Brick
McMillan is back home in Florida for a funeral—his younger
brother's. There have been a lot of deaths in his family lately, his
father, his wife and now his brother Stony. However, the night he got
home, he was using Stony's computer and got a mysterious Instant
Message from a woman calling herself XYZ. She arranges a meeting with
him at the Panera in Daytona.
The
morning rush at Panera was tapering off when he ordered his coffee
and pastry. Finding a table wasn't hard. He sat in the main room,
over to one side, near the partition. From here, he could see the
back door, but not the front. He suspected that XYZ was a backdoor
user. As it happened, he was right.
Brick
spotted the tall, trim figured woman as soon as she walked in. Her
honey colored hair was pulled back in a loose chignon. She scanned
the restaurant, dark glasses raised to her forehead with one hand.
She wore a slate gray suit and low heeled black shoes. Her jacket was
buttoned, but there was a slight bulge under her left arm. She
spotted him on her second pass. Brick held up his coffee, saluting
her. Frowning, she strutted across the room, taking a seat across
from him at the table.
“You
need to work on your entrance,” he said after taking a sip. “I
knew it was you the second you walked in.”
“Do
you know who I am?”
“By
name? No. But my guess is you're a fed, not a cop.” He leaned
forward, forearms on the table, the cup between his hands.
Her
frown deepened. Her silence demanded an explanation.
“You
don't move like a cop. You move like a soldier. In plain clothes,
those glasses, shoes you can run in—Fed.”
She
flashed a wary smile. Her eyes were a vivid aquamarine. There was a
scattering of freckles across her pert nose.
“So,
this begs the questions—Why is a federal agent so anxious to talk
to my bother? And why does she sound so unconvinced that he's dead?”
“Mr.
McMillan....”
He
held up a finger, waving it at her as if chastising a spoiled child
for bad manners. “The way this works, you introduce yourself. Then
we chat.”
“Call
me Agent X.” She grinned and a hint of a twinkle lit up her eyes.
“I'd
rather not. I quit reading comic books thirty years ago.”
“Colleen,”
she told him.
“No
last name. So, like Pink or Seal....”
“Something
like that.” The smile faded. “Look, Brick, we can tease and flirt
all day—”
“Is
that what this is?” He leaned forward aggressively. “I thought
this was you telling me about your relationship with Stony.”
“It's
not an affair.”
“That
much I know. My brother's not a cheater. I figure it's business
related, but that's a puzzler. My brother was an engineer.”
She
sighed, leaning back. “May we start over?”
“Sure.”
He wiped his hand on his napkin before holding it out. “Brick
McMillan.”
She
shook it. Her grip was firm, her palm calloused. She spent a lot of
time with that handgun. “Colleen Underwood.”
“Federal
agent.”
“Yes.”
“FBI?
NSA?”
“RNS.”
“I
don't know that one—Oh! Rather Not Say,” he chuckled as he
translated her acronym. “Gotcha.”
Her
lips twitched into a half smile. “Yes, I know your brother. Yes,
it's business related. No, I don't think he's dead. If I'm right,
he's gone to ground and will contact me soon. He's in danger.”
“How
do you know?”
“Because,
your brother works for us. He's a spy.”
©
2016 Dellani Oakes
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This sounds so good!!!!!!
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