Finding Grace Page 5

  “No problem, sir, I think I threaten their masculinity, is all. Any more questions, ladies, or do you need diagrams?”

  The other two made themselves scarce under Paul’s glare.

  Dagger turned to his partner. “Say, Paul, got a minute?”

  He followed him into his office and closed the door. “I know you’ve asked me to trust you on this whole Thorne thing and God knows I’m trying, but for chrissake, Paul, the client list? His first day? He’s some kind of criminal, right? If he’s a he…I just don’t get it. Farley and Mills—”

  “I understand your confusion on both counts. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve got enough leverage on Thorne to satisfy any and all concerns. And since when have you given a damn what those two think?”

  This was just plain wrong. It wasn’t hard to see that Paul wanted to tell him more. He’d give him one last push. “You’re not the only one responsible for these men, Paul. Remember, keeping the team copacetic is my job. At least tell me why I don’t deserve to know.”

  A funny look passed over Paul’s face. “There’s more to Thorne than meets the eye, Dagger.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” Tell me, so maybe I’ll be able to understand how the little shit got under my skin.

  “I wish I could.”

  Dagger could see that he meant it, too. Fine. Just fucking fine.

  He walked back into the big office all of the men besides Paul shared when they were in. He’d never seen the need for a private one himself. He liked to keep an eye and ear on things. Still, it grated on him some that Paul had given the spare to Thorne.

  Farley and Mills were still talking and snickering. Farley turned to him and said, “So?”

  Shit, there was no way he could let the men know Paul was holding out on him. “All I can tell you is that the uniforms who picked Thorne up for questioning on the Tierney case swore he was a man. Way I figure it, he turned up in CODIS. Probably got his nose pinched sticking it in some database or wherever he shouldn’t have. Rigby cleared him of any connection to the kidnapping and thought we could use him.”

  “So how’d he know about it, then?” Farley had been there that night. It was a fair question. A damn good question.

  “You wouldn’t believe Thorne’s answer to that any more than Paul and I did. But it’s not like he’s living the high life off his criminal activities, I can tell you that.”

  “You’ve seen his apartment? What’s it like?” Farley always wanted to know everything.

  “Yeah, Paul and I went there to recruit him.” Dagger paused, remembering. “It’s colorful—”

  “Why thank you, Jack.” Thorne was suddenly standing in the door, wearing a big smile.

  “—for a padded room in a shithole asylum.”

  It could have been something in the way the set of Thorne’s lips changed that told Dagger he’d hurt the kid, but it was that little twinge in his gut that told him he regretted it.

  If not for long.

  “You sure your name’s not Judas?” The reflections off the dark lenses Thorne wore burned like lasers on his cheek.

  Mills drawled, “Why is it you little ones always gotta be so disrespectful?”

  “You really gonna try to shrink me, Billy Bob? A whole mob of people a hell of a lot smarter and more educated than you have tried and failed.”

  “Are you callin’ me a dumb redneck?”

  “Well, Cinderella, if the slipper fits…”

  Dagger fought a grin and lost. Farley didn’t even try; he was roaring.

  “Why you little—”

  Dagger moved to deflect Mills’s grab, but Thorne was already standing in the hall, looking somewhere between pissed and nervous. God damn, but that kid was fast.

  “Hey, I just came to ask you guys what improvements you’d like on your electronics while I’m waiting for some data to run, but I’m sure I can find something else to do instead.”

  Dagger gritted his teeth and reminded himself that’s what the damn little shit was here for. “Wait, Thorne. Just tell us this and we’ll get off your back. The honest truth. How did you know about the kidnapping?”

  “For the last time, I didn’t even know it was going to be a kidnapping, I just knew something was going down.”

  “Knew how?”

  “I saw it, like I told you and Paul and Captain America back at the funhouse.”

  “Oh yeah, the ‘vision.’ Right.” He rolled his eyes. “If you’re some kind of mind reader psychic, what am I thinking about, Thorne?”

  “If I said you’re imagining me naked, would you be pissed?” Thorne put his hands on his hips and posed.

