“Well, the way I see it, a steak knife is way bigger than a pocketknife.” Quinn practiced the line of reasoning he planned to use on Kim. “I already talked to Ray about which one.”
“I like Ray,” Mattie said. “He’s got the pet piranha.”
“All you have to do is get Mom to take you by the store,” Quinn said. “Merry Christmas, sweet pea.”
“Miss you, Dad,” she said.
“Miss you too. Can you put Mom on?”
“Sure,” Mattie said. “I’ll go get her. But you should know, she’s pretty mad about you not coming home for Christmas.”
Kim picked up immediately.
“I’m not mad,” she said, defending herself. “Just disappointed… for Mattie. What’s up?”
“Full disclosure,” Quinn said, chewing on his bottom lip. “I’ve talked to Ray about getting Mattie a knife for Christmas.” It astounded Quinn that he faced the most ruthless killers in the world without so much as a blink, but shuddered when he talked to his ex-wife.
“A knife?” she said. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” he said, wishing for a terrorist to fight.
The phone went quiet for a long moment. “I guess I’m cool with her getting a pocketknife.” Kim changed her tune. “We are talking pocketknife, right, and not some people-killin’ cutlass?”
Quinn smiled at how much of him had rubbed off on her over the years. He released a pent-up breath, giving a thumbs-up to his empty living room. “You have my word. I won’t buy her a sword.”
Kim’s voice suddenly took on the playful tone that had snared him in the first place. “I made enchiladas.”
“That sounds great.” Quinn said. “You know I would be there if I could be.”
“Did you know Steve and Connie are getting married at the Academy?” she asked, changing the subject. “I forgot they weren’t married already.”
“I did. He asked me to be part of the ceremony.” Steve Brun had graduated from USAFA the same year as Quinn. They’d both served as Squadron Commanders, Quinn of the 20th Trolls and Brun of the 19th Wolverines. They’d led the Air Force Sandhurst competition team at West Point and gone through the rigorous pipeline of Air Force Special Operations training. While Quinn had moved to OSI, Brun had remained a combat rescue officer. Quinn had even introduced Steve to Jacques Thibodaux on a previous mission and they’d hit it off immediately. Brun had actually been together with his fiancée, Connie, for over ten years and they had finally decided tie the knot. From the very beginning, the two couples had done everything together. Kim and Connie remained close even after the divorce.
“Are you going?” Quinn asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Connie asked me to.”
“Good,” he said.
“Listen,” she said, her voice suddenly distant. “Gary Lavin has asked if I want to be his date.”
“I see,” Quinn said, feeling like he’d just been punched in the gut. “That will be interesting. Well, it’ll be good to see you anyway.”
Captain Gary Lavin was another acquaintance from the Academy, though he’d gone on to fly C-17s and eventually transferred to the 517th at Elmendorf in Anchorage. He’d been sniffing around Kim since they were cadets, so it made sense he’d look her up now that she was divorced.
“Listen, I have to go,” Quinn said, suddenly tired of talking.
“I know, I just…” Her voice trailed off as it often had when they’d spoken over the last three years.
“You what?” Quinn prodded softly, bracing himself for an avalanche of emotion.
“I just can’t help thinking that every time we say good-bye it might be the last. That kills me, you know.”
“We won’t say it then,” Quinn said, consoling her as best he could. “How about Merry Christmas?”
“Okay,” she said, her voice hollow. It was obvious he only made her miserable. “Merry Christmas… ”
He ended the call and tossed the phone on the coffee table beside the open box.
Over the years of courtship and marriage he’d missed countless holidays because of his job. Kim hadn’t liked the idea, but she’d put up with it, more or less. Other spouses missed special events because of deployments. Their loved ones cried a little and sucked it up. The country was fighting two wars.
Kim had left him, trashed him to his face, and even cursed him after he’d saved her life. He still loved her past the point of sanity, but he’d never really understand her. One minute she held him close, the next she wanted to take off his head. Loving Kimberly Quinn was like roasting in an exquisite flame — and getting stabbed a lot with a really big fork.
From the moment they met, he’d made no secret of the fact that he was in love with fast machines, bloody-knuckle brawls, and frequent travel to dark and dangerous parts of the world. She’d climbed aboard his bike and hung on for what he thought would be their grand adventure. Unbeknownst to him, she’d hoped from that very first ride to change him. He, on the other hand, had rolled on the gas and prayed this pretty blonde with her arms wrapped around his waist would stay the same forever.
But now, Jericho couldn’t tell her about the bomb. He’d had to tell her he was missing Christmas because he’d entered a motorcycle race.
CHAPTER 26
Quinn traveled in and out of D.C. enough that he knew virtually every security supervisor at Reagan National. He avoided the larger, more distant Dulles whenever he had the opportunity and now paid for it with a long wait at security. They were already boarding by the time he made it to the gate. Thibodaux was late, likely saying good-bye to his wife for the twentieth time. Good for him. At least he had a wife who missed him.
Quinn found his seat. Out of habit from flying armed it was an exit row with his right arm in the aisle. He took out a couple of motorcycle magazines and some study material, then shoved his carry-on in the overhead compartment. So far, he had the row to himself. He knew such luck would never last, and played a little game guessing the odds that each passenger would be his seatmate as they walked down the aisle toward him.
He dreaded the long flight to Argentina, preferring a poke in the eye to being stuffed into the long tin cans that served as modern-day airliners. He wasn’t tall by any standards, but he felt sorry for Jacques, who had to wedge himself into the narrow seats. In truth, he should have paid for a seat and a half because any unsuspecting seatmate ended up with the big Cajun’s shoulder and elbow in his or her lap during the entire flight.
More than anything Quinn dreaded the endless hours of flight. He’d never been one to let his guard down enough to sleep on an airplane surrounded by people close enough to smell. He planned to study some Chinese flash cards — they drew fewer looks than Arabic — and read some new motorcycle and gun magazines. But that still left hours with nothing to entertain him but his own thoughts. The flights between Miami and D.C. had given him way too much time to think already — and lately, when he thought, it was about Veronica Garcia.
Still alone in his row, he checked his TAG Aquaracer. Nearly eight in the evening during the Christmas holidays and he was on his way out of the country — again. He couldn’t help but wonder what Garcia was doing.
He knew her parents were dead. She had an aunt in Miami, but Miyagi made it sound like the agent trainees would only get a couple of days of break considering the present state of affairs in the country so he doubted she’d traveled far.
Quinn took out his phone to turn it off for the flight and without thinking, pressed Garcia’s speed-dial. No one — federal agents or agent trainees — should be completely alone during the holidays.