“Can you get me an ID?—”
“Getting something that will pass muster if you get pulled aside for TSA check will take too much time. It’s the holidays, and even the security agencies are down to skeleton staffs.”
So, a fake identity was out. “What, you want me to hitchhike across the country?”
“Who would pick up a guy with a mug like yours?” he asked. “But you could, you know, drive a car.”
“I know. Just being a smartass because I can already tell this is going to ruin my holiday.”
“I didn’t realize that would be a problem,” Lang said.
He was being diplomatic, which I appreciated. He’d been in my Army battalion when I’d received the news about my parents’ car crash. It had happened during the second week of December. There had been freezing rain and they’d hit a patch of black ice. I closed my eyes and shook my head hard. Twenty years. Twenty fucking years. No need to relive the details of it now.
“I have some plans,” I told Lang, “but none that can’t be broken.” Henry and Janie would see it differently, but I’d find a way to make it up to them and, more importantly, the girls.
“If you arrive here by the 23nd, I’ll do my best to get you on a military transport plane back to California on the 24th, but I can’t make any promises.”
“Neither, apparently, can I,” I said quietly as I pictured Allie and Ashe’s cute little faces. “I’ll shoot for the 22nd. Where, exactly, am I headed? Aren’t you in Bumfuck, Maryland or something?”
He laughed. “That about sums it up. When you get closer, I’ll text you a nice, neutral address where we’ll meet the night of the 22nd, then we’ll go from there. But you can’t drive your Mustang coupe.”
“How did you know about my?—”
“It’s our business to know. And you’d be damned easy to track in that thing. It’s not subtle. Not going to comment on what you’re trying to compensate for with a flashy sports car.”
“Trust me, no need to compensate for anything, here.” I didn’t tell him the real reason I’d bought the car, which was that it was fast enough to outrun my demons when the pressure got to be too much, but it was also loaded with every safety feature known to mankind and the auto industry. “I suppose a rental car is out, too.”
“You’d need to use ID, so not a good idea.”
I sighed. “I’ll figure it out. I’ll need tonight to make arrangements, but I should be on the road first thing in the morning.”
“Be sure to get your beauty sleep. You’ll need to be rested for the long drive, old man.”
I grinned. “I’ll always be younger than you, old man.”
He laughed, then said, “Hey, seriously Nick, thanks for doing this. It’s important.”
“I don’t doubt it. Happy to help my country.”
“You say that now…”
CHAPTER 3
NICK
Imade my way through the sea of bar patrons dressed in eighties’-themed outfits and sporting big hair and too much eyeliner. Several of the regulars greeted me by name. I fought against the bubble of unease that rose in the back of my throat. While some people would love to have a local hangout where everybody knows their name, I wasn’t one of them. My years in special forces and occasional work with Lang had left me with a distinct preference for anonymity. And my years of studying, detonating, and disarming explosive devices had instilled in me an instinct to abhor unchecked crowds.A man walks into a bar with an armed device... Yeah, there’s no punchline to that.
But despite my discomfort, there was plenty to love about the Dirty Diamond Dogs Bar and Grill, affectionately known by the regulars as the Triple D. My third favorite thing about the bar was its location halfway between the ATF office and the three-bedroom condo I owned in the San Fernando Valley. My second favorite aspect of it was the ambience of the place. It was hip enough to draw the younger crowd necessary to sustain the business, but laid-back enough for old vets like me to linger over a quiet drink and shoot the shit at the bar.
But hands down, my favorite thing about the place was Mason Filcher, the establishment’s owner and one damn fine human being. Henry had introduced me to many of the local vets when I’d left the army and settled at the Glendale ATF branch, but Mason had folded me into their community like it was his job to give me a place to belong. Which was why when he’d called me last month to ask a favor, I’d jumped at the chance. While hosting trivia night in a hipster bar had never been on my bucket list, it had proved to be more fun than I’d expected. And the pay scale was just right: good whiskey and cold beer anytime I liked.
As I approached the bar, Mason grinned and slid a whiskey in my direction. “You have your eighties’ trivia questions ready?”
I patted my pocket. “Yes, and they’re totally rad, dude.” I sipped the whiskey and enjoyed the sharp burn followed by a smooth finish. “Giving me the good stuff tonight.” I raised my glass to him. “Thanks.”
“I heard you might be taking a trip during the holidays, so thought I’d give you an early gift.”
“Henry told you?”
