Chapter 25 - No Place Like Home

Deira opened her eyes, then quickly shut them again. The open curtains made the room too bright. She stretched, cataloging the aches. Not all of them were bad. She sighed, looking at the clock. It had been a long time since she had slept in. Of course, it had been a very long time since she had put herself to sleep with whiskey. Nicky would be pissed. Her head throbbed. Pouring the extra tumbler to spite Gage had been a bad decision. He seemed to inspire those.

She stumbled to the bathroom, took three aspirin, and got into the shower. Twenty minutes later, her skin had wrinkled, her headache was fading, and she still had not come up with a good lie about why she was running late. She got out and wrapped herself in a towel.

She took two steps into the hallway before the smell of coffee made her stop.

"This is a good look for you," Gage said, glancing up. He held a cup of coffee and a newspaper.

She turned around and stalked to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. It was juvenile but satisfying. She put on standard workout gear – a white tank top and stretch leggings. Looking in the mirror, she decided nothing could be done about her red eyes. She ran a comb through her hair, pulled as much as she could away from her face and secured it with an elastic. Composure restored, she walked out to face him.

"What are you doing in my apartment?" She poured herself a cup of coffee.

"I brought you breakfast." He motioned towards the counter. "And a coffee maker."

There were bagels next to a container of cream cheese. Sliced melon had been arranged on a plate. Her stomach flipped. She poured herself some coffee and went to the refrigerator for milk. He had brought cream.

"You could have left me in your bed and saved yourself the trouble."

"Then we both would have gotten up late," he said.

"You're a cocky bastard."

"So I am told."

"What are you really doing here?"

"Waiting for you to recover from your hangover. We have work to do."

"Did you tell Nicky? I was supposed to go back today."

"That part of your training is over."

"Explains why she didn't call and yell at me for being late." She did not ask what had happened, doubting she would get an answer, but she had strong suspicions.

"What part of my training isn't done?" she asked.

He gave her a wolfish smile. She considered rolling up the newspaper and hitting him with it.

"Sticks called this morning. He was able to get the necessary components. I have a list you need to look over to ensure it is everything you need."

"You were supposed to call."

"I did not want to ruin your opinion of men. It would be unfair to the rest of them."

"You're maddening." She flopped down in a chair and instantly regretted it. Aches became pain with the impact. She worked to hide her discomfort.

"I have been told that, too." He went back to reading the paper.

"What's so interesting?" She took the paper and scanned the page, her eyes stopping at a photo.

Her heart raced. The paper shook in her hands. She set it down and looked at him. His expression gave away nothing.

"I know this guy," she said, pointing to the picture of Franco.

"Knew." He sipped his coffee while she read the article.

"Was this you?"

"No. I would never be so careless."

"Not the mess inside the house, the dead guy in the street." It was easier to focus on Franco than think about what had happened to the women imprisoned in that house. She could have ended up there. Kara had.

"The article says it was gang related. I believe it was more organized."

"You didn't answer the question."

"I did not need to. You know the answer."

"So we're back to three targets, not counting the jerks from the park."

"Smaller numbers make the job simpler. With Franco having been murdered, Cavuto will be more likely to keep two men close. Unless he kills them himself, which would be convenient but highly unlikely." He could have been discussing any business deal.

"Why would he kill his own men?"

"Because until last night, he did not know the whorehouse existed."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Everyone makes mistakes, princess. Even professionals. Work quietly enough and you can fool anyone, including your friends and lovers, into believing that everything is fine." Bitterness lined the assertion.

"I don't think I could do that. It's easier to walk away from friends and family, not worry about who knows which story."

"Was it so easy to leave your family?" His look was pointed.

She took their cups into the kitchen and refilled them, ignoring his question.

"So it's not really Cavuto gunning for me right now. It's his guys."

"That does little to change your situation. People want to kill you. Perhaps today it is not Jack Cavuto, but the job specifies he be removed, so that is what we will do." He took the paper from her.

"Oh, he wants to kill me, too – or did." That wasn't what he'd wanted to do two years ago, but she was fairly sure there was a standing order to kill her now.

She managed to choke down half a bagel while going over the list Sticks had sent. He wasn't going to like the changes she'd made, but he wasn't the one who had to set the charges. He was used to working with bigger bombs. They were better suited for his hands. They were also extremely difficult to place discretely. Most of his clients didn't have to worry about discretion.

"Aren't you going to write this down?" she asked.

"It is not necessary."

"Yeah, it really is. If you screw up a part, I'm the one who has to deal with it. I don't care how good your memory is. Write it down. You can burn it later if it will make you feel better." She repeated the information for him. He wrote it down, the corners of his mouth turned up in the barest hint of a smile.

"What's so funny?"

"This is the first fit you have thrown that has not made me want to strangle you."

"I do not throw fits," she said, glaring at him.

He raised an eyebrow.

"You think anyone arguing with you is throwing a fit." She crossed her arms and sat back.

"That is why I work best alone."

"I'll make you a deal. I won't second guess you when it comes to the rest of the planning. You won't question my ability to do my part of the job. Okay?"

"It seems a reasonable compromise."

"You know, if your neck wasn't so thick, I'd have strangled you a long time ago."

"I do not think you would. You need me."

"I need you?" She bristled.

"More than you know." He put the list in his pocket and got up. "It is time to go."

He picked up the plates and went into the kitchen. She thought about stopping him from cleaning up but decided to hand him the cups instead. She went into her room and packed a bag. By the time she returned, the kitchen was spotless.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To the lab."

