news. It’s a damned good thing that they did, though.”
That was the second time today Striker cussed. It was jarring. He never used swear words. “Because Iniquus might have dragged down the FBI’s reputation along with our own? The Bureau certainly doesn’t need another Waco or Ruby Ridge.”
“Roger that,” he said.
Iniquus was like the Avengers to me. Unconquerable. Mighty warriors with good on their side, overcoming evil. “Have you talked this over with Spyder?” I asked.
He shook his head. “He came by the hospital. We weren’t in a secure room, so we didn’t discuss anything mission-related. I don’t know what he knows. He said he had a tiny window to check in before his next mission began.” Concern flickered in Striker’s eyes. “He said he was going to find you. You saw him, didn’t you?”
He lied to Striker. No, wait. None of those words were lies. He merely offered words that Striker would interpret in a way convenient to Spyder. So Striker didn’t know Spyder had set up shop just eight miles down the street. “We had an ice cream and took a walk.”
Striker gave me the gentle smile he used when he was charmed. Spyder and I having a walk and an ice cream did seem like a Norman Rockwell moment, and nothing like heading to the shore where no one could overhear us as he told me Dad was an operative, and that I had picked up the spook gene when my very first X chromosomes zipped themselves together.
Striker lay back down. He was naked, and it was sidetracking me. I reached over and pulled the sheet across him. “So nothing from Spyder’s end. Tell me, when did this start at Iniquus?”
“I was distracted, Chica. Strike Force’s mission was to find you.” He reached up and spun a piece of my hair around his finger. “Command asked little of us other than that. General Elliot went on vacation with his wife and got sick.”
“I haven’t seen him since before I was kidnapped.”
“He’s on medical leave. He’s been out for a while now, since right after Miriam Laugherty started working with our team to try to find you
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