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“So, nobody but the two of you, right now, know that Cobble is here,” Missy’s father confirmed as Missy and Cobble tucked into the generous bowls, as well as the bread that her mother had just placed in front of them. The family had all gathered around the well-loved wooden table to hear the latest.

Since they’d all been told about Cobble before—and the debacle that had led to him being hidden away in the first place—Missy was able to skip that part of the story.

“That’s right, Dad,” Missy agreed, dipping a piece of bread in the broth before popping it into her mouth. “After the last four breaches of intel and the subsequent attempts on Cobble’s life—”

“Five,” Cobble corrected.

When she looked at him, puzzled, he explained.

“The first safehouse, if you recall, was a very quick stay. It was only three days before someone came after me.”

“That’s right,” Missy agreed. “I wasn’t counting that one.”

He nodded that she should keep on with the story, and she turned back to her family. “So, following that there was one, six-month safehouse, then another for a little over three months until word somehow leaked and Cobble was attacked again.”

Thank God Cobble was a soldier first, and had the wherewithal to keep himself alert and alive; bugging out and calling his cousin for help every time trouble arrived.

Missy continued. “A fourth hidey-hole lasted a little over two years because we were much more careful with who received intel. Still, it turned out we weren’t cautious enough.” Yeah. Someone had still found Cobble, and to this day they didn’t know who or how.

“The fifth safehouse that Cobble left today was good for nearly two years until, well… This time we suspect someone went through Cobble’s parent’s mail and found out where he was. So unfortunately, there’ll be no more letters or visits from anyone until we plug our leak.” She sent an apologetic glance to Cobble, even though they’d already talked about it.

“Oh. Your poor mother,” Eleni lamented to a now introspective Cobble. “Not being able to hear from her son. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t touch base with my children. We’ll have to find a way to make sure your parents can come see you,” she determined, resolutely.

“We’re hoping he won’t have to stay hidden for too much longer,” Missy stated to reassure herself as well as everyone else.

Her father’s brows drew together. “That’s all well and fine, but going forward, who is it you trust, and who don’t you feel good about at either of these agencies you’ve worked for, or those you’ve operated in conjunction with?”

Missy didn’t have to think twice about her response, and started with the FBI. “On the good guy list at the FBI, besides Cobble’s cousin, Chuck Smalley, is Assistant Director Baskins. I’d trust him with my life,” she responded. “He’s an upstanding guy who’s been with the bureau forever, and he had no problem with us hiding Cobble the last time without reading him in on a location, even though it goes against department policy. He’s a man whose ego is not involved with his work. Also, there’s Agent Tertia. She took me under her wing before knowing anything about Cobble, and once she was given limited intel about him—which never included his location—she began digging alongside me, on her own time, to voraciously help solve things.”

Missy took a breath. “At the DOJ, the only one I really believe in is DAAG Cavateral. There’s an asshole named Beranger who’s had access to previous intel, along with SA Oliphant.” She made a “smell bad” face. “And at the CIA…I can’t really say. I was there for under two years, and I didn’t get a good read on anybody one way or another, so I’m just keeping quiet on that front and letting my bosses take the lead.”

Now for the nitty-gritty. “For possible rogue operatives, Chuck and I have narrowed it to a few names at each agency. Each of these people knew where Cobble was the first few times he was located and attacked. At the CIA, the intelligence officers overseas on my bosses’ list are Tulate, Darconi, and Veegal. At the DOJ—as I said—Beranger and Oliphant, and at the FBI there’s Englewood, Georgio, and Fleischerman. I have pictures of them all which I’ll give you, later,” she told them seriously. “I want you to memorize them in case you see them snooping around town.”

All heads around the table nodded, and Missy’s mother covered her hand with her own.

Now it was time to let her family in on the newest development. “We’re currently pretty pumped for the case moving forward, because Smalley and I, only a few days ago, found out who the man is behind my squad’s murders and Cobble being shot in South Sudan.”

“You did?” her brother marveled. “That’s great work. Will you be making an arrest, immediately?”

“It’s a good development, Nik, but no,” she lamented. “We can’t take our suspect into custody until we find out exactly who the other bad eggs are in the letter agencies. Which…” she hesitated, knowing she’d get a lot of pushback over this, but…

Missy cleared her throat. “Which means I’ve decided that the best thing for me to do is go to South Sudan, undercover, and follow the man we’ve finally identified, hoping for another break in the case.”

“What?” Cobble looked up from his soup and scowled. “You didn’t tell me that. You’re going in alone?”

“I am,” she stated definitively, taking another spoonful of her soup to appear nonchalant. “It won’t be hard for me to blend in. I have a dark-ish complexion and I can put lenses in to turn my green eyes brown like the locals, and a lot of women there still wear the traditional Chadur; a piece of fabric that covers their entire torso and hair. Add to that, a headcover they call a Thawb —which is, in practice, a Hijab—and that means very little of my face and body will be visible. Adopting that mode of dress, I’ll be able to look like a native quite easily.”

