Choked Up (17 page)

I slept the sleep of the comatose in my own bed in my own room at home until I turned on my side and woke myself up groaning. The cut hurt like a jellyfish sting on an open blister.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands.

My ears filled with pressure.

Calling him was gonna make a trip to hell seem like Disneyland. Might as well eat breakfast before tying a knot in Lucifer's tail. I disappeared into my closet, pulled on a v-neck Blackhawks tee and some yoga pants, and caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror.

Stannis's antiseptic monkey-blood dye made me look like I'd had open-heart surgery. A condition only slightly more acceptable at the McGrane family breakfast table than a neck full of hickeys.

I rummaged in my closet for a tee to cover Mant's handiwork, then threw on a camouflage Under Armour logo hoodie and went downstairs to get something to eat.

Thierry was in the kitchen. Pulling out all the stops this morning. Steel bowls and whisks and food everywhere. “
Bonjour,
Maisie.
Chocolat
in the dining room.
Tartine Mistral
for you?”

“Ooh. Yes, please.”

From the decadent bits of ingredients I recognized on the counters, Mom and Da were not only home for breakfast, but in a damn good mood and ready to shred their self-imposed caloric restrictions this Saturday morning.

I walked into the dining room and froze at the sight of enormous shoulders straining against a watch-plaid flannel shirt and thick blond hair tied into a low ponytail.

Ragnar, head bent in serious conversation with my mother over the dining room table.

Oh shite. With a capital
S.

“Ragnar?”

“Randolph,” Mom corrected and smiled at me. “Come sit, baby, I've hardly seen you.”

I could feel his eyes burning into my back as I crossed to the sideboard and poured myself a steaming cup of
chocolat
.

“I can't tell you how happy I was to find your Mr. Acrey knocking on the door at six o'clock this morning.” She beamed at the Viking.

Ragnar bared his teeth, letting me know exactly how pissed off he was. “Your mother's a beautiful and fascinating woman.”

“Oh, stop.” Mom tagged him playfully on the arm. “With his instincts, interpersonal skills, and practical life experience, he'd make an excellent defense attorney.” She raised a finger at him. “I'm never wrong about potential attorneys.”

My shoulders sagged.
Oh God.
“No, she's not.”

Thierry entered with a silver tray. He set a plate laden with gingerbread pancakes and poached pears in front of Ragnar, followed by a dinner plate of glazed ham and chicken apple sausages at his elbow.

He served my mother a minute portion. “As I was saying, Randolph, securing you a spot in Loyola would be a
snap,
” Mom said, barely able to contain a shimmy of joy. “Maisie already has an open seat.”

With a wink, Thierry set my favorite breakfast in front of me—half a toasted baguette with goat cheese and roasted peppers—and exited, presumably to go barbeque a sheep for our Nordic visitor.

Ragnar closed his eyes as he chewed. “This is fuc—er, I mean, fantastic.”

Mom prattled right on, “And since my daughter has long since outgrown her current employ as a parking enforcement agent, I see no reason why you two pals couldn't start together in the spring.”

Any port in a storm.
I let her have her moment and took a bite of my breakfast.

Ragnar put half a sausage in his mouth and winked at me. “Sounds like a goddaaa—rn plan.”

Da walked into the dining room. “Good morning, everyone.” He made the rounds, kissed my mother, me, and put out a hand to the Viking. “Conn McGrane.”

“Randolph Acrey,” he said as they shook.

“Quite a car out there.” Da jerked his head toward the window before sitting between my mother and me.

Ragnar's eyes never left my face as he answered, “A goddamn beaut, ain't she?”

“A lot of muscle for city driving,” Da said, sizing him up and, unlike Mom, finding him lacking. “Car like that belongs on the track.”

“Hell, yeah. Tell me about it.”

I leaned forward and looked out the window. Instead of Ragnar's old blue pickup, the black Dodge Hellcat took center stage in the driveway.

“I suppose a firecracker like Maisie needs the muscle,” Ragnar said around a mouthful of food, his baby blues sending me his telepathic message—
Payback's a bitch.

Dad's smile went from cool to chilling. “And just what the hell do yeh mean by that, laddie?”

Ragnar drank half a glass of orange juice in one swallow before answering. “It's her car.”

“Is that true, Maisie?”

“Of course not,” I said. “It's Hank's.”

“Something wrong with your car?”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“Discretion is the better part of valor,” Mom muttered at her breakfast.

