Page 11 of Cyn

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“You?” he asked, offering her the cream as they took their seats.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the pint and adding a hefty amount to her coffee.

“I had a chat with my uncle last night. He says you should have footage of the gate?” he prompted once she’d had a sip.

Cyn opened her mouth to answer but was cut off by the sudden sound of women’s voices and the clicking of heels and boots on the wood floor. A few seconds later, three women appeared in the doorway.

“You’re home!” the middle one said, her voice laced with a faint Italian accent. Joe recalled what his uncle had told him last night about the girlfriends and figured she must be Violetta Salvitto—known as Six, instead of Vi—who’d spoken and who was now stepping forward to greet her friend. Six was several inches taller than Cyn and had whiskey-colored eyes and long honey-brown hair. Aside from being a part-time attorney at the Boston office of the US Department of Justice, she was also an agent for Agenzia Informazioni e Sicurezza Esterna, or AISE, the Italian foreign intelligence group.

The tallest of the three was Lily Devillier—known as Devil. She was a striking Chinese woman with aqua-colored eyes and black hair about the same length as Six’s. In addition to being a medical doctor, with a focus on research, she was an agent for the foreign intelligence division of China’s Ministry of State Security.

Rounding out the quartet was Nora Amiri—known as Nora—a Jordanian woman about Cyn’s height but with more curves. Her curly black hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and she was not only a veterinarian but she also worked for the Jordanian General Intelligence Directorate.

Joe sat back and watched the women greet each other as if it had been years since they’d last seen one another when he knew for a fact it had been less than three weeks. Judging by the hugs and the excited chatter, his uncle hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said the four were close.

Nora went to the coffee machine and started making coffee for everyone while Cyn regaled her friends with a story about someone named Daisy. When the laughter died down, inexplicably, they all switched to speaking Italian, and Six picked up the thread with a story of her own, though what it was about, he hadn’t a clue since Italian wasn’t one of the three languages he spoke.

He was beginning to feel like perhaps he should come back another time when suddenly all four women turned their attention to him.

“Hello, ladies,” he said, raising his mug in a toast.

“Who is that?” Devil asked.

“Thatis the new chief of police,” Cyn answered. “Meet Joe Harris. I’ve been calling him New Joe, but I suppose, eventually, we’ll just have to call him Joe.”

Four sets of eyes regarded him. He took a sip of coffee as Cyn introduced her friends.

“Not to be inhospitable, but is there a reason you’re here?” Nora asked.

“Cyn?” he prompted, asking her if she’d like to fill them in. She sighed and gestured everyone to the barstools.

When they were all seated, Cyn took a deep breath and answered. “Meleak was here last night.”

Three coffee mugs landed on the counter with a singlethud.

The women obviously all knew who this Meleak was, judging by the swear words he heard—or so he assumed they were all profanity. The only ones he could actually understand were coming from Devil, and those were in French. He glanced at her, and she grinned.

“Swearing in Chinese doesn’t sound as good as it does in French. Italian is the best, Spanish is good, too, but I prefer French.”

He blinked. He was beginning to understand why his uncle hadn’t told him about the Fearless Foursome before offering him the job. Clearing his throat, he drew the attention back to himself. Fixing Cyn with a look, he asked, “Who is Meleak?”

She hesitated.

“Cyn.”

She made a face at him, but then answered. “He’s kind of hard to explain.”

“He’s part pirate,” Six said.

“And part gentleman thief,” added Devil.

“And entirely unscrupulous,” Nora chimed in.

“Except when it comes to Cyn,” Six said.

Thatwas something he didn’t like the sound of. He looked back at Cyn, demanding an answer without speaking.

“He’s a Somali man. I’ve encountered him through my archeology work. It’s true he is a bit of a pirate, and he has been known to steal artifacts and sell them on the black market—none of which I condone—but he does it to feed his village and his people. I know it doesn’t excuse what he does,” she said, holding a hand up to stave off any objection he might offer, though he had no intention of doing so. He’d been around long enough to know that things weren’t always black and white. “But his people are dying, and he’s never actually hurt anyone. Physically,” she added.