Page 13 of The Accidental (Redemption Inc.)

“That’s good, Feb. Now, give me a couple more of those,” Jax coaxed, and while Feb took two more deep breaths, they peeked out from under the table, assessing their exit route.

The action had moved more squarely into the room, leaving the path to the hallway and kitchen clear.

“All right,” they said as they turned back to Feb.

“Path’s clear to the breezeway. Keep low and tucked to my side. On the count of three.”

Feb’s eyes were still saucer-wide, but they weren’t leaking tears anymore, and Feb was no longer jumping at every shattering piece of wood outside their bubble.

“You ready?” Jax asked, and she nodded. Jax gathered her against their right side, away from the action, and on the count of three, they darted out from under the table and around the corner.

The chaos faded behind them as Jax straightened, Feb’s hand in theirs, and sprinted down the breezeway into the kitchen.

Only to be drawn up short by Chloe stepping out of the pantry, arm raised, gun pointed straight at them. Feb’s “What the fuck?” would’ve made Jax laugh if not for the deadly serious expression on Chloe’s face.

“I’ll be taking you now,” the line cook said.

Jax slid in front of Feb. “You can’t have?—”

“I’m not here for her. I’m here for you.”

Wet.

Rough.

Insistent.

Furry?

The last sensation, among the others against Jax’s cheek, nudged them out of their Feb-induced fantasies and toward reality, pushing them through the fog they’d been wading in the past hour.

Ariel Camino’s voice at their side, urging “Muévete, Sugar,” propelled them through it faster.

They planted an elbow in the soft surface beneath them and struggled to lever upright. A gentle, steadying hand landed on their shoulder. “Take your time,” Ariel said. “I was talking to the cat, not you.”

Jax fought against their seemingly weighted eyelids, wresting them open just in time to see a snow-white ball of fluff jump off the end of the couch with an offended meow . “There a Spice around here too somewhere?” they asked as they continued to work their way to vertical.

“There is,” Ariel said, helping them. “The orange one that shares his one brain cell with all the other orange cats in the world.” His easy, charming smile was so at odds with the man who’d held Fletcher hostage at UTT that Jax gave their head a hard shake, thinking maybe the fog was still clouding their mind.

Pain sliced through their head, disabusing them of that notion.

Once they were steady, Ariel withdrew his hand and settled back in the chair beside the couch. “Water and ibuprofen,” he said with a jut of his chin at the coffee table.

Jax scooted to the edge of the couch, slowly so as not to amplify their headache and to assess whether they’d sustained other injuries.

They twisted their back, shook out their arms, stretched their fingers and legs.

All fine. Nothing wrong that they could detect, and nothing binding their limbs either.

They swept their gaze around the immediate area—no weapons in sight, no other humans besides Ariel.

Then scoped out the larger area—an open floor plan kitchen-dining-living area in what appeared to be a cozy, lived-in, ranch-style home.

In the middle of the back wall, large sliding glass doors led to a fenced-in backyard, quiet this time of night.

The same night or longer? “How long have I been out?”

“A few hours.” Meaning they hadn’t gone far. “We’re in San Jose,” Ariel said, anticipating their next question.

“Shit,” Jax cursed before throwing back three tablets and a gulp of water. “Have you been this close the entire time?”

“I travel a lot, but yes, this is home base.” He shrugged. “Lots of people, international airport, great food.”

At the mention of food, memories from a couple of hours ago flooded back to the front of their mind. Shattering, splintering sounds from the dining room, Chloe locking a shaking Feb in the pantry, a prick to Jax’s neck before the world went dark.

“Feb? My family?”

“All safe. It wasn’t my intention to harm any of them.”

“Didn’t look that way with Fletcher.”

He cast his gaze, light brown behind a pair of tortoiseshell glasses, out the back windows, but not before Jax caught the sadness and longing that pinched his features, that leaked into his voice.

“Especially not him.” After a long moment, he cleared his throat and turned back to them.

“It was meant to be a diversion, but then Juan showed up.”

“What happened to him?”

“In custody. Not talking, I assume.”

“So I was your target?” Jax asked, piecing together what Ariel was saying, their stomach twisting. Was the damage to UTT, all the stress they’d put Feb under more their fault than they’d even realized?

