moaned.
—and you need firsthand proof.
Remembering now, she sighed. The woman standing beside her handed her a tissue, and Annabelle realized that a pesky tear had indeed overflowed to dribble down her cheek. Dammit. She wiped away the tear, then saw that Tag, Noah, and Mark had witnessed the betrayal. Great. Wonderful.
That’s what you get for thinking about sex at a funeral.
Death. Life. Procreation. Divorce. Death. Good Lord, she was losing it.
‘‘Excuse me.’’ She turned and threaded her way to the back of the crowd. She needed to move, to walk off some of this nervous-energy edge. Jeremy would understand. The man had understood the ins and outs of explosives—both the physical and emotional kind.
She opened her black umbrella as she stepped from beneath the tent and strode away from the grave site, walking blindly, ruining her shoes in the sopping grass in the process. At some point she grew aware of a presence behind her. She prayed it wasn’t Mark.
St. Mary’s was a large, old cemetery with ornate monuments and sepulchres that dated back over two hundred years. Under other circumstances, she might have enjoyed exploring the place. Right now, she simply wanted out of here.
The hand on her shoulder told her that wasn’t to be. ‘‘Hold on, Annabelle.’’
She halted and turned in relief. ‘‘Colonel Warren.’’
‘‘Are you all right?’’
‘‘Yes. I’m fine. I just . . . too much sugar at breakfast, I guess.’’
He slipped his hand to her elbow and guided her to a covered bench nearby. ‘‘I wanted to speak with you and I feared you were leaving. Sit down, please.’’
Annabelle waited while the colonel took a seat beside her. As usual, he got directly to the point. ‘‘Callahan brought me up-to-date with recent events. I’m concerned about the Balkan connection, and I’d like to hear your take on it.’’
‘‘Balkan connection?’’
‘‘Ćurković. Radovanovic.’’
Annabelle frowned. ‘‘Sir, I don’t think that situation has anything to do with this one. Mark’s brother was kidnapped and killed after the unit disbanded. That syndicate has no reason to move against the Fixers.’’
‘‘Callahan seems to think it’s possible and he believes you might be the catalyst. He mentioned a relatively recent event in Hawaii?’’
She ground her teeth, then said, ‘‘I was undercover on a job and I have absolutely no reason to believe that my cover was blown. Callahan is paranoid when it comes to the Eastern European Mafia. He doesn’t see straight when anything is even tangentially connected to his brother’s death. Sir, if we are correct in our assumptions and the unit is being targeted, then the perp is connected in some way to the unit, not the Callahan family. Otherwise, Mark might be burying one of his brothers today instead of Jeremy Russo.’’
‘‘I hope you are right, Monroe.’’ The colonel blew out a heavy sigh, his lantern jaw set hard as he stared out over the graveyard. ‘‘It’s bad enough we have to fight the damned drug, gun, and human traffickers in the Balkans. I’d hate to think they are so entrenched that they are killing our people here in America in their own suburban workshops. After they retired! If that’s the case, we will never be able to relax our guard.’’
‘‘Whoever is doing this has a personal grudge, Colonel.’’
‘‘I tend to agree. However, we can’t afford to ignore any possibility. I told Callahan I’d try to find out what Ćurković’s heirs have been up to of late. To that end, can you brief me on your involvement with Radovanovic?’’
‘‘Certainly, sir.’’
She took a minute to organize her thoughts, then gave a succinct report of the happenings in Hawaii. After a few follow-up questions, he said, ‘‘Hmm . . . as much as I despise the drug runners, I hate the sex traffickers the most. I wish your Italian friend much success in his efforts.’’
‘‘I’ll pass that along next
—and you need firsthand proof.
Remembering now, she sighed. The woman standing beside her handed her a tissue, and Annabelle realized that a pesky tear had indeed overflowed to dribble down her cheek. Dammit. She wiped away the tear, then saw that Tag, Noah, and Mark had witnessed the betrayal. Great. Wonderful.
That’s what you get for thinking about sex at a funeral.
Death. Life. Procreation. Divorce. Death. Good Lord, she was losing it.
‘‘Excuse me.’’ She turned and threaded her way to the back of the crowd. She needed to move, to walk off some of this nervous-energy edge. Jeremy would understand. The man had understood the ins and outs of explosives—both the physical and emotional kind.
She opened her black umbrella as she stepped from beneath the tent and strode away from the grave site, walking blindly, ruining her shoes in the sopping grass in the process. At some point she grew aware of a presence behind her. She prayed it wasn’t Mark.
St. Mary’s was a large, old cemetery with ornate monuments and sepulchres that dated back over two hundred years. Under other circumstances, she might have enjoyed exploring the place. Right now, she simply wanted out of here.
The hand on her shoulder told her that wasn’t to be. ‘‘Hold on, Annabelle.’’
She halted and turned in relief. ‘‘Colonel Warren.’’
‘‘Are you all right?’’
‘‘Yes. I’m fine. I just . . . too much sugar at breakfast, I guess.’’
He slipped his hand to her elbow and guided her to a covered bench nearby. ‘‘I wanted to speak with you and I feared you were leaving. Sit down, please.’’
Annabelle waited while the colonel took a seat beside her. As usual, he got directly to the point. ‘‘Callahan brought me up-to-date with recent events. I’m concerned about the Balkan connection, and I’d like to hear your take on it.’’
‘‘Balkan connection?’’
‘‘Ćurković. Radovanovic.’’
Annabelle frowned. ‘‘Sir, I don’t think that situation has anything to do with this one. Mark’s brother was kidnapped and killed after the unit disbanded. That syndicate has no reason to move against the Fixers.’’
‘‘Callahan seems to think it’s possible and he believes you might be the catalyst. He mentioned a relatively recent event in Hawaii?’’
She ground her teeth, then said, ‘‘I was undercover on a job and I have absolutely no reason to believe that my cover was blown. Callahan is paranoid when it comes to the Eastern European Mafia. He doesn’t see straight when anything is even tangentially connected to his brother’s death. Sir, if we are correct in our assumptions and the unit is being targeted, then the perp is connected in some way to the unit, not the Callahan family. Otherwise, Mark might be burying one of his brothers today instead of Jeremy Russo.’’
‘‘I hope you are right, Monroe.’’ The colonel blew out a heavy sigh, his lantern jaw set hard as he stared out over the graveyard. ‘‘It’s bad enough we have to fight the damned drug, gun, and human traffickers in the Balkans. I’d hate to think they are so entrenched that they are killing our people here in America in their own suburban workshops. After they retired! If that’s the case, we will never be able to relax our guard.’’
‘‘Whoever is doing this has a personal grudge, Colonel.’’
‘‘I tend to agree. However, we can’t afford to ignore any possibility. I told Callahan I’d try to find out what Ćurković’s heirs have been up to of late. To that end, can you brief me on your involvement with Radovanovic?’’
‘‘Certainly, sir.’’
She took a minute to organize her thoughts, then gave a succinct report of the happenings in Hawaii. After a few follow-up questions, he said, ‘‘Hmm . . . as much as I despise the drug runners, I hate the sex traffickers the most. I wish your Italian friend much success in his efforts.’’
‘‘I’ll pass that along next
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