Chapter 24 - Hunter

Book 31 in Cocker Brothers - Hunter Cocker

Alfred and Margot are cleaning the dishes. He’s washing. She’s drying while chattering away. I like them both. She’s bubbly. Friendly. He’s dry as dust and funny as hell.

I awoke before them all and made a plan.

With Tatianna lying there.

Beautiful.

Asleep.

Peaceful.

Breathing lightly on her side as if I was still holding her. All I could think was…

Who are you to Edward Thornton?

Why cozy up to me?

What’s your truth?

I stood at their guestroom window. Watched dawn bring light to Lisbon. Saw a flock of pigeons down below wandering freely. No coyotes to prey upon them in the early morning hour like back home in Atlanta. Coyotes freak me out, a fact I don’t share with anyone. They’re kinda cute but they’ll tear your pets apart. What’s not to love? Heavy sarcasm. I remember it well the day that Grandpa Michael, our Cocker patriarch, told me that they migrated to Atlanta in the 1970’s. I’d asked him why he warned us to bring our cats inside at dusk. I didn’t like his answer. Stuck with me. I was only eight years old but I’m glad he told me. You’ve gotta know the truth about a thing. Or a person. Then take appropriate action.

So, Tatianna…

What’s your fucking deal?

But here in Lisbon, no coyotes. Those birds have nothing to worry about as they dance-walk the cobblestones searching for seeds from weeds. They’re carefree.

Unlike me.

And it’s not just the beauty I held all night who’s got my career all screwed up, but what about my leader? Right before I ditched my team a memory popped into my head.

That text she sent.

What was that about.

Why did Reynolds text, “Heads up” ?

Next thing I knew I was meeting that blonde who, while she ended up saving my life, had nothing but bad intentions for me at first.

Did Reynolds know danger was coming?

And how would she know?

If she weren’t in on it…

Heads up.

That timing means something.

It almost sounded snarky.

If a text can have a sound to it.

If it was snarky then it was as if she was saying, I know something you don’t know. Ha ha ha. You’re about to be a target and I get to be rid of you once and for all. Heads up, fucker.

Or am I reading too much into it? Could’ve asked. Ditched them all instead. It was an instantaneous reaction to the memory.

Heads up.

Now Margot is telling us all about why Buster needs wet food shoved into his toys when they leave or he’ll chew up the place. I don’t doubt it. It’s an amusing story, but my mind is racing. I have a lot to get to, but there was no way I was leaving Tatianna without a goodbye. Not after I promised not to embarrass her in front of her friends. And, if I’m honest, I didn’t want to leave her.

She’s under my skin.

The fact that I would promise to stay when so much is on the line, just to maintain her friendship with people I’ll probably never see again, is indication enough.

I need to get free of her.

She’s kryptonite.

My career is Superman.

And I’m not half bad either.

“Jason,” Margot calls over from where she’s placing a fork back where it lives. “You didn’t tell us where you’re from. Have any family?”

They’re such nice people. I wish things were different. I wish I could say…

I have four siblings. Max. Caden. Lexi. Samantha. I came last. Our grandparents have seventeen grandkids all told in us Cocker offspring. My father, Jason Cocker, is a gem. My hero. One of six brothers. A twin. Though none of my siblings got that passed down to. His twin-brother Justin’s kids got it — Gabriel and Elijah. The only twins among the next generation. Always been a little jealous of them. My brothers are years ahead of me. Real close, too. My sisters, best friends with each other. Then there’s me. Lone wolf.

They have no idea I’m a spy.

None of them.

I share the prepared story with my curious audience of three. “I’m an only child. I was adopted. And they uh…” I pause for effect, “passed a few years back in a boating accident.”

Alfred stops washing dishes. Hands empty save for suds. He meets my eyes. “And here I’ve been rattling on about my mother. So sorry, old friend.”

