Page 18 of Danger Close (Mourningkill #3)
I picked up my phone, feeling a hunch that I needed help. That I was in over my head. And I never ignored a hunch.
“Beaufort,” I said, when the phone clicked on, not even giving him a chance to speak. “I need to know everything you can find out about Teresa Guerro, née Archambeau. Do you need me to spell it?”
“Not even a hello , how are you , huh? Getting right to it?” He sounded sleepy, but I plowed on.
I knew I was being a pain in the ass, but I was too impatient to give a shit.
“Archambeau. Do you need me to spell it?”
“Nah, man,” He said with a yawn.
“Find anyone who might be related to her that also goes by the last name Ray, Raymond or whatever other derivative you can find.” Then I thought about it, and wondered if that was right. “Or maybe it’s a first name. I don’t know. How long do you think that’ll take?”
She’d mentioned that name enough times that it wasn’t a coincidence. I knew somewhere bone-deep that whoever this Ray guy was, I’d be killing him with my bare hands. It would be the kill that kicked the squid story off the gossip pedestal.
Ray had harmed her. He was still harming her. He deserved to do worse than die with a cephalopod in his mouth, or a spork in the eye.
“You’re gonna hate my answer–”
“Don’t fucking say it…”
“–but it depends . I won’t know until I’m in, brother.” He chuckled, his deep voice rumbling through the phone. “You know that rushing this kind of work leads to mistakes.”
“Fine,” I said, my foot bouncing on the floor of the car so hard, I was sure the whole vehicle was shaking with me. “Just get me what you can get. Send me a bill, and I’ll pay it.”
“You know what I’m gonna ask, right?” David Beaufort was one of the most sought-after analysts in the world, with a mind as sharp as a computer. He’s the reason AI would never replace humans.
When he was able to amplify his brilliance with technology, he was unstoppable. People paid handsomely for his skills.
When I didn’t answer his rhetorical question, he added, “Why aren’t you asking your brother to help you with this request?”
I groaned, not wanting to get into this with him, but also knowing that Beaufort would figure it out anyway.
“Is this the baby mama? Ray is an ex-beau?” I could tell, even through the phone, that he had a shit-eating grin. “How am I doing?”
Beaufort is what passed for a bosom companion in the spyworld.
One day, when I thought I’d seen Teri and Trinity at a random gas station in the middle of nowhere, I thought I was going nuts.
My heart split in two, and I got rip-roaring drunk.
He did the dude equivalent of holding my hair back as I puked my guts to the porcelain God, crying like an idiot because I missed my family. I had no family…
He learned a lot about me that day, and since helping me sober up the next day, he’d never mentioned it. Not until now.
“Correct on the first part. On the second point, I have no idea. I’m hoping you’ll tell me.”
It was a thing he liked to do. He liked to un-puzzle things while saying them out loud so I let him do his thing. It was faster than answering him myself, because there were a shit ton of things I did not feel like examining right now.
“Jericho doesn’t like the woman, or he doesn’t like you with the woman,” he concluded. “Which is it?”
“Probably both.”
“Ah, I’m sure I’ll puzzle out why at some point once I start digging,” Beaufort said, letting out another yawn. I answered him with a loud one of my own.
It was only ten p.m., and here we were, more than ready to head to bed.
I had a crick in my neck, and my right shoulder told me that it was going to rain tonight.
When the hell did I get like this? Yesterday, I was running up and down the Champs-élysées with Teri in the middle of a thunderstorm, laughing, kissing, and dancing the night away.
I was falling in love, having a baby… Then, I blinked, and my hair turned gray, and there were wrinkles around my eyes.
“As much as I want to help you,” Beaufort better not be letting me down.... “I’m not going to help a man spy on his ex. That kind of business sours my gut.”
“Beaufort.” I ran my hand down my face. “She’s been my ex for thirty years. I’m not asking because I’m some Lautenberg creep.”
The Lautenberg Amendment restricted firearms for anyone convicted of domestic violence, including, and especially, those who worked within government. I took that shit seriously, and so did he.
I had never once laid hands on a woman without their consent. I sure as hell wasn’t going to do it now. Especially not to Teresa Louise Guerro.
“Yeah, but you’re out of the racket now,” Beaufort reasoned, and I knew this conversation was not at all going my way. “Retirement and idleness are the devil’s playthings. When you were knee deep in work, maybe her moving on didn’t bother you as much.”
“Oh, come on!” I protested.
Beaufort chuckled. I let my head fall back on the headrest with a thud. He was testing me.
Asshole.
I hated these spy games. Nothing was ever what it seemed. I just wanted some good old-fashioned honesty, once in a while.
“I’ll be down your way tomorrow. I’m lecturing over at West Point. Why don’t I swing by for a coffee and we’ll talk in person.”
I knew what that meant. Beaufort was going to come by and look me in the eyes to make sure I wasn’t exactly the kind of Heath Carlin creep that would hold a grudge on his ex. If that’s what it took, fine.
“You know where I am?” It was a stupid question for me to ask.
He snorted, and before he disconnected the call simply said, “Don’t insult me.”