“My sins are my own, Maisie.” His jaw slid forward. “You won't be riding them to perdition.”

“Really, Da?” Flames shot up my throat. “Because I'm pretty sure Parking Enforcement is hell on earth and you put me there.”

“You're rolling around in the ashes and muck because you choose to.” Da's eyes went black with anger. “There's no ring on your finger.”

Are you fecking kidding me?
“So, I marry Hank, I can drive what I want. Do what I want? Is that it?”

He gave a harsh bark of laughter. “What makes you think I'd let you marry the bloody bastard?”

“Maisie. Conn. Desist,” Mom said. “You're making our guest uncomfortable.”

Da glared at Ragnar. “Who the feck are you, anyway? Ex-service—” He gestured at the pink puckered burn on his neck. “Afghanistan?”

“Yemen.”

“And now you're just another demmed gun on Bannon's retainer.”

Ragnar blinked. “No sir,” he lied. “I met Maisie at Joe's Gym. We play paintball together.”

“That's why he's here, Da. We have a game.” I stood up. “Let's go, Rags, we don't want to let
the team
down.”

 

I slid into the passenger seat of the Challenger.

“Oh Jesus, you fuckin' deserved that.” Ragnar scowled at me as he folded himself behind the wheel. “And a hell of a lot more.”

I latched my seat belt. “I'm sorry about last night. Really. It was a gag, that's all. I'll pay for any damage.”

He shook his head. “You're outta your goddamned pea-brained mind if you think you can
fix
jacking me up in front of Bannon.”

“Look. Hank and I—”

His entire face went ruddy. He gunned the engine, taking care not to leave tread until he hit the street. “I covered for you and your half-naked ass and you stab me in the back.”

Whoa.
“Hey, I never asked you to . . .”

His lip raised as his voice went high and mocked, “Hey, I'm not an asshole.” He punched on the radio. Classic rock. Led Zeppelin. “Kashmir.”

“I'm sorry. That was really decent of you.”

He turned the volume up. I listened until he got close to the freeway. “Where we going?”

“Bannon's.”

“No dice. Hank's picking me up at my parents' tomorrow.”

“Where, then?”

“Silverthorn Estates. I may as well go make someone happy since everyone I know is ticked off at me. Thanks for ratting me out on the car, by the way.”

“ 'Least I could do.” We drove on, rock music blaring. “Man, your dad's a scary sumbitch, I'll give you that.”

After a while the red finally left his ears. He shot me a sideways glance. “Alright. I got a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“How in fuck are you so goddamn skinny?” He shook his head. “That was the best goddamn breakfast I've ever had.”

I swished my card through the reader of the Onyx ward. RN/BOC guard Anita Erickson met me at the door. “Welcome, Maisie.”

I frowned. “I hit both buttons.”

“Always on alert. First time you've come in unarmed.” She looked me over. “You doin' okay? You seem kinda . . . wired.”

“Yeah. I'm great.” And I was up. Crazy up. I made a beeline for the offices. “Kaplan around?”

“Yeah,” Anita said to my back and something else I couldn't hear as I swiped through the door into the office.

A couple of Grims looked up from their desks but most didn't. The office was in full swing on a Saturday morning. Kaplan's door was ajar. I knocked and walked in.

Her dark head was almost touching Sawyer's flaxen one at the conference table.

Kaplan glanced up in irritation at my entrance. “What is it, McGrane?”

The aristocratic, debonair Mr. Sawyer, however, rose with a smile, came over, and shook my hand. “Your fieldwork has been outstanding.”

My shoulders straightened. “Thank you, sir.”

“Ahem,” Kaplan coughed.

“I thought you would prefer the debrief from my date with Stannislav Renko as soon as possible, ma'am.”

Sawyer tipped his foxy face to one side. “I beg your pardon?”

“So, it actually happened?” Kaplan said.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Close the door, Danny,” Sawyer said flatly. “Maisie, please.” He gestured to the table. “Begin at the beginning.”

I waited until Kaplan had joined us. Her face was pinched and wan. More worried than angry.

I walked Sawyer through Stannis saving me from the assault followed by my returning the favor at the strip club. I told him about Stannis's sexual relationship with Coles, our conversation at T.G.I. Friday's, and his week of extravagant gifts.

Sawyer got up and went to the sideboard. “Cartier, hmm?” He poured a glass of ice water from a crystal pitcher and brought it to me. “You authorized this ‘date,' Danny?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Despite the fact that Maisie's a raw recruit with no field training? Rather rash.”

