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Yes, I can, if we’re talking aboutmybirthdays. My little brother can add his total to mine. Mom, too. I don’t know how she put up with it.
Deann had a much lower tolerance level.
An ambulance squeezes between me and the concrete barricade, drowning out a response.
“Everything okay there?”
“Yeah. Sitting behind a wreck.” When the racket dies down, I repeat my concern. “Are you sure this wasn’t your idea, Dad?” I don’t go where I’m not wanted.
“You know lies aren’t how I operate.”
Point taken. “But Brayden’s birthday was six months ago.”
“And you know they postponed the party because Deann’s parents were ill.”
I huff, so shoot me for the weakness. On the job, emotion, save for anger when one of my agents has screwed up royally, stays under lock and key. Who gave it permission to rear its head in my personal life is what I want to know.
“They’re going to confuse the kid.”
“He’s not even two. I think he’ll overcome. Now quit stalling. Are you coming or aren’t you?”
These days, Dad is a safe place to be real. “You and Mom will be there?” I feel like a baby needing mommy and daddy.
“We’ll be there.”
“Then I’ll see you Saturday.”
“Saturday at two. Be there or be square.”Click.
Again, who is this chipper, folksy old man? Not the workaholic investment banker who raised me.
I’ve cleared the accident scene when my percolating to-do list bubbles over in my brain. Voice dialing, I place a call.
The groggy grunt on the answering end is grumpier than a grizzly in spring. “You have got to be kidding me, Chavez.”
I thought it wasJohnthese days. “You lazing around again, Walker?”
The grizzly growls. “You do realize Avery is now in her third trimester and sleep has become a precious commodity?”
I hear a vague shushing on top of the…grizzling. Yeah, okay. My bad. “My apologies to the wife. Now, listen up. Been thinking about what you told me yesterday and I’ve decided you do need to dig deeper.” I run my hand along my morning-smooth chin. “I do, uh…I do hate to ask, Walker.”
“Ask?”
“Well, I can’t order you any longer.”
“As if that’d stop you.”
I’ll ignore that. “So you’ll do it? I know this undercover stuff isn’t your thing anymore.” And word is the wife—Avery—was not big on his return foray into the field.
“Already on it, John.”
You don’t say.
“I know you. The shocker was that you told me to let it ride in the first place.”
Huh. I run my hand down my silky tie. Predictability is not an asset in agent-land. “Okay then. You’ll let me know what you find out?”
“The moment I find it out.”
