Page 60 of Cyn
“Go get some rest,” Cyn said from where she sat behind her desk. “You’re right, we need sleep. We don’t know what’s going to come next, but I think we all know it isn’t going to be something small. If we’re going to have any chance at stopping it, we need to give ourselves every advantage we can. Including rest.”
He glanced back over his shoulder as she spoke, and when she finished, he held her gaze. She was right, they both were. Without the FBI or any assistance from any of the other agencies, they were going to need every advantage they could garner. Because he agreed with Cyn, whatever was coming next wasn’t going to be small.
Chapter Twenty
Cyn snappedher head up at the ding coming from her computer. She’d fallen asleep at her desk after starting another shift and it was now nearing six in the morning. When she glanced out the window, the winter morning was still dark and foreboding. What had woken her? Oh yeah, the computer.
Turning her attention to the monitor, she saw an email from Lucy. Cyn had sent the packet of files over hours ago, but this was the first she’d heard back.
“Was caught up in another project. Will start working on this now. Unless you found something?” Lucy wrote.
Cyn brought up a chat app and answered. “One more file. Pictures of the John Hancock Tower.”
“If you want my two cents, that’s not the target. It’s too big and too well protected for a group like what we think we’re looking at.”
“My thoughts, too,” Cyn answered. “It’s also an unimaginative target, especially if they are hitting it on MLK day since it will be closed for the holiday.”
“Another valid point. I’ll start now and see what I can find.”
“Cheers, I really appreciate it,” Cyn wrote, then signed off.
She was watching the code flash across her screen when the smell of coffee brought her eyes up. Joe stood in the doorway, a cup in each hand. She smiled.
“I didn’t hear you get up.”
He chuckled as he walked toward her. “That’s because you live in a forty-thousand-square-foot house, and your bedroom is about a quarter of a mile away.” He handed her a cup of the delicious brew as she rolled her eyes at his hyperbole. Though she had to admit, she liked that he took her wealth in stride, finding it entertaining rather than grotesque, or worse, something he wanted to possess.
“Anything crop up in the last few hours?” he asked. She showed him the picture, and he relayed the same sentiment that both she and Lucy shared. “Lucy didn’t have anything yet?”
She shook her head. “She was involved in something else overnight. She didn’t say what, but if it had her up all night, my guess is that it was pretty important. Anyway, she’s looking at it now.”
Joe took a seat and leaned back in his chair, resting his legs on the corner of her desk. “I guess now we keep waiting?”
“Anticlimactic, I know, but such is the life of an international spy,” Cyn replied with a sideways smile.
“This isn’t really about Queen and country,” Joe pointed out. “Just something Meleak involved you in.”
“You’re right about that,” she conceded. “But it’s our home turf, and if the FBI isn’t able to put resources on it because they don’t have any credible intel, it’s left to us.” That wasn’t an unusual role for a spook to play, but Joe had been right—at least this time, she wasn’t on her own. Meleak may have singled her out, but Devil, Six, Nora, and Joe were all as deep in this as she was. Which was a new experience. Yes, she’d worked with her friends on occasion and trained with them often, but they’d never been in the trenches all together before.
And they weren’t likely to be again if she stayed with MI6. That wasn’t the way intelligence agencies worked—not hers, and not the ones her friends reported to. Several weeks ago, she’d suggested to Franklin that she retire. He hadn’t wanted to hear of it, and she let it drop since she hadn’t been convinced it was the right move, either. But now that she had a taste for working in a team…
“You’re looking awfully pensive over there,” Joe said, nudging her shoulder.
She started to shrug, then stopped herself. “I’m thinking about the future.”
“Sounds ominous,” Joe replied, although he sounded more curious than his teasing words hinted.
The computer code continued to flash and run on the screen in front of her, and she let her gaze linger on it as she answered. “You ever think about where you want to be in five years? Or ten? Or twenty?”
“Still upright, hopefully,” he replied, drawing a smile from her.
“So, no hopes or dreams or anything like that?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I know it probably sounds weird, but I was never really the kind of person who made those kinds of plans. I did well in school because I like learning. I did well in the Navy as well, but I was never one to plan my career. I sort of did what felt right when presented with a new opportunity—some opportunities I took, some I didn’t. I joined the police because it was a good use of my skills, and I came up to Massachusetts because it felt like the right decision. I know that probably makes me sound like I have no ambition, and maybe I don’t in the traditional sense, but I don’t feel the need to have a certain kind of job, or a certain kind of relationship, or anything that’s pre-defined for what a guy my age should have or want. I guess my ambition is to live the life I want to live—be a good person, have some purpose in life, and do good work. I know that’s not enough for some people, but it’s enough for me. What about you?”
She didn’t miss the hesitation in his question, and though he had nothing to be concerned about, she thought she understood where it might be coming from. If she was the sort of person with a five- and ten-year plan, it might be hard for a relationship between them to thrive. Then again, having two people with no plans other than to float through life—which she was sure was how some people would view it—might not be great either.
“I’m competitive and a bit of an adrenaline junky, so while I may not be interested in creating a five-year plan, when I commit to something, I’m all in. But like you, I want the same freedoms to choose how I live my life. It’s a luxury, I know. Not everyone can do that, but I can, so I try to make the right decisions. I try to make choices that leverage my interest and skills yet still have, as you say, some purpose. I’d like to think that most of the time, I make the right choices, but I definitely can’t claim to make the right ones all the time.”
