well. How about that, he mused as he rolled right on through. Maybe it was a sign.
His first day he’d had to register both himself and his bike. When he’d come through a couple of hours later with his gear, the same guard had made him show his ID all over again. Same the next day, and the one after that.
A hint of satisfaction worked its way through the fury-filled frustration that had fueled his every waking moment for the last four days.
He’d be happier if it stemmed from, oh, say, hearing that Jared had made a breakthrough in hacking Ramsey’s email accounts. Or better yet, seeing Ramsey himself stroll up the sidewalk, as alive as can be. He’d even settle for the extraction team finding DNA in the dust they’d scooped up from the mission site and proving that Ramsey was well and truly dead.
But Diego had served on enough missions to know that success was built one small triumph at a time. And that he needed to take what he could get.
He kept his speed under twenty. There weren’t any of those signs posted warning that children were playing, probably because they weren’t allowed to. It was that kind of neighborhood. Rich, upscale and exclusive, the lawns were all perfectly maintained, the birds chirped in sync and the few people he’d actually seen looked like something off a movie set. Pretty and Perfect, he decided the film would be titled as he slowed his bike to a crawl.
He didn’t turn his head, but his eyes locked on his target as he pulled into the driveway next door. Sun-pinked adobe and gleaming rod iron were accented by arched windows, a covered front patio and fat clay pots overflowing with jewel-toned flowers. The green sweep of lawn was intersected by a curving walkway decorated with pebbles the same color as the house. Next to the sidewalk and at odds with the picture-perfect landscape a little blue wagon tilted drunkenly to the side, its front wheel missing.
So far Diego’s recon hadn’t done more than confirm the information they had. Ramsey’s ex lived in the house with their son. She worked from home, led a supposedly quiet life and drove an aged Camry.
He needed more.
And he wasn’t going to get it watching from the outside. He just hadn’t found his way in.
Not yet.
His orders were specific.
Watch and wait; engage only if engaged.
Damned if following orders wasn’t a pain in the ass sometimes.
But then, as if someone had decided to cut him a break, a movement swept up the sidewalk in the form of a kid pushing his bicycle.
Diego let himself smile. Why not? He might have just found his angle.
He’d been watching the house and occupants for three days, so he knew at a glance that the slight figure with tousled blond hair and scuffed orange high-tops belonged to Ramsey’s kid, Nathan. This could be it. His entry to Ramsey’s woman.
Taking it slow, Diego parked his bike and removed his helmet before swinging his leg over the seat. All the while, he kept his eyes on the kid and tried to figure his opening. By the time he removed the keys, he knew the drizzle of sweat skating down his spine had nothing to do with wearing a leather jacket in hotter than usual May sunshine.
Approach an admiral? He had that down pat. He knew the protocol on engaging a working girl on the docks of a foreign country, a militant with a nervous expression or a snitch in the Afghan mountains.
But a kid?
Diego grimaced. He didn’t like to admit that he was totally clueless. But reality was reality. And yeah, he was clueless. He ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair as he watched the boy push his bike closer.
The kid raised his hand to shield his eyes. Even from a dozen yards away, it was easy to see him slide a glance toward his front door, then back Diego’s way.
Giving the door a considering look himself, Diego had a brief vision of Lansky’s theory being true. That Ramsey was inside there, alive and well, kicking back with a beer. Would he be flashing that shit-eating grin of his, looking as if he owned the world? Or would he take one look at Diego and shoot him dead, destroying yet another piece of the brotherhood that the team honored so highly?
Diego’s teeth clenched tight and hard as he turned toward the door of his current abode instead of kicking in the neighbor’s door to find out.
“Hey, mister,” the young voice called.
“Yeah?” Shoulders braced, he froze halfway between the sidewalk and the door. After a long moment, he turned his head to look. That’s when he noticed the bicycle’s chain dangling, its greasy loop of metal scraping along the sidewalk.
“You know anything about bikes?” The kid jerked his chin toward the Harley. “That’s yours, right? So you probably know how to fix ’em and stuff, maybe?”
“You need help fixing your bike?”
The kid looked at him, then at the chain drooping sadly on the sidewalk. Didn’t need to be a mind reader or have jack worth of experience with kids to hear the unspoken “duh” loud and clear.
Diego snorted, amused at his previous hesitation.
“Sure. I can help.” He strode over to take the bike in hand. His gaze tracked the larger sprocket the chain was hanging from, noting the damage to the smaller one behind it.
“This is supposed to be hooked over here,” he pointed out, poking at the chain. He noted the broken teeth, figuring that’s why the chain had slipped.
“I keep putting it there, but it won’t stay.” The kid nudged the chain with a worn tennis shoe, but his eyes stayed on Diego. “I thought you knew bikes.”
“I know how to fix that one.” Diego tilted his head toward the Harley. “We’ll have to see what I can do with yours.”
He dropped into a crouch, flipping the bike to rest upside down on the cement. A couple of tweaks of his fingers had the chain in place.
“It’s not going to stay there,” he noted. “You need to replace this part.”
“Can’t you fix that, too?” The boy’s eyes slid toward his house and whatever he saw there had his bottom lip poking out. “Can’t you try?”
“Why?” Diego followed his gaze, then gave the kid a closer look. He was clean, well-dressed and had an open, easy expression. None of that said abuse to Diego. But, again, what did he know about kids? “You gonna get in trouble over it?”
“Maybe.” One of those sneakers scuffed at the sidewalk as the kid wrinkled his nose. “Can you tell how it got broke just looking at it? Could it have just sorta, you know, fell off?”
“Could these teeth on this sprocket have just sorta fell off?” he repeated, tapping the part in question.
“Yeah. Could it?” His brows drawn tight enough to furrow his freckles, the kid fingered the sprocket. Testing the other teeth, probably.
“Your parents stupid?”
“My mom’s not stupid.” The kids
