Page 17 of The Accidental (Redemption Inc.)
Eight
“Do you always eat in the middle of the night?” Jax asked as Ariel slid a steaming bowl of pho onto the table beside them.
The noodle soup’s gingery, beefy aroma woke the cat that had been snoozing in their lap the past few hours.
More sleep than Jax had caught at any one time the past—they glanced at the time onscreen—fifty hours.
The Friday deadline Ariel set had left them no choice but to hack all day and night for the answers he needed.
“Think of this time like that week between Christmas and New Year’s, when conventional rules of society just disappear.” He flitted his fingers in the air, and Jax laughed.
“There has not been nearly enough cheese for that comparison.”
“Noted,” he said, grinning as he carried his bowl to the adjacent den.
They hit Return, the final missive sent through layers of spoofed IP addresses. “Well, that’s that,” they said as they shooed Sugar off their lap before she got into their soup. “You’re either going to have a dinner party of many, of one, or of none.”
“Let’s hope for the right one .”
They lifted their bowl of noodles, slurping a bite, and nearly groaned aloud.
The soup tasted even better than it smelled.
While the cheese had been absent the past two days, delicious dishes had not.
From the first night’s shakshuka to tonight’s soup, Ariel had fed them well—and kept them in good coffee.
The benefits of being held captive by a foodie, though held captive seemed more a strong accusation than the truth.
Jax was fairly certain they could’ve left at any time.
They’d stayed for Feb, and for Fletcher, and because it was their job.
And hacking was the part of it they could do.
“You know,” Ariel said as he folded a leg under himself on the couch, “the Agency knows about you, your mentor, Holt, and your other associates, at Redemption and otherwise.”
Translation: Madigans. “Of course they do.” Jax angled in their chair toward them, bowl still in hand. “And the CIA can do nothing about us on US soil.”
“No, that’s for the FBI, which is in your pocket.”
They shrugged. “Or we’re in theirs. Po-tay-to, Po-tah-to.”
He laughed, his smile transforming him into the charming man Jax had gotten to know a little, the one they could see bringing Fletcher out of his shell, until Ariel’s gaze landed on the laptop and tension rushed back in. “Go over it again.”
They took another slurp of soup, then set the bowl aside.
Standing, they grabbed the laptop off the dining table and carried it to the den.
After lowering themselves beside Ariel, laptop balanced on their knees, they opened ten different CIA profiles.
“These are the ten CIA employees who have had the most contact with the Camino cartel over the past five years.” Another strike of the keys and half the photos disappeared.
“These five are the ones I can prove took money from the cartel. May not have been intentional, or even knowing, but money flowed from point A to point B.”
“I’m going to need that list to send to the Agency.”
“You can hand it to Fletcher and the FBI yourself.”
“I can live with that.”
Two more keystrokes and only one person remained onscreen. “Officer Caleb Fitzpatrick, who was following you as you were following Fletcher. From Miami, to Boston, to California.”
Ariel set his bowl on the coffee table. “He was on me before I even left Fletcher in Miami.”
“Looks like it.” Jax closed Fitzpatrick’s CIA profile and brought up a running list of email addresses.
“And these are all of his alias emails.” Jax highlighted one midway down.
“Including this one that subscribes to the Render RSS feed.” They highlighted the last one on the list. “And this is the alias he used to feed the Agency that tip about you selling secrets.”
“Fuck.” He raked a hand through his short, dark curls. “It’s gotta be him. That’s too many dots connected.”
Jax handed the laptop to Ariel and retrieved their bowl of pho. “Do you know him?”
Ariel clicked Fitzpatrick’s photo forward again, took a good long look at him, then shook his head. “I’ve never seen this guy in my life. Don’t even remember hearing his name.”
“Why not just prove you didn’t do it?” Jax asked after another few bites.
They’d spent days finding the mole but in doing so had also turned up evidence to support Ariel’s innocence.
And while they barely knew the man, they were fairly certain he was innocent, on all counts.
Guilty people didn’t set themselves up to be caught so easily.
