Page 45 of Under Cover
But then Tatya had answered, and Garcia’s respect for Natalia went up a notch, and he hadn’t thought that was possible.
“He did! But he give me option! He tells me he can take our baby to Moscow and I never see him again, or I can step aside, give boy his blanket, his stuffed animal, and they will go to Prague, and I can visit.”
Carlyle, Chadwick, Gail, and Swan all screeched to a halt near the helicopter and stared at Crosby.
“Folks,” he said, looking stunned that his gambit had paid off. “We’re in the wrong goddamned airport.”
They’d loaded onto the helo and taken off before Garcia remembered they’d left McEnany puking in the back of the department-issue SUV.
“Goddammit,” Garcia muttered directly into Crosby’s ear. “We were gonna get your stuff!”
“What?” Gail yelled from Garcia’s other side. “You finally moving him into your spare room?”
Crosby groaned comically above the propeller noise. “I don’t believe this!”
“We can’t!” Garcia yelled back. “The IA asshole is throwing up in the SUV!”
“No worries,” Carlyle yelled from across the bench. “Chadwick drove in today. We’ll help you move.”
Garcia grinned, and Chadwick nodded enthusiastically. Apparently operation Move Crosby was a go whether or not their department issue was going to be ready to drive.
THE OP TOget the boy away from Stoya went cleaner than any of them expected. It made Garcia a little sad, in fact, because the big man, the mobster, responsible for people bankrupted, lives ruined, people killed, had taken one look at the agents, armed and ready to take out his entire entourage, and had held up his hands.
“Guns down,” he said with authority, and then he’d dropped his voice and met Harding’s eyes. “May I hug my son before you take me away?”
He’d sounded so damned sad, as though every life choice he’d made to lead to this moment had betrayed him in the worst way.
He’d held his son then, for a long time, murmuring in his ear, and the boy backed away with a watery smile, kissing Stoya on the cheek. “Yes, Papa. We will visit another time.”
And then he’d walked down the ramp from the plane to his mother, whom Denison and Harding had brought after that seat-of-the-pants interview.
In the aftermath, Harding ordered Crosby and Garcia into the back of his and Denison’s department issue while the FBI took away the suspects, and had the helicopter drop everyone else off on the top of their building in Manhattan.
“Hey, Chief,” Garcia began as they clambered in, and Harding snorted.
“I’ve already got the route planned, Garcia. There’s a Shake Shack on the way back.”
“Yes!” Garcia pumped his fist, but that was mostly for effect. Crosby’s expression—which had become animated and kind when dealing with Stoya’s young son—had slammed down as closed as a steel door once the op had cleared. Garcia knew that their treatment of McEnany that morning would not go unanswered, although leaving him barfing in the back of the government-issue shop would do a lot to keep him from opening his mouth, because that rumor would not help him inanydepartment, but he was starting to get worried.
Garcia had gotten so close to getting Crosby to hope, maybe even to plan for the two of them, but McEnany…. God, that was a bad break.
“You both belted?” Harding asked, and they hummed assent from the back.
Crosby broke the silence by saying, “Good job, Tal, getting the mistress to talk. That was pretty prime.”
Natalia shrugged, and Garcia—who was behind Harding—could see her modest smile in profile, her pretty silver goddess pendant glinting in the sun through the window. “Good plan,” she said. “Don’t let anybody tell you you’re not good at strategy. That was good thinking.”
“Thanks,” he responded, and Garcia glanced at him.
He couldn’t even look pleased, he was so worried.
“Crosby,” Harding said softly, “we’re not going to let him take you.”
Crosby’s body gave a giant involuntary shudder, and Garcia—who had never wanted a long-term relationship, never wanted visibility, had not given adamnabout LGBTQ rights at the workplace—suddenly wanted the right to hold him. God, look at him, the big dumb Irishman. Just holding all that fear inside.
“It’s good of you to say so, Chief,” Crosby said, sounding shell-shocked. “But you may not have a choice. I mean—” He swallowed, and his gaze flickered to Garcia with the tiniest of smiles. “—asrewardingas it was to make the guy throw up in the back of our government issue?”
Harding and Denison guffawed.
