Page 44 of Renegade (The Santini Assassins #2)

brIEFING THE PRESIDENT

CAROLINE

A t five in the morning, they returned to the Black Site. As they made their way through the building, Caroline hurried to keep up with Grey. The energy had shifted, his frustration palpable. She’d worked with him long enough to know that an angry Grey was a very, very dangerous one.

She also knew that, as his former handler, his system worked for him, so she stayed silent.

They rounded the corner. Now, in the residential wing—the safe house side—voices grew louder as they approached the kitchen. The intense smell of bleach stung her eyes, and she covered her nose and mouth with her hand. They stopped in the doorway.

Hawk, Addison, Sin, and Evangeline were wiping down the room.

Hawk spotted them and jumped up. After pulling two medical masks from the counter, he offered them. “It’s wicked in here. ”

She fitted one over her ears and mouth, and the pungent odor of bleach subsided.

“You cleaned up the mess,” Grey said.

“Mask up, bro,” Hawk replied.

After Grey did, he tied up his hair, glanced around the spacious room. “Looks good.”

Evangeline stopped scrubbing and rose from the floor. “Dakota’s resting and he’s doing great.”

Sin joined them. “We’re gonna patch and paint over the ceiling, but we got out most of the blood. By the end of the day, it’ll be good as new.”

“I can help,” Grey said.

“We got this,” Sin said. “Tank’s working in the rec room. Slash and Carrera are with him.”

“I’m gonna post a pic of Haqazzii’s body,” Grey said.

“Nice,” Sin replied.

Grey eyed Caroline. “Are you hungry? Can I make you something to eat?”

She’d been too keyed up to even think about food.

“We got you,” Addison said.

Caroline and Grey took off for the rec room. To her surprise, Tank and Slash were playing a game of pool while Carrera sat on the sofa, working away on his laptop.

“Hey,” Grey said.

“How’d it go?” Tank asked.

“It’s done,” Grey said, the emotion void from his voice. “I got a photo of him.”

“I’ll upload it.” Tank leaned the cue against the pool table, sat at one of the card tables.

Grey pulled over two chairs, and they joined him.

“I got a hit,” Tank said. “It’s just one, but I’m confident I’ll get more.”

“Nice work,” Grey muttered.

Tank glanced at Caroline. “What’s going on? ”

“It’s been a long night,” she replied.

“We gotta tell the President,” Grey said.

All eyes on him.

Carrera joined them. “What did you say?”

“If the President doesn’t know, he’s gotta be briefed,” Grey repeated.

“Not yet,” Carrera pushed back.

“Grey’s right,” Caroline added. “We’ve got a dead terrorist and these taunting messages from the terror cell.”

“I’ll talk to Sin,” Carrera said.

“I don’t need to go through Sin,” Grey said. “I’m tight with his Chief of Staff.”

“Evelyn Baker?” Carrera asked. “How do you know her?”

“She and her husband, Sean Baker, took me in after I ran away.”

Sin entered the room. “Dakota’s asking for you,” he said to Caroline and Grey.

“Brother, I gotta say, the surprises keep on coming,” Tank said.

Sin regarded Grey.

“Sean and Evelyn Baker are my fam,” Grey said. “Evelyn can get me on the President’s agenda.”

“Shouldn’t we discuss this as a team?” Sin asked.

“We just did,” Grey replied. “Who’s comin’ with me? Austin?”

“No,” Caroline replied. “Bring stronger players.”

He furrowed his brow. “I disagree.”

“The Trinity,” Carrera said. “Bring the Trinity.”

“Who’s that?” Caroline and Tank asked, in unison.

“Me, Carrera, and Luciano,” Sin replied.

“I’ll set it up.” Grey made a call, put the phone to his ear.

“Evelyn, I need to brief the President on the Day of Destruction.” He grew quiet, then said, “May thirty-first. Haqazzii. They’re here, planning an attack.

” More listening. “He’s traveling to Paris, then he’s on vacation.

I can’t wait that long.” Grey listened. “That’ll work.

Love you too.” He hung up. “Today, 1700. Five PM.”

“Gotta love a man of action,” Carrera said.

“Jesus, I thought I had power,” Sin said.

“I just made a call,” Grey replied. “It was nothing.”

“Power is everything ,” Sin pushed back, “and you’ve got a shit-ton of it.”

After checking on Dakota—who was resting comfortably—they stopped by the kitchen for breakfast. Hawk and Addison had cooked up a feast. They plated food for Dakota and Providence, returned for their own meals.

The stench of bleach was too pungent to eat in the kitchen, so they returned to the rec room. The conversation around the card tables was focused on the terror cell, on next steps, and on how they’d handle the mission going forward.

Grey said very little, only contributing when directly asked a question. Caroline knew he was in strategy mode, reviewing what went wrong, improvements to make, how he’d root out the killers before they blew up the buildings.

Once they finished eating, Grey said, “Teddy, you ready for that pic of Haqazzii’s body?”