“Not originally,” Ariel said. “But once I got to UTT and realized my original target was gone, I had to improvise. Saw you behind the bar, knew who you really were and that you’d be an even better hacker than the one I’d planned to woo home. I activated Chloe at that point.”

Jax gulped more water, then set the glass aside and braced their elbows on their knees, staring at the confusing man beside them.

He was the picture of calm, the definition of measured, but warm in a way Jax would bet had balanced out Fletcher’s reserved frostiness.

History aside, here in the present, they’d somehow become the target of their original target.

That part was less confusing; hacking would be a whole lot easier than playing at undercover these past few months.

But what did Ariel need them to hack? “For what?” they asked and, pushing their position, sensing Ariel was a reasonable man, one that would expect some level of negotiation, added, “And what makes you think I’ll help you? ”

He grinned, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening. “One, because I’m going to write your girlfriend a glowing review. And two, because when this is over, I’ll turn myself in. You can take me to Isaiah yourself.”

That was their second question answered, the terms more than acceptable to Jax. So what about the first? “And why do you need a hacker?”

“Because I want to know who inside the CIA set me up and sold me out to my family.”

Jax started a new batch of searches running, then leaned back in the dining chair they’d occupied the past few hours, stretching out their fingers and cracking their knuckles.

“Ready for a snack?” Ariel said from the kitchen behind them.

Despite the late hour, he’d been the consummate host, keeping their mug full of coffee and cooking up something full of tomato goodness.

The crack of eggs ten or so minutes ago, followed by the groan of the oven door, was a dead giveaway as to the dish, and Jax was more than ready for it.

They set the laptop out of the way, searches still running, and moved the trivet Ariel had placed on the table to the center. “Bring over that shakshuka.”

Ariel appeared at their side with a still-bubbling skillet of eggs poached in spicy tomato sauce. “Way to ruin the surprise.”

“This is one of Feb’s go-to dishes. I’d know that smell anywhere.”

Ariel handed them bowls and silverware, then went back for the coffeepot, topping off their mugs while Jax dished out food. “I’ve had this dish all over the world,” he said. “And people eat it at all different times. Breakfast, lunch, snack, dinner.”

“Well, three in the morning seems as good a time as any.”

They dug in, impressed at the depth of flavor Ariel had managed to get out of the canned tomatoes, punching them up with fresh ground spices and herbs he’d fetched from the yard.

Helped too that Jax was starving. They’d missed lunch and dinner the day before, their stomach tied into too many knots to eat.

They were still worried about the fallout at UTT, about how Feb was handling everything that had transpired, the WTF world she’d been tossed into, but Jax trusted their family to take care of her and UTT.

They had to because this was where Jax was needed most: helping Ariel so they could get that Render review for Feb, complete the mission for Redemption, and bring Fletcher some closure—or a new beginning.

The past few hours of hacking had also re-centered them, had renewed the confidence that the past few months undercover had chipped away at.

Everyone had a particular skill set, and sneaking through firewalls was theirs.

“So, why did February Winters finally decide to do a Valentine’s dinner?” Ariel asked as he spooned a second helping into his bowl. “First one since UTT opened.”

Speaking of skill set... “You’ve been following her?”

“In the culinary world, yes,” he said. “I am a foodie, that part’s real, and she’s an up-and-coming star. I also dined at the place she cheffed at before Under the Table. You could tell she was talented.”

“She likes a challenge,” Jax said. “If you followed her in the foodie news, then you’ve seen the headlines. The critics didn’t think she could do it.” Jax turned up their two middle fingers like Feb was so fond of doing. “She wanted to prove them wrong.”

Ariel laughed, then settled back in his chair, bowl lifted as he tilted it this way and that, getting every bite. “I thought maybe you had something to do with it. That she was feeling the romantic spirit.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“You’d like her to be.”

Jax shoved another spoonful into their mouth instead of answering.

“I also worked for the CIA. The connection between you two was obvious in the less than five minutes I saw you together in the dining room.” Finished with his food, he set the bowl aside. “Chloe filled me in too.”

“Where is the little traitor?”

“In a safe house, for now. Once we’re done, she’ll be on her way to her dream job in Paris. Another Render-starred kitchen.”