  Mills snickered, and Farley was holding his sides like they were going to bust. Dagger thought it had been funnier when Thorne was going after Mills.

  “Seriously though, it doesn’t work that way, Jack. I don’t do fucking parlor tricks.”

  “Okay then,” Dagger said, more than happy to leave the woo-woo shit behind now, “if you’re so damn slick at what you do, why didn’t the government snap you up? Isn’t that what they do when they catch smart little freaks with their hands in the cookie jar?”

  “Let’s just say they were unsuccessful in their recruitment efforts.”

  “Got a problem with Uncle Sam, Thorne?” Mills asked it slowly.

  “Shitloads.”

  “We don’t care for un-American, liberal faggot-types around here.” It was Mills who said it, but Farley was nodding. Dagger could only wait. And hope.

  “God, Mills, stereotype much? Well, then you must all be a narrow-minded bunch of ignorant, red-white-and-blue, Neanderthal motherfucking sheep.” Thorne held his arm straight up and goose-stepped in place. “That’s right folks, give ’em a flag and they’ll follow it anywhere.”

  Dagger’s indrawn breath hissed, the sound of hope dying.

  They all froze when they heard Paul clear his throat. “We talked about this, Thorne. Whatever problems you have with the government, this isn’t the place to air them.”

  “And I told you that I’d be fine as long as they didn’t go all rigid, tight-ass GI Joe on me. I didn’t start it.” Thorne looked accusingly at Dagger.

  “Who started it? Really, Thorne? I expected better from you.”

  Dagger heard the disappointment in Paul’s voice and knew some of it was for him. He was supposed to keep the peace. He’d said so himself not a half hour ago.

  Paul continued to talk to Thorne. “It’s been a long day. Let’s say we start fresh tomorrow. You’ve got the client list and most of your equipment coming, so I expect you’ll be busy. Dagger will help you bring up the tables you need from downstairs in the morning. It’s almost dark. How did you get here?”

  “Ran. Why?”

  “It’s at least two miles. I don’t want you on foot between this neighborhood and your own after dark. Too much like going from the frying pan into the fire.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, Paul.” Thorne tilted his head up and around at the men surrounding him.

  Shit, Dagger’d seen bigger fourth graders. He felt a small, warm wave of sympathy, then a chill of foreboding.

  “I’m not asking. Dagger, you’ll be giving Thorne a ride home.”

  Dagger’s lips cursed soundlessly, but he’d turned his head so that only Paul could see.

  Chapter Five

  Dagger glanced over at Thorne as he maneuvered through the sleet-covered, late-day traffic. The kid was scrunched up against the door, sitting as far away from him as possible, which was pretty far in the old caddy. The little purple head barely cleared the back of the bench seat. He was staring out the side window, listening to his iPod. Dagger could see the wires snaking down under the back of the jacket’s stained collar.

  His eyes returned to the road and he asked himself for the hundredth time what it was about this kid that got to him and, for at least the tenth time in as many minutes, just how the hell he’d managed to make himself the belligerent little shit’s chauffeur.
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br />   Everything would have been fine if Thorne had just stayed away. But the kid was obviously broke, so in spite of how cagey he’d been with Paul yesterday, Dagger knew it was too great a wish that he wouldn’t take him up on the job offer. He’d wished anyway. Hard.

  After everything he’d done in the name of duty, all of that blood on his hands, all of those ghosts he had to listen to in his dreams whispering “Judas,” was a little goddamn peace of mind in his waking life too much to ask?

  He was jarred from his reverie when yet another asshole cut in too close and almost scratched his baby. He had to break hard and the big car swerved. He swore loudly.

  Thorne jerked his little head, pulled out the earbuds and said, “Look, Jack, I’m no happier about this than you are. But I wasn’t going to diss Paul in front of the team.”

  He suddenly realized he’d been swearing—sometimes under his breath, sometimes not—pretty much since pulling out of Blackridge’s parking lot. Was he going to have to pay the price for even that small comfort with a conversation he didn’t want? Maybe, but that didn’t mean it had to be a long one.