My chest tightens at being called a friend. Don’t have many of those. “It’s okay…I’ve done the work around it,” I lie. And for the first time in a long while, it feels like I shouldn’t.

But I keep my family safe.

Just in case.

That’s what family does.

Margot whispers, “What a tragedy. And you certainly have overcome it. Your energy is quite… hope I’m not overstepping here, but you’re very grounded.”

I reply, “Had to be,” as if tragedy gave me this strength when what I want to say is that it came from my loving upbringing. Our father is a good, caring man. He was always there for the big events in our lives. Always our champion. Same with Mom. She’s a force to be reckoned with. Our mother, Sarah Cocker, is the sharpest tongued, tiniest woman in our huge family. Her badassery is legend, and as a kid, watching their marriage made me realize I can’t ever settle for anything less than what they have. She rides him and he loves it. He throws back what she serves and it’s fuel for their fire. Together they balance each other out and their decisions for us as a family were always thought out and supported by love. Not the coddling kind but the this-is-how-good-people-who-add-to-society-behave disciplining kind.

“I suppose you would have had to,” Margot sighs.

Feeling that I want to pay homage to my parents I offer up a truth knowing they’ll all believe I’m talking about my adoptive family, “There’s no one better than my parents. We ate dinner together as a family. We said Grace before dinner. And then, on Tuesdays, we’d each go around and say what we were grateful for. They taught me that if you’re not making the world a better place, in small or big ways, what the hell are you good for?”

Tatianna smiles, “My mother said saying Grace elevates the energy and goodness of what we eat. She said it kept us safe from illness. I was rarely sick as a child.”

While turning the cast-iron pan under running water to rinse off the soap, Alfred adds, “Mum taught me...even little things can make a big impact.”

Margot tosses her damp towel onto the tile counter for a drier one. “And Simon told you time and again why not just go big?”

Alfred hands her the pan and they share a look that tells me he wishes her parents were better. She bites her lip and gets to drying.

“Simon your dad, Alfred?” I ask, thinking about the time and how I’m gonna get out of here. Wish I could share stories all day long but the bonding isn’t doing my mission any good. I need to stay detached. It’s part of why I’m good at what I do.

Tatianna answers for them, “Simon passed shortly after they moved here. I got to meet him once.” Her smile is shared with Margot as she adds, “He had a powerful laugh like his son.”

I see Alfred swallow, and know it from firsthand experience that his emotions are getting too close to the surface for his comfort.

Chuck ‘em down.

Keep ‘em at bay.

Controlled.

I exchange a look with Tatianna. Press my back against the chair to feel my gun tucked behind me. Under my belt. Jacket covering it. Wouldn’t normally wear a jacket to breakfast but there was no way I was leaving my gun in the bedroom with Tatianna when I still don’t know what her loyalty to Edward Thornton is. She sent that jackass — correction: dead, ingenious, mattress-carving dead dead dead jackass — to kill me. Why the lovemaking? Why the eggs-are-so-great-and-you-know-I mean-you, comment?

She’s a sly one.

I’m ready to go.

Now how do I announce it?

A knock at the door shoots painful adrenaline into my bloodstream.

Buster goes ape shit.

I stand up. “I’ll get that.”

Margot is already en route. Drying her hands. Laughing like everything is normal. Just a knock at the door when she’s got a CIA spy at her table beside a travel agent with dark ties. Wait. Is Edward one of her clients? Is she the one who moves him from country to country?

Margot laughs, “You just enjoy your tea!”

But I can’t stay where I am.

Tatianna rises, too.

Follows me, with Margot unaware we’re right behind her. Can’t hear anything with all that barking, so our footsteps evaporate inside the noise.

My instincts are on high alert. I can feel Alfred poking his head around the wall. He’s curious. I don’t have time to throw him a smirk, make him feel safe. Can’t promise anything.

The door swings open.

This is me in a traffic jam in Lisbon… and the reason pigeons made it into the story. :)

xx,

Faleena