“Text it to me.”

Seconds later, Tank uploaded the pic. “What do you want to say?”

“Nothin’,” Grey replied.

Caroline shook her head.

“What?” Grey asked. “Isn’t that pic enough?”

“I’d add the caption, ‘You’re next’.”

A sinful smile filled Grey’s face. She loved seeing the joy, hated the reason.

“Do it,” Grey commanded.

They huddled around the laptop while Tank sent it .

Without a doubt, it was war. And they were going on the offense.

GREYSTONE

At three o’clock, Greystone drove out of the Black Site keenly aware that Caroline wasn’t by his side. The matches at JL’s company continued to roll in, so Caroline stayed behind to work that angle.

The five terrorists currently employed by the janitorial cleaning company looked nothing like their mug shots. Their contact information was bogus. They’d been hired by Sajid Haqazzii, their data had been entered into the system to check a box. And no one had bothered to verify.

Another growl shot out of him. At his house, he parked on the driveway slab, his attention cemented on the sedan parked out front. With his hand on his Glock, still tucked in the shoulder holster, he exited, strode over.

A man exited, a pleasant smile on his face. “Mr. Santini?”

“Depends on who’s askin’.”

The rear door of the sedan opened and Luciano exited. “Grey.”

“Lulu. What are you doin’ here?”

Luciano took the three shopping bags from the other man. “Invite me in.”

Greystone glanced down at the black designer bags with the gold, embossed name strewn in block print.

SANTINI

“Come on,” Greystone said.

Luciano followed him inside .

“You want your assistant?” Greystone asked.

“He’ll wait in the car,” Luciano said, as he unpacked the neatly folded clothing. “Four suits, seven dress shirts, several ties, and four pair of shoes. There’s a few belts and underwear.”

“I got clothes.”

“You’re a Santini. It’s time you dressed like one.”

“Grazie, fratello,” Greystone said. “What do I owe you?”

“Nothing.” Luciano glanced around. “This your place?”

“I live here.”

“It’s a shithole.”

Greystone laughed. “When did you become a snob?”

Luciano smiled. “You think?”

“Fuck, yeah. I’m not like you. I got clothes. They’re clean. They fit okay.”

“You got money?” Luciano asked.

“Yeah, why? Need a loan?”

This time, both brothers laughed.

“If you give me a hundred thousand, I’ll invest it for you,” Luciano said.

“Sean and Evelyn Baker taught me about investing. I got a few mil, but I leave it alone. I use their wealth manager, and he takes care of me.”

“If you want to diversity, I got you,” Luciano said.

Greystone didn’t respond.

“I’ll pick you up at four,” Luciano said.

“No. I’ll meet you there.”

“We need to be on the same page.”

This back and forth, this show of bullish behavior, went back decades. It used to drive him crazy, to the point that fists would get thrown. Now, he could appreciate the power play, and he didn’t give a fuck. Wasn’t gonna engage, wasn’t gonna get agitated. No fists.

“Lulu, I’m gonna handle this meeting. Technically, the President is my boss. I’ve been in the Navy for eleven years. I got this.”

“What are you gonna say?”

“You mean, do I know now what I’m gonna say in two hours?”

“Right.”

Greystone needed his brother gone, so he opened the front door. “I missed us. The way we go at it, how we try to out-boss the other. Here’s what’s gonna go down. I’m briefing the President. That’s it.”

Luciano smiled. “That’s the most you’ve said to me since you’ve been back.” He walked outside, turned around. “I feel better.”

“I’m not makin’ an ass of myself, and I won’t disgrace Evelyn Baker. She’s more of a mom to me than Mom ever was.”

As Luciano walked toward his chauffeured vehicle, Greystone said, “Thanks for the duds.”

Luciano tossed him a nod before Greystone shut the door, flipped the bolt. As he made his way toward his bedroom, he paused to look at the price tags on the clothing, then did a quick add.

Luciano had just dropped forty grand of Santini Originals on him.

Despite being sleep-deprived, he was jacked up on adrenaline. A ten-minute nap would do the trick, but it would take him an hour to wind down, if that happened at all.

No nap.

In his bathroom, he ran the trimmer over his beard, showered, and returned to the living room to eye his new clothes. He selected a white shirt, dark blue pinstripe suit, and a navy and gold tie. Navy colors.

Gotta represent.

As he was dressing, his phone rang. Someone from his Naval command .

“Commander Santini,” Greystone answered.

“Hello, sir, I’m calling about your flight schedule. I sent you two emails, but never heard back.”

With everything going on, Greystone had completely forgotten. “Let me login.” He opened his laptop and jumped on the scheduling site.

He was scheduled to fly out of JBAB for a three-hour practice run on Thursday.

“Where’s JBAB?”

“Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling, on the southwest side of the Potomac. I’ll email you the details, but plan to arrive at oh-seven-hundred.”

“Confirmed.”

“Thank you, sir.”