He bit into the donut and nearly sighed. Lemon. He fucking loved lemon. Tart. Sweet. Tangy. Just like Charlie.
“Hey, I brought you some coffee. Do you want me to clear these out, Ian?” Grace held a mug of coffee in her hands and gestured to the boxes of donuts.
“Hey, I’ve only had one,” Adam said, jumping up, his hands reaching straight for the lemons, the little fucker.
Ian batted him away. “Mine.”
“Dude, there are like thirty donuts left.”
“Anything else, but the lemons are mine.” How long had it been since he indulged in something as simple as a lemon-filled donut? Forever. He took a sip of the coffee Grace had handed him and his eyes closed in pleasure. “Oh, that is so good. Did you change coffee brands?”
Grace had the oddest look on her face as she stared up at him. “No, after what Charlotte said earlier, I thought I would try something new. I made it three times stronger than I normally would.”
Adam shuddered. “It tastes like motor oil.”
“Shut the fuck up, Adam. It tastes like heaven.” Yeah, he would have Grace teach his new sub how to make his coffee. Because he was still totally doing that. Charlie had made him deeply aware that he needed an outlet. Just because she remembered he liked lemon donuts and how he wanted his coffee didn’t make up for the whole screwing him over thing.
“You know what would take the motor oil taste out of my mouth?” Adam asked. “Lemon.”
“Fuck you. Buy your own lemon donuts.”
Grace sighed. “Also Derek Brighton is here. I put him in Alex’s office. Yours was full.”
He picked up what was left of the box and walked out. “Alex. Your office. Now.”
“Awesome,” he heard Adam say as he walked out. “I hate it when he stops using verbs. If I get scurvy it’s his fault for hogging the lemons.”
Alex caught up to him. “The bullet is a .30 caliber. It doesn’t tell us much. Probably from a sniper rifle. Simon and Jesse are working on trajectory. They’re pretty sure the shooter was roughly seven or eight stories up and to the northwest. There are two hotels that might work. Sorry. We can’t be more specific without bringing out some equipment that would tip off the cops.”
“I would bet you’re going to find that the rifle used was a Dragunov. It’s what the Denisovitch syndicate uses. They believe in supporting Mother Russia. They also tend to work clean. Tell Simon to try to figure out what room he was in, but I would bet my life they won’t find a damn thing. Our shooter’s gone.” He took another bite of his donut. It was the only fucking thing that had gone right all day. “Shit. She needs to leave.”
“Or we need to protect her,” Alex suggested.
“Or we need to let them take her out and then all my problems would be solved.” He said the words and knew he would never fucking let it happen.
“Ian,” Alex sighed.
He was deeply grateful to be able to push through Alex’s door. He didn’t want to get into it with Alex. Ever since Alex and Eve had reconnected, Alex had been all about his freaking feelings and shit. Now Alex expected him to have feelings, too. Come to think of it, that was Charlie’s fault. All bad things were Charlie’s fault.
All good things came from lemon cream.
“Derek, good to see you.” Ian greeted the big cop who paced across the floor of Alex’s office.
Derek Brighton had been on Ian’s Green Beret team. Ian kept up with all his former team mates, but he’d always been close with Derek. When Ian and Alex had looked for a city to start a business in, it had been Derek who advised them to move to Texas. Derek was their liaison with the DPD, and they needed him far more often than Ian would like.
“I would love to say the same, but I’m more inclined to ask why the fuck I have two investigators downstairs who firmly believe that a possible terrorist attack was nothing more than a car backfiring.”
And Derek was smarter than the average cop. Still. He had to give it a shot. He finished off his donut and took a nice swig of coffee. “Oh, that? Yeah, I was down there. Some asshole needs to get his exhaust checked. Freaked the hell out of the tourists.”
Derek frowned. “Really? Just the tourists? Because I’ve been doing this for longer than the beat cops and I managed to notice that the shop across the street has CCTV and one of them is pointed this way. Guess what I saw?”
Mother flying fucker. He was going to crucify someone. “No idea.”
“I saw you, big guy. I saw you figure out what was going to happen about two seconds before it did. What did you see? Glint off the window? Somehow I’m thinking that didn’t come from a fucking exhaust problem, Tag.”
He was screwed. Or maybe not. Brighton was a reasonable man. “Why aren’t the cops swarming me right now?”
“Because the last thing this city needs is a terrorist threat,” Brighton said, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
“I don’t think it’s a terrorist threat,” Alex said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“So who did Ian piss off? Is the CIA finally moving past burning him to actually killing him?” Derek asked.
“I didn’t get burned.” Television was going to be the death of the intelligence officer. “I walked away.”
He had gotten burned. Just not by the Agency. Charlie had burned the holy fuck out of him. She’d burned so hot he couldn’t help but get singed.
“We have it under control,” Alex said.
“I need more than a reassurance.” Derek was unmoved, his square jaw tightening. “I need to know what’s going on. Were they gunning for Ian? Will they try again?”
This should be the point at which he would turn Charlie over to the DPD and let them deal with her. She would be out of his hair. He wouldn’t have to see her again. She was right in his office and all he had to do was walk Derek down the hall and explain that she was very likely on several Most Wanted lists. He grabbed another donut. He was going to have to hit the gym.
“What’s wrong with him?” Derek asked.
“He’s thinking.” Alex knew him really well. “He’s plotting some shit out in his head, and I have to really, really hope that he does the right fucking thing here.”
Well, he knew what Alex wanted. He sighed. He wasn’t going to be rushed. Fuck, that tasted good. The combination of tart and sweet and the bitter of the excellent coffee was practically perfect.