Chapter Eighteen
"Special Agent Severino," Will called, tipping his chin up in greeting when the other man stepped inside the Waffle House.
We were seated at a table in the far corner, Will with his baseball cap pulled low and his arms crossed over his chest, and me with a memory card that would demolish Toby Renner's business and liberty tucked in my back pocket.
"It's Sunday morning, Halsted," the agent replied. He jerked the empty chair away from the table and sat, his exaggerated exhale a sure sign that we'd fucked up his weekend.Good."What the hell is going on? I'm missing my kid's swim meet for this shit."
Will gestured to the carafe of coffee. "How do you take it, Mike?" He reached for the mug stationed on the top corner of the agent's placemat and filled it with steaming liquid. "Black? Milk and sugar? Up the ass or all over your face?"
"William," I scolded, sending him a scowl of faux disapproval across the table before turning back to Severino. "I apologize for my partner. He's the savage in this relationship. What he was trying to say is this: we have a bit of information that may be of interest to you."
Mike rocked back in his chair and offered a bitter grimace. "That's pretty fucking unlikely."
Will set the mug in front of the agent, hot coffee sloshing over the sides in the process. "How long has it been since you had eyes on Toby Renner?" he asked, tapping the face of his watch. "It's only been fifteen minutes since I pulled his coordinates, but you've probably got that covered."
The agent turned to me, blinking. "If this is a game, I'll make it my mission to guarantee neither of you ever get another Department of Defense contract."
"This must be difficult for you," I said. "It can't be every day that you misplace a treasonous black-market arms dealer."
"Or do you have so many that you can't keep up with all of them?" Will asked.
"Jesus Christ," Severino muttered as he reached for his coffee. He loaded it up with sugar and cream, and clanked his spoon around the mug while he stirred. "Where the fuck are you people getting your information? Why are you even involved with Stillwater's operations?"
Will snorted. "What aren't we involved with?" he asked.
I knocked my knuckles on the tabletop, drawing Severino's attention back to me. "We have his location, his comms, his contacts. We have satellite footage of him exchanging weapons for cash on three different continents, and we have the pertinents of his next sale," I said. "I would encourage you to take this conversation seriously, Special Agent."
Severino lifted the mug to his lips and sipped, but his gaze was mapping the off-ramp diner. "The type of conversation you're starting requires a more secure location," he said under his breath. "We have a site about twenty minutes from here if—"
"Nope," Will interjected. "We're here for the waffles, man."
"Waffles, and a terabyte of data that might make your next steps a whole lot simpler," I added.
"But if you don't want that," Will started, his palms held out as he shrugged, "we have the operatives in place to handle this affair for you. You know, before it turns into a widespread intelligence failure."
The agent tapped the spoon against the lip of his mug for a solid minute, and I was amazed Will didn't stab him in the heart with it during that time. "What are you looking to get out of this?" he asked, gesturing between us with the offending spoon. "Clearly, you're not offering this information from the goodness of your hearts. There must be something you need."
Will dropped his forearms to the tabletop and leaned forward. "Not much, really," he said easily. "Just a warship."
Ilacedmy fingers together and stretched my arms over my head, forcing a loud pop from my neck in the process. Will was busy chasing the last crumbs of waffle around his plate and paid no attention while I shook the tension from my joints.
"Are you heading back to Boston this afternoon?" I asked.
He murmured in agreement as he chewed. "That private jet situation isn't a difficult adjustment," he said as he rubbed a paper napkin over his lips. "Can we work out a custody agreement? You get the jet one month, I get it the next."
"Where the fuck do you even go that you'd need a jet?" I asked.
He waved at the diner's interior. "I fly to Virginia to fix the CIA's intel problems for them," he replied. "Just curious, though. Where'd we get that tip about Renner being behind the arms deal in Venezuela? We probably wouldn't have dug into that side of the surveillance footage without it."
"Cupcake," I mumbled as I reached for my coffee.
"Cupcake?" he repeated. "Cupcake vonRebound?"
I met his eyes but didn't respond until I'd drained the coffee. "Yeah," I said finally. "Turns out she has a history in the covert services. Mossad. CIA. Private contracting." I wrapped my hands around the empty mug, nodding. "Renner hired her to track me. Like any decent spy, she stole intel from his office and shared classified material. She divulged all of this information to me after breaking into my apartment and stabbing me several times."
He gazed at me for several long beats, his features expressionless. Then, he tugged his cap off and dragged his fingers through his hair. "You really know how to pick them, Kaisall," he said, wagging the cap in my direction. "Where's Cupcake now?"
On an exhale, I shook my head. "Don't know," I said. Those words poked an ache behind my breastbone, and not only from the ugly bruises left by the impact of April's heels on my chest. "She left after providing the leads on Renner."