“But… By yourself, Missy?” her mother conjectured with a worried frown.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Smalley, Baskins, and Cavateral, however, will know where I am and what I’m doing.”

“She’ll be fine, honey,” Missy’s father assured her mother. “This is Missy we’re talking about. She was born for this kind of thing.”

With a pointed look that said, “we’ll talk about it later”, her mother sat back, not looking at all happy.

Cobble clearly noticed the tension, but was also, she knew, biding his time. He’d want to have a chat with her about her plans once they were alone.

“Speaking of being born to something,” Cobble threw out, changing the subject, even though it was one Missy was certain he’d revisit. “Can someone please tell me why it is that Andy, uh Missy, has a Brooklyn accent that comes and goes, and the rest of you don’t?”

Missy’s brother Nik, laughed, and poked at her from across the table. “See, weirdo? It’s not just us who call you out on it.”

Missy flipped him the bird.

Cobble looked appalled, but her family laughed.

Yup. That was their dynamic. Free expression all the way.

“Well?” Cobble finally managed to ask again once the chuckling and teasing died down.

“You want to tell him?” her Dad asked her Mom.

“I’ll be happy to.” Missy’s mother grinned, and that was good. It seemed that Cobble had managed to take her matriarch’s mind off Missy’s upcoming trip to Africa. At least for the moment. Missy had no illusions that her mother wouldn’t corner her, just like Cobble would, at the soonest opportunity.

Her Mom began. “Theo and I are from Greece, as you might have determined from our accents. My father is also Greek. He was a child during the devastating civil war there in the late forties, just as Theo’s parents were.

“Pappous—my father—met my mother who was an American journalist covering the political turmoil in our home country during the sixties. They fell in love, got married in Mykonos, and had me,” she told Cobble. “After an idyllic childhood with feet in both Greece and America, I met my wonderful husband when we both attended college in Athens. We fell in love, got married, and had our boys. Nik and Atticus were five and seven when we emigrated to the United States. To Brooklyn, to be more precise.” She looked at Cobble’s now empty bowl. “More soup?” she asked, before continuing.

He gave a smile. “If it’s not too much trouble. It’s really good,” he added.

“Thank you. An old family recipe.” She snagged his bowl, coming back less than a minute later, putting a new, steaming helping in front of him which he dug into.

Her mother sat back down. “So anyway, the boys grew up learning English while in Greece. Not only because of my mother being from the US, but also because we always planned that once Theo received his advanced degrees, he would end up teaching over here.”

“You teach?” Cobble asked, raising a brow as he paused his spoon halfway to his mouth.

“Yes. I’m a professor at a couple of local colleges,” Theo confirmed, shrugging.

Missy knew Cobble’s mind was scrambling. His brain was clearly confused, asking the question, “preppers” and members of society?

“But back to my story about Missy,” Eleni reminded them, clasping her hands in front of her on the table. “The boys were already schooled in proper English.” She sent a comical glance toward Missy. “But Missy was born in Brooklyn, so she learned to speak not only from us, but from friends, neighbors, and American relatives living in the city.”

Cobble nodded, amused. “It makes sense then. But…how old was she when you moved from New York to here?” he asked.

“Missy was five,” her father explained. “But she’d already developed her speech habits, and we were unable to curb them.” Dad sent Missy an affectionate glance, silently letting her know he wouldn’t change her for the world. “Now, add to that, her spending summers until she graduated high school staying with her great aunt—my mother-in-law’s sister—and family in Brooklyn, and…hence you have the amalgamation that is Missy’s speech.”

“Youze are all just jealous you nevah managed to pick it up,” Missy taunted, poking at them in an over-the-top, lighthearted battle that had been going on for years.

Everyone laughed, quips were exchanged, and a few napkins got thrown, but Missy reveled in it. She’d missed her family, and the three or four trips she made to visit every year, never quite managed to top off her heart before she had to leave again.

“Okay. That explains it all,” Cobble snickered as he finished his second bowl of soup in record time. Before he could curb himself, he gave a huge yawn.

“Oops. Sorry,” he apologized. “It’s been a really long day.”

“Maybe it’s time for you to get some sleep,” Theo suggested.

Cobble glanced at the clock on the wall and shook his head. “Another half hour won’t hurt. I don’t want to get my system out of whack by hitting the sack too early. I need to get my hours in synch with yours if I’m going to be allowed to stay.”

“Of course you’re staying,” Atticus chimed in. “Dad?” He looked to the patriarch for confirmation.

“Yes. Absolutely. You’re very welcome here, Cobble,” Theo stated seriously. “We’ll make sure you stay anonymous and safe.”

