will manage.”
It sounded like a magic-wand theory to Thomas’s ears, and that was one theory everyone in his line of work always rejected. “He’s not a trained Specialist.”
“Oh, so that’s the problem.”
Thomas didn’t like the half smile on Holt’s face. “Explain.”
“You feel guilty for sending an unqualified civilian after a high-value asset.”
“That’s not true.” Where the hell was this coming from? He and Holt had different management styles, but this series of irritating questions wasn’t typical. “Bryant might be a civilian now, but he could step in and train our recruits on anything at a moment’s notice.”
“So he’s qualified.”
“More than.”
“Then I guess you’re feeling guilty because we didn’t have an equally qualified Specialist available?”
They both knew the roster and they both took great pride in the skills of the men and women on their team. “Why the hell are you being so difficult?”
“Because you need to ease up on yourself,” Holt said, his expression somber. “The woman and her kid are missing, Everett escaped with some damned sophisticated help and you just sent out the best option for everyone involved.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Thomas wasn’t sure how else to interpret that tidy speech.
“If that’s what you need, you’re welcome.” Holt leaned forward. “We talked about it, looked at every asset before you brought Bryant in. He is the only choice for this mission.”
Thomas knew that was correct. Even logical.
“Personally,” Holt continued, “I believe he’ll succeed, no matter how she reacts to seeing him again. He’s resourceful. He’ll bring her in or make sure we can.”
“You’re right,” Thomas allowed, though he knew this decision would haunt him well into his retirement if it went wrong. He rubbed the palm of one hand with the opposite thumb. “I’ve never once forgotten that our Specialists are people. We demand more than we should—”
“But never more than we’re willing to give ourselves,” Holt finished for him. “That philosophy—your philosophy—is at the heart of our entire program. Don’t ever doubt it.”
“All right.” Thomas raised his hands, palms out. There had been a time, not too long ago, when Thomas had doubted his philosophy and much more. He’d doubted Holt’s loyalty to the Specialists and the nation at large. Been certain he’d made the wrong call naming Holt as the next director.
No longer. Holt had proved himself in the field and protected the Mission Recovery office during a complicated attack from one of Thomas’s old enemies. Not only that, he’d recently become family by marrying Thomas’s sister. “Thanks for the pep talk,” he said, the burden feeling a bit lighter. “It’s the kid,” he added, finally articulating the real issue. He and Jo wanted to start a family soon, and although his wife was as independent and resourceful as Addison, Thomas knew how far he’d go if someone took aim at his wife or their children.
“I figured,” Holt said with a sympathetic nod.
“Cecelia is expecting you and Jo to join the family for July Fourth weekend.”
“We’re looking forward to it,” Thomas said, more relieved than he should be about the change of topic. “Jo is making noise about getting a boat of our own when I retire.”
“Want me to keep an eye out for you?”
“A casual eye.” He recognized Holt’s method of shifting the topic to something more normal. “But I don’t want her to know I’m looking yet.”
“Lucky for you, I can keep a secret,” Holt said, heading for the doorway.
“I’m well aware.” Thomas smiled as Holt walked out, the guilt of Addison and Drew’s situation muted. For now.
He’d needed the reminder that Holt provided. If Drew had given the first sign that he’d cave under the pressure of the request, Thomas would’ve found another way to track down Addison.
As it was, he was back to hoping the reunion, although certain to be awkward and emotional, would result in capturing the traitorous Everett and the root of his network so Addison and her son could return to life without fear of retribution.
Louisiana bayou
Saturday, July 5, 7:35 p.m.
In the fading light of another warm summer day, Addison came outside with two bowls of ice cream. Sitting next to Andy on the top step of the porch, she handed him one.
“We had ice cream last night.”
“It’s summer,” Addison said with a smile. “And you’ve played hard all day. Besides, it won’t keep forever.” Her friend Nico, father of Bernadette, her best childhood friend, had given her permission to stay here in his mother’s old place. He’d brought them out by boat and had delivered more supplies yesterday. Although she appreciated what the weather-worn shack provided, she didn’t trust the ancient freezer on the back porch.
Andy didn’t waste time arguing over the bonus treat and he dug in with enthusiasm.
As dark crept in from the edges of the swamp, the insects ramped up with an evening chorus that rose and fell with the soft breeze. In the tall marsh grass across the water, fireflies took flight. “Look.” She pointed toward the soft twinkling.
“Can I catch some? Nico told me kids here use them as night-lights.”
“Not tonight.” She was tired and wary despite being as alone as a person could be out here. Other than Nico’s, she hadn’t even heard another boat in the area for days, yet she felt edgy as if they were being watched. They’d been here for two weeks, and according to the news, Craig continued to evade authorities as the story of his illegal dealings came out in dribs and drabs. “I did that a few times when I was your age,” she said to her son. “Even once during a campout right here.”
“Really?” His eyes were wide.
“Mmm-hmm. Mama Leonie, Nico’s mom, lived out here more than in town. Nico’s daughter was my best friend and we used to come here every chance we got. There was only one room then.”
“No bedroom?”
Addison shook her head. “She didn’t want one.”
“Where did she sleep?”
“Outside on the back porch.” Addison looked around once more, picturing it as it had been. “I always thought it was the best tree house.”
“But it’s not in the tree. I think we should call it a swamp fort.” Andy twisted around and then leaned forward to peer through
