Jethro sighed and strode across the cement floor, turning into the kitchen. The entire purpose of his open-designed, high-end loft was safety, and now he had two ex-operatives in the place making themselves at home. “While I appreciate you trying to help me, we’ve been over this and I’m done discussing it.” Even so, the stew smelled good.
Oliver’s bluish-green eyes twinkled. “It’s nice when you put up a fight, Jet. Even so, how was your day, sweetheart?”
What a smart-ass. “If I were looking to get domesticated, it wouldn’t be with you, jackass.” Jethro tugged a stool away from the counter and sat, stretching his neck. The image of Gemma flashed through his brain. A woman like that could certainly tempt him into taking a chance on forever. And the cute little one needed protection from the world. He could provide that. Easily.
But a familywasn’t for him.
Fletcher’s newest appearance slammed that fact right home.
He studied his friend. “Are those my clothes?”
Oliver looked down at the ripped jeans and black T-shirt covering his muscled and bruised body. “Yeah. I was surprised to find something so casual in your repertoire. Great jeans.” Hisfeet were bare.
Jethro exhaled. “I suppose your brother also raided my closet?”
Oliver grinned. “I tried to talk him into the blue sweater-vest, but he wouldn’t go for it. What are you even doing with a sweater-vest? Don’t you think you’re trying a little too hard with thisprofessor bit?”
Jethro rolled his eyes. “The vest was a present from a nice lady who runs a day care, and it’shand-knitted.”
Oliver turned to check on the stew, stirring once. “A lady who knits? Is there a romance alive, Brother?”
“Yeah. I’ve asked her to marry me about five times and she’s refused,”Jethro drawled.
Oliver ducked into the fridge and brought out a bottle of Guinness, which he slid across the counter. “Smart woman. You shouldn’t lether get away.”
Jethro popped the top off the rich brew and took a deep drink. Maybe having Oliver around wasn’t so bad after all. “I’ve tried, but she seems to want to retire without me.” He grinned.
Ian strode out of the office wearing a pair of Jethro’s dark jeans and a green sweater. The bruises on his cheekbone had started to yellow already. “You’re not going to believe this, but nobody can get a line on how Fletcher made it across the pond.”
“I believe it,” Jethro said grimly. “He was one of MI6’s best, and no doubt he had contingency plans in place. Several of them.” His phone dinged and he drew it from his pocket, glancing at the screen. It was an email from an account he didn’t recognize, and his body chilled. He stood and grasped his beer in one hand. “It’s the school and I have to take this.” He angled his head toward the stew. “How much longer?”
“Ten minutes,” Oliver said, reaching fora salad bowl.
Jethro nodded and walked past Ian, heading to his office and shutting the door. This was probably nothing. He moved to his desk and sat, looking out the steel-gridded windows at the snow blowing in every direction.
He booted up his laptop, opened the email, and clicked the link in the body.
His brother’s face took shape on the screen. “You answered my call?”
“Figured it was you,” Jethro said, setting the beer next to the computer as invisible knives slashed through his insides. Yet he kept his expression neutral. Fletcher looked healthy. His brown hair was swept back from his angled face, and his eyes, a light brown, were clear. “What’s your game, Fletcher?”
“I was hoping you’d share our mother’s last moments with me,” Fletcher said, his tone smooth. “We never had a chance to speak about it, not really. What did she say?”
Jethro tilted his head. “I’m not playing this game with you.” He moved to shut the laptop. His brother was too good to be traced, so he didn’t worry about trying. No doubt Fletcher was using a scrambler and would probably toss the computer the second they finished, and Jethro didn’t want to chase windmills. The only way to catch the bastard was by getting into his head, and playing hard to get wasthe first step.
“Oh, I wouldn’t,” Fletcher said, kicking back in his chair. A black sheet covered the wall behind him, and there were no ambient sounds coming through.
Jethro sighed. “Why not, Fletch?”
Fletcher studied him. “Do you remember when we were kids? When those Donnely brothers picked on you and I taughtthem a lesson?”
“Yes,” Jethro said softly. He’d been eight years old and the Donnely kids nine and ten. Fletcher had been nine years old, and he’d gone after them with no anger…just purpose. “You put the oldest one in the hospital.” Fletcher had managed to convince not only their mother but the authorities that Johnny’s fall down the ravine had been an accident. Fletcher hadpushed the kid.
Fletcher smiled. “We’re brothers. I protected you and you didn’t turn me in.”
He should have. Jethro might’ve been able to prevent all of this if he’d told the truth that day. Although their mother would’ve intervened, wanting to protect her reputation above her children. “You know you’re a sick fuck, right?”
Fletcher snorted. “You’ve committed as many atrocities as have I, Brother. In fact, I wasn’t even a member of The Increment. You were.”
