"That's rough." Jordan pushed to his feet, brushed the sand off his cargo pants. "Let's not add to your wife's issues by showing up late from this wild-goose chase." He held out a hand to Wes. "Take care of yourself, brother. You know how to find us if need be."
"Wait a second," Wes replied, slapping Jordan's hand away. "Enough bullshitting out of you two. What's really going on with Tom? Is he okay?"
I stood, joining my partner in looming over Wes. "You heard what I said."
"Yeah, I did," he snapped, pushing up on an elbow. "And I'm suggesting you stop being a dickhead with a death wish and tell me if he's all right."
I tipped my head in the direction of the jeep. "Come with us and find out for yourself."
Wes flopped back onto the sand. "That's not going to happen."
"What would you say if I told you I know exactly where Tom will be tonight and you could see him for yourself?" I asked.
"I'd say you're minimally good at your job if tracking a guy with a phone and smartwatch in a major metropolitan area is a win for you," he replied.
"You know what? Mom was right. You are an asshole," I said.
"Yeah and we can trace a lot of my issues back to the fact our mother decided I was an asshole toddler," he replied.
"It sounds like you've been reading your psych evals," Jordan said. "Bad move."
With one eye open, Wes peered up at him. "Are you telling me you haven't read yours?"
"Oh, I've read them." Jordan shoved his hands into his pockets. "I stand by what I said. Bad move. If I wanted to feel like dog shit with daddy issues, I'd take on one of the new guys in our training facility's obstacle course. Nothing like going into cardiac arrest after fast-roping to the ground."
"You're not making a strong case for me coming to work with you," Wes said.
"Maybe not but you sure as shit don't want to spend your days running security at the US consulate in Belgium," I said. "Picture it. You'd get a nice walkie-talkie to clip on your belt. Carry a stun gun. Pack your lunch in a little cooler bag. On a good day, you'd get to wrestle a political fanatic to the ground and keep him in a cozy lockup in the basement until the big boys rolled up."
He gathered a handful of sand and flung it at us. "They'd never have me. My Dutch is embarrassing."
"Better than translating memos at the State Department," Jordan added. "If you're lucky, you'll get to park your ass at a desk and read social media posts all day. I hear jihadist slang is a language unto itself."
"I hate you guys so much," Wes said, groaning.
I traded a glance with Jordan. He shook his head, saying, "Time to go."
"Yeah. We're out," I said. "Anything you'd like me to pass along to Tom?"
"Go fuck yourself," Wes rasped.
"Are you sure you want me to say that? I doubt it'll go over well," I replied.
"If you're asking me to kick your ass, I will," he said. "Kaisall too."
Jordan tapped my arm. "This kid isn't budging and I'm too afraid of your wife to send you home late. Let's hit the road."
I followed as he moved up the beach. Over my shoulder, I called to Wes, "One more thing. Did you know Tom's bringing a date to this wedding?"
"You're mean," Jordan murmured.
I shot him an exasperated glance. "I'm out of options. If this doesn't work, we're hog-tying him and leaving him to cool off in the luggage bay."
Jordan shook his head as he shuffled forward, his limp more pronounced than usual. "I knew I should've packed a tranq gun."
"While that would've been a great way to get him on the plane, it would've left us with the same miserable son of a bitch but with the added bonus of a sedative hangover."
"Yeah and I would've shot him again," he replied. "Dump him on the boyfriend's doorstep and be done. We're in the snatch-and-grab business for a reason, Halsted. We're not qualified for snatch-and-grab-and-solve-everyone's-personal-problems."