  “You mean, any more than you already did?” He narrowed his eyes and threw the kid one of his patented shut-the-fuck-up looks.

  “Oh yeah? What about you? You went into his office and tried to pump him about me and he didn’t give you squat. That pissed you off so you got on my shit in front of those jerks. If you think Paul was happy about that, then why do you think you’re driving Miss Daisy?”

  He snorted in spite of himself. Damn little smartass was sharp. So why the fuck didn’t he have the sense to be intimidated like everyone else? He had more reason than most.

  Dagger reached down across the seat and popped the glove box to pull out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. It was a nasty vice, but he figured one a day wouldn’t shorten his life any more than anything else he did. Besides, it came in handy sometimes, like the other night at the ball.

  “Please don’t light that.” Thorne’s voice was softer, rougher, almost pleading.

  “Why shouldn’t I? You allergic or something?”

  “No, Jack. I just can’t bear the smell.”

  Dagger was just too irritated to care. Paul had asked him to give Thorne a ride home and he was. Didn’t mean Thorne had to enjoy it. And he was pretty damn unhappy with both of them right now.

  “Beggars can’t be choosers, Thorne.”

  “I never asked for this ride. I’m not a fucking beggar.”

  “You sure as hell look like one.”

  Thorne turned away from him.

  Fine. He’d wanted to end the conversation, hadn’t he?

  Dagger lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. God, that felt good. It had been a stressful day and the main reason for that was sitting next to him. He took another drag and blew it in Thorne’s direction. But instead of the coughing he expected, Thorne was panting and desperately pushing buttons on the door panel.

  “God damn it, you asshole. Doesn’t the window open in this cannibal?”

  “Cannibal? What?”

  “Dinosaur guzzling fossil fuels. You probably can’t see the irony through the fucking smoke.”

  “Window motor’s broken. I don’t get a lot of passengers. What’s the matter? You look a little green.” Dagger took another drag and exhaled it loudly.

  “Doesn’t your window open either?”

  “It’s fucking winter, Thorne, and I’m tender, remember?”

  “Stop the car, Jack. Stop the fucking car. Now.”

  “Can’t, we’re in the middle of traffic here.”

  Thorne really was turning green, but it was tough crossing two lanes of traffic at this time of day to get to the curb.

  And by the time he did, it was too late. Thorne had already puked all over the original leather seat of his 1977 Cadillac Eldorado. What the hell had the kid had for lunch, anyway?

  “Goddamn it, Thorne!”

  But he’d screamed at an empty passenger seat. Thorne was on the sidewalk, puking again. In the gutter.

  By the time Dagger had found a place to park and walked over, Thorne made a pitiful sight sitting on the sidewalk in the slush, hugging his knees. People were staring. Dagger felt like a Grade A prick, even if he was all kinds of bummed out about his car.

  “Why didn’t you tell me it made you sick?”

  “Fuck you, Jack. I asked you not to light it.” Thorne was taking deep breaths through that straight little nose, but it didn’t look like the kid was getting enough air.

  “Just get back in the car and we’ll forget all about it.”

  “Leave me alone, God damn it.”

  A small crowd was gathering. Dagger was garnering more dirty looks than he was used to getting, and that was saying something.

  “Come on, let me give you a ride home. You can sit in the back, Miss Daisy.” He tried to make his voice sound coaxing, but it wasn’t a skill he owned.

  “No fucking way am I getting back in that car with you. Just go.”

  “Paul will have my ass if I just leave you here. Come on, Thorne, will ya?”

  “Fuck you.”

  So much for diplomacy. He grabbed Thorne’s arm and lifted him to his feet. Light as a bird, but solid as a rock. Dagger tried to ignore the twinge of disappointment that Thorne really was a guy after all.

  He shouldn’t be surprised; he hadn’t gotten anything he’d wished or hoped for as long as he could remember. Certainly not recently, and absolutely not in regard to Thorne.

  “Don’t worry, I’d never rat you out, Jack.”

