Page 62 of Wrecked With You

Now Denny was working her magic to track down a current physical address, and Tony was pacing impatiently behind her.

“Haven’t you ever heard of watched pots?” She swiveled in her chair and scowled at him. “Go get a coffee or something. For that matter, go get one for me.”

Since keeping her caffeinated seemed to be one of the most useful things he could do at that point, Tony nodded, then set off toward the break room. As he did, Emma fell in step beside him.

“You hanging in there?” she asked, as Tony waited for the coffee machine to work its magic.

“I’m ready to get moving,” Tony said. “I’ve never been this close before—which is ironic, since for all I know, I’m not even close at all.”

“I think you are,” she said. “It feels … buzzy.”

He laughed. It was a ridiculous way to describe that familiar feeling. The sense of being right at the end of a mission when everything pulled together. Ridiculous, but also completely accurate. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It does.”

He drew in a breath, wanting to say more, but not sure if he should. Then he thought, fuck it. If it was the wrong thing to say, then so be it. He’d been an ass enough times in his life to know he’d survive doing it one more time.

“Emma?”

She’d turned, and was about to open the refrigerator. Now, she looked over her shoulder. For just a moment, he thought he saw hope in her eyes, but then it disappeared, and he saw only a bland query? “Yeah?”

“I really hope we’re close. I really hope this is the end.”

The muscles in her face tightened, and she shook her head sadly. “Don’t, okay? I understand your reasoning, but all you’re doing is drawing a line in the sand. But guess what, Tony, you’re the one holding the stick. You can draw that line anywhere you want it. So don’t pretend like it’s closing the case that marks the line. You’ve got the power to move it anywhere you damn well please.”

She shrugged, as if she’d just said the most basic thing in the world, then walked away without bothering to get anything out of the fridge. He watched her go, knowing she was right, but not sure he had the strength to either move the line or to stop the constant motion of the waves.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to keep his lines, his motives, or his personal roadblocks for much longer, because by the time he returned with Denny’s coffee, she’d tracked down the address.

The Daily Meditation Foundation was located in a gated, three-story private residence on two acres in Brentwood, a fact that matched up well with what they knew of Thea’s movements. Tony considered moving on the intel right away, but he was too well trained to risk the success of a mission by moving in too quickly.

Instead, he ordered five rotating teams to watch the place for a full, and painfully long, forty-eight hours with the goal of assessing who was coming and going, and at what times.

It was perhaps the longest two days of his life, but when it ended, they’d learned that the residence rarely had visitors, and that Harvey Dailey did in fact reside on the premises.

He and Emma had been on shift when Dailey emerged from the gate for a walk around the block. Skinny and frail in his mid-seventies, with white hair that stood out in tufts, he sported a handlebar mustache and looked like he should be starring in spoofs of old westerns.

As they had no description of Dailey, they hadn’t known for certain that’s who the old man was when they first saw him. They’d captured an image and sent it to Denny, but nothing had popped on the facial recognition database, though she pointed out that a facial search could sometimes take days for results.

The thought of waiting days was enough to make Tony want to throw up his hands and just propose that they enter the residence without confirmation.

Fortunately, they were able to get positive ID when a neighbor joined the man on the sidewalk, calling him by name as they started up a conversation.

“So now we know,” Tony said. They were about half a block down the road, and he’d been watching the scene through binoculars, adept enough at lip reading to confirm the name.

In the passenger seat, Emma nodded, but there was a little V above her nose, as he’d noticed there often when she was thinking.

“All right,” he said. “What’s the problem?”

She shook her head. “Nothing solid. He doesn’t seem the type. And there’s something off about the entire situation that I can’t put my finger on.”

Tony nodded. He’d felt it, too. “I don’t see this guy in bed with The Serpent or my father. But at the same time, I’ve taken down a lot of bad asses, and I promise you, not all of them look like hardened criminals. There’s plenty of murderous pricks who look like your favorite grandpa.”

“I never knew my grandpa,” Emma said, “but I know what you’re saying. And I still think that something feels off.”

“He might be a pawn. It’s possible someone is just using his name for a front operation. But we’ve ID-ed him as a Harvey Dailey. We know that Thea was working for a Harvey Dailey. And we know that this house belongs to a foundation held in the name of Harvey Dailey. At this point I don’t think we have any choice but to go in and figure out what’s what.”

“Fair enough. Let’s go report back and spec out a mission plan.”

They drove back in silence, and he was certain she was being quiet as a courtesy, assuming that he was deep in thought about how to handle the mission. In fact, that wasn’t the case. He trusted her instincts, and her concerns about this man gave him pause. Could Dailey be an innocent in all of this?