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“What medication?” Mac asked.
“Nothing with any opiates, McCallahan,” Miguel replied as we descended. “Trust me, I need to be in top form.”
“That’s good,” Lincoln said. “You’ll have four or five hours to sleep on the way to Grand Cayman and you can always catch a few winks on the plane. Do you sleep well on planes?”
“Fuck yes, unless it’s a C-130 and I’m strapped into a seat. I once spent fourteen hours staring down the muzzle of a tank…while experiencing turbulence. That was fun,” Miguel said as Mac chuckled. He lifted his massive paw and the two high-fived.
“Been there. Done that,” the big man said.
“Where the fuck were you headed?” Miguel grimaced, and I sighed. “Can’t tell me. Never mind.”
“Sorry, Sunshine.”
“I thought C-130s were for transporting military personnel…not tanks,” I said. He gave me another look. “Never mind.”
Mac laughed.
The elevator stopped and we stepped out to be met by four FBI agents in tac gear.
“This way, sirs,” one of them said, shaking Lincoln’s hand.
“Thanks, Martin.”
The six of us climbed into an SUV and I noted a second SUV following as our driver, Special Agent Martin Humphries, drove us out of the underground parking lot. Lincoln sat in the front seat and we were all in the back. We pulled out onto Olympic and almost immediately got into the far right lane where Humphries accelerated up the 405 Freeway on-ramp.
“We should be at the hotel in approximately ten minutes, sir,” Humphries said.
“Good man. Just get us there in one piece, Agent.”
“Will do, sir.”
“How long have you been on the job, Humphries?” Lincoln asked. “I don’t remember seeing you around the office until last week.”
“Just six months, sir. I graduated from the academy in November, spent a few months in Quantico, and then took a week off for bereavement, before transferring here.”
“Sorry to hear that, Humphries,” Lincoln said.
“It was my grandmother, sir. She lived in Atlanta. We were very close.”
Lincoln reached over and patted the much younger man on the shoulder. “I’m so sorry to hear that. It must be hard.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
I smiled at the conversation. I loved my own nana, so I could relate to his grief. Nana was so ill. I couldn’t let her go just yet. Knowing that the time was going to come much sooner than I hoped, wasn’t sitting well with me.
Humphries looked in the rearview mirror, signaled, and pulled into the next lane over, braking as a car ahead of us slowed down. I twisted to look over my shoulder and noted the other black FBI issued vehicle following close behind, keeping up. When I turned back around, Miguel was looking at me.
“What is it?”
I settled back in the seat, Mac and Damon were engaged in a conversation about who would be meeting us at the airport or some such thing. I wasn’t really paying attention. I smiled at Miguel, squeezing his hand.
“Nothing, babe. Just checking to see where the other FBI vehicle is. Nothing to worry about.”
“You nervous about something?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. How’s your headache?” He looked like hell with dark circles under his eyes and a wicked bruise on his forehead. I really hated that the FBI and apparently every other letter agency in the Federal government just expected him to help them catch or kill a bunch of murdering scumbags. The thought of him going into Castillo’s house with all those armed guards made me sick to my stomach.
“My head is fine.” He squeezed my hand. I looked down, noting his long fingers curled around mine where our hands rested entwined on his left thigh. I promised myself that someday soon, I was going to put a ring on that hand. I lifted his hand and brought it to my lips, then kissed it as I gazed into his beautiful, dark brown eyes.