“I can help you get whatever additional proof you need.” Doing so would get them both what they needed.
Redemption the bounty delivered; Ariel the evidence to refute the charges against him.
Ariel didn’t buy it, his laughter cold and bitter like it had been the other night at UTT.
“My last name is Camino. The Agency knows that—recruited me for it—but to them, it was only a matter of time.” He set the laptop on the coffee table, then reached down to pet the orange ball of terror that wove around his ankles, sniffing for his bowl of barely touched soup.
“Question is, why now? And why Fitzpatrick?”
“Money.” The most obvious answer, but it was rarely all there was. Working at SFPD, then for the Madigans and Redemption had taught them that much. “Probably some sort of leverage at play too.”
“Always a favorite with the cartel.” He scooped Spice into his lap, his fingers carding through the cat’s short orange fur, seemingly lost in a memory Jax didn’t want to imagine. He came back to the present a moment later. “You found the money already. What about the leverage?”
They finished their last spoonful of soup, then gestured with their utensil at the laptop.
“Still running searches.” His gaze followed where they pointed, fixating on the picture of Fitzpatrick again.
Jax raised another possibility that couldn’t be ignored.
“That officer was not the one at UTT Tuesday night. Even though I funneled your review his way, we don’t know if he’ll be the one to show tonight either. Or?—”
“It could be someone from my family. Like Juan.”
“Do they want you back?”
Ariel shifted, lifting one hip and jostling Spice off his lap in the process, the orange cat screeching a meow of protest. Jax chuckled, but their amusement died when Ariel pulled a plain gold wedding band from his wallet and slipped it on his left ring finger.
“They haven’t wanted me since I put this on my finger. ”
The same gut punch they’d felt for Fletcher the other night resurrected itself again, hitting harder this time with the force of shared sympathy behind it, Jax understanding all too well being disowned for who they were and who they loved.
Jax wondered about the latter between Ariel and Fletcher. “Do you want him back?”
“I never wanted to give him up.” He stood before Jax could recover from another hit, even if they had suspected as much. “Your people got the message?” Ariel asked, giving them a professional hand up.
Recovering, they leaned forward and, with a couple of quick keystrokes, loaded the surveillance feed from inside UTT.
After the review had been posted, they’d knocked at the secure network transmitting the surveillance feed, and Holt had opened a connection for them.
They’d peeked in countless times the past two days whenever they’d needed a shot of purpose to keep them going with the endless hack.
Even at this late hour, the construction crew Jax recognized from Hawes and Chris’s home reno was busy finishing repairs, while other members of their family and Redemption were moving in furniture and putting the final touches on UTT. “They got the message.”
Ariel wandered back into the kitchen, but Jax’s gaze remained locked on the woman behind the bar orchestrating the madness.
Hair in a topknot, dressed in jeans and a sweater, her sleeves pushed up to her elbows, her glasses sliding down her nose, Feb looked good, like everything Jax had ever wanted.
They just hoped Feb still felt the same way about them when this was all over.
Approaching UTT’s back entrance, Jax spared a glance and a two-finger wave for the camera they’d installed over the door last week.
We’re a go , they mouthed to Holt, who was no doubt watching from behind a monitor in the surveillance van close by, monitoring every coming and going at UTT and in the surrounding area.
Catching sight of the high-tech smart lock on the back door, they mouthed a Thank you to Holt too.
The original single deadbolt had been the bare minimum; not nearly secure enough for Jax’s liking.
The new digital lock was a far better security solution and, at least for tonight, made it easier for Holt to let Jax in, the glowing keys turning from red to green.
They opened the door and stepped inside, the familiar aromas wafting from the kitchen at once comforting.
The herby, minty richness of roast lamb, the deep, earthiness of morels and beets, the spicy brightness from the sumac chili chickpeas Feb had glommed onto, and the yeastiness of fresh baked bread.
While Jax had been fed well the past few days, their stomach grumbled for more.
And by the smell of it, Hawes was doing Feb proud, cooking in her stead with Chloe, whom Ariel had called back down from Napa.