‘Yes. Either willingly or not.’ She smiled gently. ‘We don’t care.’
‘You know, they never mentioned that in the brochure.’
This time she laughed. ‘Maybe you should have read the fine print.’
If Jared had figured to slip quietly out of the farmhouse unnoticed, he’d been sadly mistaken. A big breakfast cook-up was in progress by the time he emerged from the bedroom, with his brother, Damon, wielding the tongs and his sister Poppy presiding over the flipping of fried eggs. The director was there too, sitting on a stool, sipping coffee and reading something on her computer, looking for all the world as if she had a place in his family—as if she was comfortable there.
He headed for the coffee machine. Looked at it and sighed. It was shiny, spanking new, and he had no idea what half the knobs on it did. ‘Does this do double-shot espresso?’
‘Only if you ask nicely,’ said Damon’s very pregnant wife.
Ruby was her name, and Jared eyed the bright green bow atop her head warily. She opened the lid of the coffee container and the aroma of freshly ground beans assaulted his nose and sent him straight back to a little coffee house in Istanbul.
Ruby obligingly waved the container beneath his nose. ‘We can put this in a pot and make it Turkish-style, if that’s your preference?’
‘I’m beginning to understand why Damon married you.’
‘You mean, it didn’t instantly dawn on you?’
‘Um …’ Why was his world suddenly so full of beautiful smart-mouthed women? ‘Turkish coffee would be great. I can make it.’
Ruby favoured him with a pretty smile. Jared risked a glance in Damon’s direction before taking a careful step back. He liked women with pretty smiles. He did. He’d never before been scared of one, but there was a first time for everything.
‘I … uh … I’m sorry I couldn’t make it back for your wedding.’
‘Play your cards right and you can be Damon’s plus-one at the birth.’
Oh, dear God. She was probably joking. Hopefully she was joking. But he figured a change of subject wouldn’t hurt. ‘Anyone seen the newly happily married couple this morning?’
‘They’re still in bed.’
Jared winced. There was another image he really didn’t want in his head.
‘You don’t approve?’ asked Poppy.
‘I do approve. I just don’t want to think about it.’
‘Very healthy,’ his new sister-in-law murmured.
‘If I whimper will you back off?’
‘I didn’t think terrorist-hunters whimpered.’
‘This one does.’
He shuffled around to the kitchen side of the bench, opened a couple of cupboards before finding a saucepan and dumping some water in it. Surprisingly, Ruby carefully shook a damn near perfect amount of ground coffee into it before putting the coffee tin back on the counter.
‘How are you feeling?’ asked Poppy.
‘Good.’ As if a rhinoceros had rolled on him. ‘Peachy.’
And then Poppy was beside him, worming her way beneath his arm and hugging him carefully, and he closed his eyes and rested his cheek on her head as he gathered her in—because it was good to be home, and they had no idea how much he’d missed this, missed them, and for what?
He’d brought down the Antonov operation. So what? Another arms dealer would take Antonov’s place. He’d exposed a few moles in high places, but he’d be a fool to think he’d exposed them all. He knew he hadn’t exposed them all.
He opened his eyes to find Rowan Farringdon staring at him with puzzled eyes. He knew he was showing his weakness for family but he just didn’t care any more. He closed his eyes and hugged Poppy tighter.
‘Do I get one of those?’
The voice came from the doorway. Jared opened his eyes and looked straight at Lena. She looked well, if a little tousled, and her pretty floral sundress suited her. She looked happy.
‘If you want,’ he offered gruffly.
‘I do want.’
Lena started towards him, a slight hitch in her step—no way was he going to call it a limp—and then he had his arms full of Lena and Poppy both.
‘Got to do something to take that look off your face,’ said Lena.
‘What look?’
‘The faraway one. You need to come back to us, Jare.’
‘I am back.’
Lena stared at him intently for what felt like a very long time before silently shaking her head and stepping away and turning towards the director.
‘When does he have to leave?’
‘Five minutes ago.’
Poppy’s big blue eyes were grave. ‘How much trouble are you in?’
‘Don’t care.’
‘Will you stay working for them?’
‘Don’t know.’
Poppy didn’t care that they were having this conversation in front of Rowan Farringdon. Neither did Jared.
‘Do you want to?’
He didn’t answer. He didn’t know.
Damon shoved a dripping bacon and egg sandwich in his hand. Jared extricated himself from Poppy and bit into it with relief. He didn’t need a plate—he was an old hand at eating on the go.
‘Ready when you are, Director.’
‘I haven’t finished my coffee yet.’ You haven’t even had yours, her look said. I’m cutting you a break, here. Take it and shut the hell up.
He shut the hell up.
He bit into his sandwich more slowly this time. Coffee appeared and he reached for it gratefully. One minute passed. Two minutes. They left him alone. They asked no more questions.
And then two suited men darkened the doorway and Rowan Farringdon shut her little silver computer and stood up.
‘Agent West,’ one of them said, and there was a measure of respect in the man’s voice that Jared had never heard before. ‘It’s time to go.’
