said, raising his good eye and nodding slowly as if he knew it was not weird at all. “I thought she wanted to be shed of him and his danger-man lifestyle for good. Maybe this latest little fais do do will clinch her mind.”
“It’ll clinch her mind all right.” Ronnie sniffed, feeling a good cry coming on. “And Jericho’s, too.” She breathed through her mouth in a vain attempt to hold back tears. Her Cuban accent came on stronger when she got emotional. “Oh, Jacques, you know this is probably the one and only thing she could do that would get him to choose her over me. She’ll need him. There’s no way he can resist that.”
Thibodaux put a hand on her shoulder and drew her into his chest, dwarfing her in a big, brotherly squeeze. “He’s acting the stupid SOB right now, cher,” he said. “But let’s have a little faith in our man Jericho. He’ll do the right thing.”
Garcia let herself go, sobbing in the safety of Jacques’s massive embrace. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
C HAPTER 5
T he stress of having her mother shot was bad enough, but Quinn suspected there was more to Mattie’s tears than that. She was a smart girl, well beyond her seven years. When she replayed the events in her mind, it would not be too much for her to figure out that the bullet that took her mother’s leg was really meant for her.
Quinn longed to stay with them, to hold Mattie in his lap and pat her back and tell her everything would be all right. But that was a lie. Nothing would be all right unless he went out and made it so.
Kim motioned him closer. He put a hand on her forehead, smoothing her hair, then bent down with his ear to her lips.
“You need to get out of here,” she whispered. The oxygen cannulas gave her already soft voice a pitiful, nasal tone that twisted a knife in Quinn’s gut.
He stood up, trying to gauge her emotion from the look on her face. It was impossible.
“Just try and get some sleep,” he said. “We’ll make some decisions soon enough.”
Kim’s chest began to jerk with sobs, oblivious to Mattie’s crying.
“Jer . . . icho.” Her voice caught in her throat between breaths. “They . . . shot me . . .”
Quinn caressed the top of her head.
“And I’ll find out who, Kim—”
“You . . . need to get . . . out of here,” she groaned.
“I will,” he said, trying to soothe her with his voice though he was anything but calm inside. “Soon enough.”
She gave a minute shake of her head. “You don’t understand, Jer . . .” She swallowed hard, panting to catch her breath. Her voice climbed with each word. “I’m not giving you permission . . . I’m telling you to go. I . . . don’t want you here!”
He would have rather she’d shot him.
Nodding, he hugged a weeping Mattie.
Kim reached and caught the tail of the borrowed fleece jacket as he turned to go.
“Jericho.”
“Yes?”
Oddly, Kim, who had boiled over with fear and anger just moments before, smiled.
“I don’t know . . . exactly what it is you do.” She sighed. “But whatever it is, I trust you to go do it well.”
She gave his hand a squeeze. It was the worst possible thing she could say, the thing that would cut him the most. He’d grown used to angry. He could prepare himself for angry. Trust was too much to handle.
Quinn left a cadre of a half dozen OSI agents from Buckley, Peterson, and the Denver Joint Terrorism Task Force to look after Mattie and Kim. All of them appeared happy to help, closing the protective ranks around the OSI family.
Quinn called Winfield Palmer in the car on the drive back to the Marriott. Still on the books with OSI at the Headquarters Detachment in Quantico, his detail as an OGA gave him certain access to the highest levels of government, but it had also made his family a target.
Palmer answered on the second ring.
“I heard,” he said, not waiting for Quinn to brief him. With the national security advisor, conversations often leaned heavily
“It’ll clinch her mind all right.” Ronnie sniffed, feeling a good cry coming on. “And Jericho’s, too.” She breathed through her mouth in a vain attempt to hold back tears. Her Cuban accent came on stronger when she got emotional. “Oh, Jacques, you know this is probably the one and only thing she could do that would get him to choose her over me. She’ll need him. There’s no way he can resist that.”
Thibodaux put a hand on her shoulder and drew her into his chest, dwarfing her in a big, brotherly squeeze. “He’s acting the stupid SOB right now, cher,” he said. “But let’s have a little faith in our man Jericho. He’ll do the right thing.”
Garcia let herself go, sobbing in the safety of Jacques’s massive embrace. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
C HAPTER 5
T he stress of having her mother shot was bad enough, but Quinn suspected there was more to Mattie’s tears than that. She was a smart girl, well beyond her seven years. When she replayed the events in her mind, it would not be too much for her to figure out that the bullet that took her mother’s leg was really meant for her.
Quinn longed to stay with them, to hold Mattie in his lap and pat her back and tell her everything would be all right. But that was a lie. Nothing would be all right unless he went out and made it so.
Kim motioned him closer. He put a hand on her forehead, smoothing her hair, then bent down with his ear to her lips.
“You need to get out of here,” she whispered. The oxygen cannulas gave her already soft voice a pitiful, nasal tone that twisted a knife in Quinn’s gut.
He stood up, trying to gauge her emotion from the look on her face. It was impossible.
“Just try and get some sleep,” he said. “We’ll make some decisions soon enough.”
Kim’s chest began to jerk with sobs, oblivious to Mattie’s crying.
“Jer . . . icho.” Her voice caught in her throat between breaths. “They . . . shot me . . .”
Quinn caressed the top of her head.
“And I’ll find out who, Kim—”
“You . . . need to get . . . out of here,” she groaned.
“I will,” he said, trying to soothe her with his voice though he was anything but calm inside. “Soon enough.”
She gave a minute shake of her head. “You don’t understand, Jer . . .” She swallowed hard, panting to catch her breath. Her voice climbed with each word. “I’m not giving you permission . . . I’m telling you to go. I . . . don’t want you here!”
He would have rather she’d shot him.
Nodding, he hugged a weeping Mattie.
Kim reached and caught the tail of the borrowed fleece jacket as he turned to go.
“Jericho.”
“Yes?”
Oddly, Kim, who had boiled over with fear and anger just moments before, smiled.
“I don’t know . . . exactly what it is you do.” She sighed. “But whatever it is, I trust you to go do it well.”
She gave his hand a squeeze. It was the worst possible thing she could say, the thing that would cut him the most. He’d grown used to angry. He could prepare himself for angry. Trust was too much to handle.
Quinn left a cadre of a half dozen OSI agents from Buckley, Peterson, and the Denver Joint Terrorism Task Force to look after Mattie and Kim. All of them appeared happy to help, closing the protective ranks around the OSI family.
Quinn called Winfield Palmer in the car on the drive back to the Marriott. Still on the books with OSI at the Headquarters Detachment in Quantico, his detail as an OGA gave him certain access to the highest levels of government, but it had also made his family a target.
Palmer answered on the second ring.
“I heard,” he said, not waiting for Quinn to brief him. With the national security advisor, conversations often leaned heavily
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