"And why are we going there?"

"So you can figure out where to set the charges."

She stared at him, mouth slightly open. And then she began to laugh.

"Is there a problem?" he asked.

"Yeah." She kept laughing. "Give me a minute here."

She took a deep breath and figured she had enough control to speak.

"Going to the lab will give me a visual, but it's not going to do a damned thing to determine where I set charges. How I get in and out, sure, but that's about it. I need blueprints if you want to make sure we don't blow up the whole industrial park. Or us." She had expected Sticks to explain things to him.

"I have blueprints."

"Good, we'll need them when we talk to Sticks."

"That was not the plan."

"We have an agreement, remember? I'll do what I need to do, but if you want to make sure everything is perfect, then I need to talk to Sticks." She really needed to argue with Sticks about his faith in her, but that was another matter.

"That might be a problem."

"Why?"

"His staff is not fond of me. "There was an... altercation," he said.

"Shit. You beat up the moron twins, didn't you?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Not that I didn't want to beat on them fairly regularly, but it sort of complicates things."

"I will arrange to meet off-site."

"That won't work. He has reference material I may need." She shook her head. "Let me talk to him. We can probably do this in the training area without being seen."

"I will need a different vehicle," he said.

"They know your truck?" She could not stop the edges of her mouth from twitching, but she managed to suppress open laughter. It would only set him off.

He answered with a curt nod.

"Well then I guess a different car is in order. At least they're too stupid to have traced the plates."

"I was not stupid enough to have the real plates on the car." Now he was offended.

"Well that's a relief."

"You call Sticks. I will be back shortly. Change your shirt before I get back. White stands out too much." He turned and left.

She waited until she heard his truck start before she allowed herself to giggle. There was no stopping it after that.

Twenty minutes later, he returned in a primer gray pickup truck. She had managed to get herself under control.

"Nice wheels," she said, throwing her bag behind the seat and getting in. There was a Mexican blanket over the seat. She didn't want to see what the upholstery underneath looked like. The truck smelled of cigarettes and grease.

"Nice shirt," he said, looking her over. The only clean, dark shirt she had found was a tight, forest green V-neck. She had managed to find a pair of clean jeans. She'd even dug up matching socks.

He drove to the industrial park and turned on to the unfinished road. She gritted her teeth as the truck jolted and creaked. The suspension was almost nonexistent. She wondered if he had picked it to punish her.

"Great. The only thing that wasn't bruised in the fight was my ass, but now that's taken care of," she ground out.

"If you are not up to this, we can forgo the explosives, and you can stay home," he said.

"Shut up and drive."

She couldn't hide her relief when he pulled up to the stand of trees. He motioned for her to stay in the truck while he scouted the area. When he waved, she got out. She stuck the Glock in the waistband of her pants in case something went wrong. She was getting used to things going wrong.

He glanced at her, removed the gun and replaced it at the small of her back. He was not armed as far as she could tell.

The recon was relatively quick. He collected the stationary cameras while she looked at the lab through the camera zoom lens. She took pictures so she could compare locations with the blueprints. He assured her he had already done so, but Sticks would be irritated if she came to him without the right shots. They loaded the equipment into the truck and took off.

He pulled into an empty lot by a coffee shop advertising free wi-fi with purchase. He made sure the stationary cameras had uploaded the images then adjusted the rough schedule of the shift changes. He posted a message to Nicky on her secure bulletin board. She specialized in analyzing patterns and might see something they had missed.

Deira dumped the pictures from the camera onto the laptop. Then she hopped out of the truck and went to buy coffee as a way to repay the boosting of internet service. She was many things but not a thief.

It wasn't far to the storage facility. Familiarity warred with tension as they approached. She had spent over a year there. It was more like home than her old apartment had been. A very dysfunctional home, but it had been so long since she'd had a functional one that it hardly mattered.

"Go past the storage facility, and turn down the next road. There's a dirt driveway half a mile down on the left. Follow it and park by the bunker."

"Bunker?"

"It's good for training with stuff that catches fire."

The low, concrete building was barely visible from the turn. From a distance, it looked like ruins. The perception wasn't far off. At least one corner of the building had a hole in it. She remembered putting it there and smiled.

The accidental explosion had happened fairly early in her training, but she still thought Sticks was a lunatic for saying she could handle the explosives for this job. Not that she had a choice. She had figured out that Gage did not want her to kill anyone herself, and she would let him think she accepted that.

Sticks stood in the doorway. He lowered the shotgun when he recognized them. His eyes narrowed at the sight of Deira's bruised face and arm.

"He do this to you?" Sticks called, bringing the shotgun back up. Gage stiffened.

"Nope. This was all my doing. Cuz I'm just that good." Her drawl matched his, tone for tone.

"Want me to shoot him anyway?"

"Not right now." She approached Sticks. He set the gun down and smiled.

"Welcome home, baby. You coming back to stay?"

"Thanks, but I can't. Work to do. Besides, the way I figure it, you sold me for good money, and I'd hate to break a deal – even if you did broker it behind my back."

Both men stared at her.

"What? You think I didn't know?" She looked from Sticks to Gage. The two men turned to each other, wary, accusation in their eyes.

"You two are a pair." She turned to Gage. "You're willing to give me a gun when I have plenty of incentive to shoot you." She looked at Sticks. "And you think I've got the skills to blow up a building on purpose for a change. But neither one of you thinks I'm smart enough to figure out what you think and how you talk about me when my back is turned. Like that's a challenge."

She walked into the bunker, shaking her head.