“You yourself said she showed initiative beyond her age and experience,” Kaplan said quietly. “Her Academy scores—”

“High scores don't measure field competence, do they, Danny?”

Kaplan's hand flew to her collarbone. She caught herself and finished by straightening her shirt. “No, sir. They don't.”

Sawyer returned to his seat. “Please continue, Maisie.”

I told him about The Storkling and the gossip and kissing Stannis. And all about Eddie Veteratti.

Then I told him about Stannis's offer.

Walt Sawyer went perfectly still for a long moment.

The smile he gave Kaplan was brutal. “It would be prudent to bring in Edward at this juncture. Kindly brief him along the way.”

She got up and marched stiffly to the door, closing it behind her.

I considered bringing up the fingerless boy in the hospital but decided against it. Kaplan was my handler, after all.

“I apologize for Agent Kaplan's lack of judgment in allowing you to default to a deep cover operative position. Stannislav ‘The Bull' Renko . . .” Sawyer tapped the bridge of his nose and muttered under his breath, “Good Lord, July will have my head.”

Sawyer folded his hands on the table. “You need to consider carefully what is being asked of you, Maisie. Your confirmation of Renko's relationship with Eddie V. affirms they are functioning proxies for Goran Slajic and Don Constantino.”

I nodded.

“I'm sure you've reckoned by now that Special Unit operates beyond the boundaries of the CPD. I created Operation Steal-Tow as a sort of Midwestern canopy working independently with the many agencies that are affected. Our goal is to combat the multimillion-dollar economic ripple, which affects everything from insurance companies to consumers to unions to American auto exports.”

“Yessir.”

“These are ruthless and dangerous men, Maisie. Five days ago, we lost contact with our second field agent working with Slajic. Before he disappeared, we received a transmission that Slajic has successfully made inroads into the illegal arms market. Which elevates this situation to an entirely new level.”

Edward Dunne and Kaplan entered the room. Edward clicked his black brogues together and threw me a sharp salute. “Congratulations, Field Agent Maisie McGrane. A regular up-and-comer. Why, you're Special Unit's youngest undercover.”

My breath came in quick pants.
I'm in. I'm really in.

They joined us at the table.

Kaplan nodded toward Edward. “Outfit her with the usual gear.”

“No,” Sawyer said. “I'm allowing this. With limits. She's going in cold. No spy tech. Live drops only, I want her protected.”

Edward and Kaplan exchanged a look.

Sawyer pointed at me. “You're out at the first hint of anything untoward.”

“Yessir.”

He gave me a small nod, stood, and said to Edward, “Fill her in.”

We watched him stride out the door and close it behind him.

“Okay, lassie.” Edward smiled. “Let's discuss our objective.”

The change in Kaplan was instantaneous, ball-buster back in charge. “Renko's leveraging Mob channels. And he's clever. He's getting cars, intact as well as chopped, out of Chicago by every possible method. Air, sea, train, and truck. Goran Slajic's primary funding is derived from Renko's proceeds of auto theft within the five-state area.”

Edward nodded. “What we do know is that a large percentage of Renko's cars are eventually held in Honduras, before shipping to South America, the Middle East, and occasionally Eastern Europe.”

“Our directive has increased from crippling Renko's organization to knocking Constantino's operation down a peg or two, as well.” Kaplan sat back in her chair. “We want you to find out how, when, and where.”

“Gear her up, Edward.”

His elfin face darkened. “Walt said—”

“Give her the tools. Let her decide when and if to use them.” Kaplan smiled at me. “You want to be a real live field agent, McGrane?”

I nodded.

She leaned forward on the table. “Then do the goddamn job.”

 

I walked slowly out of the office and rode down the elevator to Silverthorn Estates's cheerful lobby. My hoodie was laden with $6K of prepaid Visa cards, a micro bug kit, a tiny cell phone jammer, a signal-detecting watch, and a document scanner pen. Real James Bond gear.

Which brought me back around again as to how exactly the Bureau of Organized Crime's Special Unit operated. Sawyer was well-heeled and well-connected, pulling together funding from all sorts of sources. The real mystery was how he was able to operate within and separately from the Chicago Police Department.

The distraction didn't last long. Mostly because I didn't really care how Walt Sawyer gave me my badge or where he was getting the money to pay my salary. I was a genuine bona fide field agent for Special Unit.

I trotted up the sidewalk to Ragnar in the Challenger, unable to shake the guilt rat from gnawing away at my brain.