  Why did the little shit have to say things like that?

  Dagger didn’t mean to grab the open collar of his jacket so hard. He really had just intended to steady him. But that’s not how it came off.

  An old woman with an umbrella appeared prepared for violence. “What is wrong with you? You’re four times his size! You leave that poor boy alone, you…you thug!” She was brandishing the thing like she meant business.

  Christ Almighty, this would be hilarious if he’d been watching and it was somebody else standing here getting drenched in sleet with the wind whipping around, arguing with a purple Orphan Annie in drag and shades, while puke was soaking into the fine old leather of his pride and joy.

  “It’s okay ma’am,” Thorne croaked. “He was just leaving.”

  “Fine, but I’m following you.”

  And drive slowly behind Thorn’s jogging figure, he did. With his window open. And the sleet blowing in. Because the smell made him gag.

  “Well,” Dagger grumbled, eyeing the puke-covered cigarettes and trying to breathe through his mouth, “I was gonna quit anyway.”

  * * * *

  After a half hour under the hot shower, Thorne had stopped shaking. But she could still feel where Jack’s hand had wrapped around her arm. Could still feel his strength and gentleness. And it weakened her resolve. Hell, it weakened her knees.

  And that just made everything worse. As if it could get worse.

  I can’t go back there. They’re a bunch of redneck assholes—really big redneck assholes—and they hate me. Why can’t I just shut up? I never used to be this much of a smartass. Yeah, well, I never used to have to cover myself from chin to toes, either. That dumb sweaty Mills had it partly right. I do overcompensate—just not for my size. Keep ’em laughing, keep ’em guessing. And never let them know how scared, how scarred, you are.

  The problem was, she wasn’t so sure what she was scared of any more. She’d made herself strong and fast enough to take care of basic physical threats. In spite of what she’d told Paul, she wasn’t all that worried about the major finding her, either; he had to have found someone else to torment by now. There were the nightmares, of course, and they’d be bad tonight, if she even tried sleep. But she was going on three days now with next to none; she had to try. She’d never leave them behind, either, if she didn’t move forward when she had the opportunity.

  This is my chance. If I don’t go back to Blackr
idge tomorrow, I may as well have died in that dungeon. Buck up, Buttercup, or give up. Get some rest, hit the studio for an early morning workout, easy on the ribs—thank you for that, assifer Griggs—and then just waltz into Blackridge like you own it.

  Sure, no problem. Well, there was still one problem. A very large, very…

  She didn’t know how she felt about seeing Jack again. He’d really fucked her up. Of course, there was no way he could understand how his lighting that cigarette had affected her. She never wanted him to, either. Not ever. And he had been sorry, even if he hadn’t actually said so.

  She’d just avoid him, that’s what she’d do. She needed to do that anyway. She didn’t dare allow herself to feel.

  Then there was the problem she’d discovered with one of the clients. If she didn’t go back and figure it out, something bad was going to happen.

  * * * *

  Paul felt the slight vibrations of music through the floor joists of the renovated warehouse as he hit the top stair. It was good that she’d come back, better that she was early. After the way she’d kept getting into it with the team yesterday, he hadn’t been sure she would. It had bothered him enough that he’d actually brought it up to Katherine last night over supper.

  He hadn’t given her any details of course, or even told her Thorne was a woman. For one, he’d given Thorne his word. On top of that, he couldn’t allow himself to think about what had happened to her when he was in the same room with his wife. Not if he wanted to sleep. He’d learned that the first night after Luke had sent those files. He’d do anything to protect Katherine from even a whisper of it.

  As far as she knew, Thorne was a just a very gifted new employee with an unconventional appearance and difficult personality. Her advice had been to give it some time and trust Jack like he always did. Jack would find his way and the rest of the men would follow, she’d said. He was a little surprised by her advice because he knew Dagger made her nervous. Dagger had that effect on everyone except him, and—apparently, for no reason Paul could fathom—Thorne.

  Well, he hoped Dagger found his way, and soon, in spite of the roadblocks Paul wasn’t able to remove for him.