Finished, Jax stacked their bowl in Ariel’s. “So she is a real chef?”

“She is, and I was able to give her something she wanted. It’s a whole lot easier to get people to do what you want when you can return the favor.

” He carried their dishes to the sink, then returned with a pen and notebook.

The leather journal with a sugar skull design embossed on the front looked well-traveled and well-used, the leather supple, the spine cracked, random slips of paper tucked between pages.

Sliding into his seat, Ariel removed the elastic holding the bulging notebook together and opened to a blank page toward the back.

“Now, if I’m gonna do this favor for you, I’ll need you to fill in some details since my dinner was cut short.

Let’s start with how the V-day concept came about, beyond just.

..” He flipped his two middle fingers up, as Jax had done earlier.

Jax had to admit, he was a charming kidnapper.

And they enjoyed regaling him with the story of how solo resos, only local, and no pink had come about.

“That’s fabulous,” he guffawed, furiously scribbling notes. “If I’d gotten to eat, what would you have recommended?”

“Well, every table started with sumac and chili roasted chickpeas, which, in fairness, was Chloe’s dish.

For a starter, I’d rec the winter citrus salad.

Beets, blood orange, and fennel with a toss in cumin-spiked olive oil and a sprinkle of pomegranate seeds.

” Jax fondly remembered the thirty-minute face-off between Adi and Feb over whether the blood oranges were pink or not.

A couple of hours in the blast chiller had fixed that.

“The brightness works to wake up the palate, the cumin acts as a bridge between the sumac and the next dish, and it worked with the Blue Rose drink that started the meal.”

“Tell me about that.”

They left out the personal connection both they and Feb had to the drink, instead describing how they’d adapted it from a Texas favorite, how there were nonalcoholic versions, and how the drink paired well with the first course.

“For a midcourse, you’d want to order the crab-stuffed morels, and Feb would be watching for your reaction from the breezeway espresso station.

She damn near had a breakdown over your mentions of morels in past reviews and how much was the right amount, so you better fucking rave about the ratio being just right. ”

“Noted,” Ariel said with a grin.

Jax was fairly certain they’d given away more than intended—especially in light of his earlier girlfriend comment—but the morel dish was important to Feb.

Ariel needed to know that. Before he could question further, Jax went on to describe the main dish they’d choose for him—pan-seared swordfish served with blistered vegetables and salmoriglio sauce.

A hearty fish, moist and firm, a less fishy-tasting palate that would allow the charred veggies and bright herby sauce to shine.

“And to finish,” they said, winding down to the close, “the pomegranate chai pudding.”

Ariel cocked a dark, bushy brow. “Not the smoked apple crostata? I saw it go by on my way in. Looked pretty cool.”

“It was, and delicious too, but the pudding is a better bookend to where you started. The pomegranates come back and shine, and given the spices in that shakshuka, I think you’d enjoy the chai.”

He scribbled another few lines, filling the remainder of a third page of notes, then closed the journal. “How many times did you go over that ideal progression with Feb?”

“At least a dozen.”

“And how many people ordered it like that?”

Jax shot him a dirty look. “One.” They held their stern glare for all of two seconds before they cracked up laughing alongside Ariel, their hilarity only subsiding when the computer running searches pinged. “Time for me to get back to work.”

“You have enough food?” Ariel said as he stood.

“Plenty, thank you.” Jax polished off their coffee and handed him the mug. “Everything was delicious.”

He moseyed back to the kitchen to wash dishes while Jax waited for browser windows to fully load.

Their gaze strayed to the notebook Ariel had left on the table, to the calavera stamped into the leather on the front.

It had seemed generally familiar before—they’d attended more than a few of San Francisco’s Day of the Dead festivals—but Jax had seen this particular design in a much different, closer context.

“Did you give Fletcher the nesting doll? The sugar skull one?”

Silverware clattered in the stainless steel sink, and in the reflection on their monitor, Jax watched as Ariel leaned his weight against the edge of the sink, his head bowed and shoulders slumped, like his knees had completely given out from under him.

“It’s on his desk,” Jax said. “Has been since the day he joined the department.”

“Jax—”

“I know what I saw in those five minutes too.” And it sure as hell wasn’t closure.