After taking a moment to, I don’t know, compose himself, DB clears his throat, and we all focus on the front of the room.
“I’d like to officially welcome Ronan as the newest member of the Guardians team.”
There’s clapping and joking around the whole room, with everyone doing their part to make him feel welcome.
“We have already begun to track multiple targets and identify the best ways to take them down. Ronan is intelligence, not ops, and we’ve identified a handful of people who’ve received immunity despite the fact that they still pose a threat to society. We’ve got some heavy hitters coming up, but we’re gonna start with a simple op that Ronan will help us plan and execute. Ronan, do you want to tell the team who we’re dealing with?”
Ronan glances at me then clears his throat. “Um, yes. We’ve got Jeremy Wagner, CFO of Bat Digital here in town, and he’s turned state’s evidence to prove fraud at the hi-highest levels of their parent corporation, Dead Center Digital. Even though he was instrumental in conducting that fraud.”
Anders pipes up. “Dude, we don’t do the financial sector.”
Ronan gestures vaguely. “Tru-true, but these crooks do as much damage to peoples’ bank accounts and sense of security as does almost any other kind of trauma. That said, he was known as an ass-grabber around the office. But it wasn’t just harassment, or even quid pro quo, though he’s guilty of all of that. He’s raped two of the male interns, and they suspect a third. When he was investigated by the Marshals, they weren’t able to get a statement from the survivors.”
That got everyone’s attention.
Ronan shuffles the papers in front of him again, looking for something specific. When he finds it, he clears his throat again. “Wagner was only briefly under the Marshals’ protection. He has the same job, but now he has immunity from prosecution for wrongdoing in the financial sector. He’s not particularly smart or s-strategic. Half the time he forgets to lock his front door at night, instead relying on an overpriced security system that has more blind-spots than my Aunt Rita.”
Even though we are a friendly bunch, we can be intimidating, and I find myself incredibly proud of him. When he talks to his brother, or their best friend, Ashley, the stutter goes away entirely, and he speaks with conviction and strength. One day in the not-too-distant future he will view this team as his brothers, and I’m absolutely certain that even his slight stutter will disappear in front of these guys.
Refocusing on the details, we decide as a team to go in next week, having learned our lesson about fast turn-around operations. While Wagner’s main office is just across the river from the tattoo shop on Congress Avenue, that place is a logistics nightmare. He’s got an enormous mansion in the hills above Loop 360 and it’s way easier to navigate. The more Ronan describes his security systems, the more everyone around the table feels confident about going in.
We’ll keep this one small, so Everett and I’ll go in with Rafi as back-up in the sharpshooter position. Since most of the assholes in this area are wealthy, our team is used to operating in and around the rolling hills that house Austin’s poshest estates, and Rafi will be able to reuse a familiar spot.
We all breathe a sigh of relief around the table, no one more than DB. Having been in this room with him on more than one occasion, I can see why he never wanted to run this kind of operation. Honestly, I’m waiting for the day he turns it over to me. Though he hides it well, every single op is a trigger for him, the toll both mental and physical.
There’s no avoiding the essential work of the Guardians, however. And while I’d be proud to take over, I want to stay in the field for as long as I can. It feeds something vital in me. There are a few guys at the gym who would probably do well on the team, but DB tries to avoid implicating anyone else in the things we do.
Ronan asks for the go-no-go from everyone. We require a unanimous vote for every op, and this one easily gets a thumbs-up around the table. He lets out a big gust of air, hopefully releasing some of the anxiety he had about his ability to run the logistics for this team. He nibbles at his lower lip and darts a look in my direction. I smile, a warm feeling in my chest. He quickly flicks his eyes back down to the table, and I can’t help but hope there’s a crack in the door between us.
I refuse to be an idiot the second time around.
5
Ronan
DB, Parker, and I sit at the conference room table in the PTN, and it’s go-time. The in-table display is split between three cameras—Thane’s, Everett’s, and Rafi’s. Everyone’s in tactical gear and ski masks.
I wheel my chair over next to Parker and whisper in her ear. “So, does this whole heart beating out of my chest thing ever go away?”
She shakes her head, placing her hand on her chest. “I take a Xanax before every single one of these things. I can’t handle it any other way. I’m not as worried about this one because they’re following your steps.”
I roll my eyes. “Thanks for that. Now I’m going to stress over every move they make.”
Laughing, she elbows me. “Nothing could go as badly as the East Texas op, so at least you got that working in your favor.”
There’s never any table salt when you need it. Feel like I should shake some over my left shoulder. Maybe get a horseshoe in here or something. The guys are on the move, so I rid myself of negative thoughts and refocus on the screens in front of me.
Rafi’s camera only shows what his scope sees, but at a much wider angle.
The asshole in question goes to the country club every Wednesday night and comes home trashed. The plan is to have Thane and Everett take advantage of the holes in his security system, not to mention his complete lack of a security force, and break in. They’ll lie in wait for him and make it look like a heart attack. Anders hates that idea, but the guy we’re after is in his early sixties and is known for his cigar-and-whiskey habit, so this is the cleanest course of action.
Naturally, the second they walk in the door, the whole thing immediately devolves into a clusterfuck.
Just as they start making their way toward the back, where the first-floor master suite is located, a crinkling, crunching sound filters across the line.
DB looks at me. “What the hell is that noise?”
I listen intently, shaking my head, completely thrown. “It sounds like there’s plastic sheeting on the floor.”
