“Hey, Silas. You came in clutch today.”
“Thanks.”
Hopper knows that the dads don’t like Sy, but this op was too delicious to keep to himself. Jake’s compliment is a good sign.
“So, um, Hop,” Jake says, his tone careful. “I noticed you got a little inventive with the bodies.”
“I did!” Hopper inhales deeply, then lets out a blissful sigh. “It’s been forever since I’ve had a chance to get in there and really create something.”
“You cut it a little close, though, don’t you think?”
Hopper scoffs. “Not at all. Like you said, Sy stepped up and took the little girl to the police station. I had time to work my magic.”
Before Jake can work up a response, another call comes in. Hopper checks the screen, his face once again morphing into delight as he hits the Accept button.
“Ryder! Excellent work with the cameras!”
Ryder’s in bed with disheveled hair, wearing an oversized Punisher T-shirt, her expression sour. Her many piercings gleam in the low light.
“Hopper, why are you speaking in exclamation points so early in the morning?”
“It’s the evening,” he says, quite reasonably.
“It’s morning in Ukraine. And we don’t speak in exclamation points until my third cup of coffee, remember?”
“Sorry.” Settling into his seat, Hopper takes a calming breath. “You did a very nice job with the cameras, Ryder. Thank you,” he says, his words measured and even.
Ryder draws her chin back. “Never mind. That’s just…unsettling.”
“Whatever,” Hop says, grinning as he turns the camera on Silas. “Look at my chauffeur. Nowthat’sunsettling.”
Silas, tattooed in horror genre art from his neck to his ankles, keeps his eyes on the road, but lets a slow smile creep onto his face.
“Aw, but he’s such a cutie,” Ryder purrs, teasing her friend.
Silas gives the phone a sideways glare, his silvery-blue eyes filled with a look that would give most people night terrors.
“Okay, fine. You’re both unsettling,” she says, accepting a large mug of coffee from her wife, a tall, statuesque Ukrainian operative-turned-politician (who still likes to get her hands dirty) named Olga. “But the next time I need to take out every camera in a three-mile radius, can you give me more than a five-minute notice?”
Hopper grimaces. “Sorry, that’s my fault.”
“Technically, it’s my fault,” Jake says, typing something on his computer. “The AMBER alert went out, and within a few minutes, our folks found the bidding war. It only lasted ten minutes, and the winner had to live within thirty minutes of downtown Austin.”
Despite the happy result, disquiet fills the car.
This whole off-the-cuff op could’ve gone sideways in about fifteen different ways.
“I feel a little less bad about having to get up so early,” Ryder says, breaking the heavy silence.
“Hey Olga,” Hopper says, waving. “How did thezlamatylyodoperation in Russia go?”
Olga rubs her chin thoughtfully. “You know videos where people break enormous sheets of ice, and it makes this satisfying crack?” she asks, popping her brows.
“Sure.”
“Very similar to sound a man’s spine makes when you break it.” She smiles.
Ryder snorts. “Just like how my great-grandfather described his Nazi hunting days.”
