Rutherford frowned. “There’s quite a long process in that and you know it. The Crown would have to go throughmany channels.”
His attorney glanced his way, and Jethro thought through the repercussions before nodding. There didn’t seem to bean alternative.
Scott smiled. “My client was MI6, gentlemen. That means he gets turned over immediately, as you know.”
Rutherford lost the smug smile. Fields looked interested. Tate swore beneath his breath.
* * * *
Jethro entered the house right around supper time, and the delicious smell of casserole had his stomach growling. He kicked off his boots in the mudroom and emerged in the kitchen, going past it to find Ian, Trudy, and Oliver all sacked out on the sofa eating dinner while watching a movie about pixies.
Gemma looked up from her position at the table, where she’d spread out papers next to her plate. “That was a long day for you.”
Jethro was too busy trying to get his mind around the fact that two of the deadliest operatives he’d ever worked with were munching supper and happily watching a movie with a toddler who had stickers all over her arms. A closer look confirmed that both Ian and Oliver also had stickers of unicorns, stars, and what looked like donkeys on theirarms and necks.
A sense of homecoming hit him square in the chest. Oh, he’d liked his apartment, but it hadn’tfelt like home.
This did.
“Are you hungry?” Gemma asked, starting to stand.
“Yes, but I’ll get it.” He waved her down and tried not to stare.
The woman really was gorgeous. She’d caught all her thick, curly hair up in a band and tendrils fell to frame her heart-shaped face. The light blue sweater she wore over her ample chest turned her eyes an even darker blue, and her cheeks were a pretty peach color from the warmth of the room. He kept his thoughts to himself as he dished up his food and then joined her at the table.
She stacked her papers into a neat pile. “It doesn’t look like the storm has let up any?”
“No,” he said, reaching for a fork and feeling out of place and at home at the same time. Maybe Fletcher’s campaign was working, and he was losinghis damn mind.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
He relayed the news from his apartment, as well as his three hours in interrogation, diving into the delicious dinner. Chicken casserole was one of his favorites, and no doubt somebody had copied one of Pippa’s recipes. Finally he wound down, more than a little aware that Ian and Oliver had listened raptly during his entire dissertation.
“I like the purple dress,” Trudy said, stuffing a cracker into her mouth and pointing atthe TV screen.
“Blue,” Oliver said.
Ian cocked his head. “I likethe pink one.”
Life had gotten bizarre. Just plain and simply bizarre. Icy fingers clutched Jethro’s chest, deep in his heart, at the thought of what he suddenly had to lose. Were Gemma and Trudy even his? Could he guarantee their safety? Right now he couldn’t even guarantee his own, so what did he haveto offer them?
“You okay?” Gemma asked softly.
“Yes.” He kept eating, keeping his countenance calm while his blood boiled. So much for staying in control. None of this felt like control. He had to find his damn brother, and take care of him, and now. “Is there any additional news from Brigid and Raider?”
Gemma shook her head. “No. They’re on a plane heading home now, after saying there’s nothing else to do on the ground. I appreciate their help, but nothing they uncovered changes the law.” She looked over her shoulder at Trudy, snuggled between the hulking men with Roscoe now on the floor by her swinging feet. “I just have to keep her safe until she’s eighteen and he has noclaim on her.”
Jethro wasn’t going to let that happen. His worries about his soul fled away. Perhaps he’d been a fool to try to become somebody other than who he’d always been. His mother’s son.
His phone buzzed. “Excuse me.” He tugged it from his pocket and stood, taking his plate to thesink. “Hanson.”
“Hello, Brother,” Fletcher said, his voice distorted by a device he’d probably made out of a paper clip and wrapping paper. “I heard you had some trouble at your flat and wanted to check on you as well as the twin poxy agents.”
Jethro shut his eyes. So Fletcher had known Ian and Oliver were in the flat before he’d detonated the bomb. Even though his brother was a killer without a soul, they’d all worked for the same agency. He turned and leaned against the counter, opening his eyes to see both men watching him intently. “That wasn’t very nice ofyou, Fletcher.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Fletcher said, chuckling. “But they survived, according to the hospital records I managed to obtain. You know, those two have always been difficult to kill. Do you think it’s a twin thing or a brother thing? Perhaps brothers? You and I are still standing.”
Jethro took a moment to keep his voice level. “How about you stop playing games and just tell mewhat you want.”