“Thank you, sir,” Cobble said sincerely, pushing his bowl away. “I appreciate it. And I plan to make myself useful to you while I’m here. I’ve picked up a lot of good skills in the last four years, including carpentry and gardening,” he told them.

“We’ll appreciate the extra hands, then,” Theo told him. “And it will be nice to have you on site. Especially since none of us except Eleni are here all day, every day.”

Cobble raised a brow in question and looked around the table. “You’re not?”

Missy put a hand up in front of her mouth to hide a snicker. Yeah. People had preconceived notions about survivalists being off the grid and anti-social. Her family’s homestead was fairly well tucked away and protected, but none of her people could ever remotely be considered, hermits.

“Nope,” Atticus spoke up again. “I’m actually a sergeant on our local police department. Nik is a prominent attorney in the city that’s an hour from here, and you already know that Dad is a professor,” he apprised.

“Wow,” Cobble marveled. “And you ladies?” Cobble turned his attention to Missy’s sisters-in-law.

Bevvy spoke first. “Well, I’m a research scientist at one of the colleges where Theo works. I currently have a grant to study the effects of climate change on the local flora,” she told him. “And Sue…”

“I work for a nonprofit in town that takes in stray and abused animals.” Sue reached down and patted the head of one of the bullmastiffs. “That’s where these guys came from when they were puppies.”

Cobble blinked twice and looked around at them all. “I’m…blown away. I have to say, when we first drove up, I…” he trailed off, at a loss for words.

“…you thought we might be crazy, gun-toting hillbillies?” Nik supplied, laughingly. “You’re close, but you can amend that a bit. Maybe say, rednecks on steroids.”

Everyone laughed.

The conversation went on for another half hour, with Missy’s family educating Cobble on how their current situation came to be. They’d learned—from the history of their birth country’s civil unrest—that things could go to hell in even the most settled of countries, so they wanted to be prepared.

By the time the conversation finally wound down, Cobble knew everything he needed to know about Missy’s highly educated, but extremely cautious family.

“I think it’s time to call it a night,” her father eventually announced. “Honey, would you like to show Cobble to the room that will be his for the duration?”

Missy’s mom shook her head and gave Missy a pointed glance. “Uh, uh. One of the boys can do it,” she said, getting to her feet and picking up Cobble’s empty bowl. She gestured with her chin for Missy to grab her own. “I want to have a few words with my daughter in the kitchen.”

There were teasing “oohs” from her brothers, but they got back-of-the-head smacks from their wives, and fell in line before urging Cobble to accompany them down the hall.

Missy was under no illusions that her mother wasn’t about to rip her a new one for putting her future self in danger.

She did as she was told, however, taking the gallows’ march into the kitchen.

“Mom, I—”

“You like him, don’t you.” Her mother made a statement Missy wasn’t expecting, rather than lighting into her about going to Africa.

Missy, taken aback that the conversation hadn’t gone where she’d predicted, took a minute to regroup.

But she couldn’t lie to her mother.

“Yeah. I do,” she admitted. “I have…foolish dreams where I think he’s the one.”

Her mother nodded sagely. “I understand. And not to worry, my sweet girl. He likes you, too,” Eleni said with certainty.

“He…? You think?” Missy asked, desperate for this second opinion.

To Missy, it had seemed at times during her brief interactions with Cobble, that they had a special connection. But she hadn’t known if—in her fancies—she’d been making it all up in her head.

“Oh, yes. That boy has eyes for you,” her mother assured her. “I can see it plainly.”

Missy gave a huge sigh; part relief, and part frustration. “That’s good, but the problem is, Mom, he’s a job. I can’t let him know how I feel until we can find all the players involved in this cluster fuck who are trying to kill him.”

“Why?” Eleni asked offhandedly while she rinsed out the bowls in the sink.

“Uh…because?” Missy replied, caught out at being challenged over her…what?

Ethics?

Right.

That was a great question. Was it ethics that kept Missy from acting on her feelings, or was it fear? Fear that Cobble wouldn’t return her sentiments. Or that if he did, something would happen and one or both of them would be killed; taken before they’d even explored what could be between them?

Missy huffed, pretty much still ignoring her mother’s one word question.

“You know,” Missy rationalized, “this debacle has already been going on for nearly five years. Even if I told Cobble how I feel, with how infrequently we are able to see each other, how long do you think he’ll stay interested if this drags on ad infinitum?” she lamented.

“That’s something the two of you should discuss,” her mother replied wisely. “And I’m just saying, if you really want this to happen, you’ll find a way to make it work.”

Her mother turned, took Missy’s face between her warm palms, and stared deeply into her eyes before dropping a kiss on her forehead.

“Don’t worry, my sweet girl. Things will work out. Love is a very powerful thing.”

“Lo—?”

Damn. Who’d said anything about love?

But…

Missy finally gave in and nodded.

Yeah. From her mother’s lips to God’s ears .