Gabe (In the Company of Snipers, #8)(89)

Just as the last of the police officers waved on their way to their cruiser, Ember returned to the line. “Hey, guess what? Dispatch from one of the local cab companies just called with a message from Gabe. He’s on his way in. Sullivan’s with him. When are you coming back?”

Mark allowed a sigh of relief now that Gabe was accounted for. “On my way, but listen. Kelsey’s dogs were poisoned last night, maybe early this morning. I think we caught it in time, least I sure as hell hope so. Zack’s handling it. Kelsey, too. Do me a favor and rally The TEAM. We need to strategize.”

Ember whined. “Whisper and Smoke? Oh, no! Poor Kelsey. Sure, Boss. I mean, Mark. I’ll tell everyone to wait for you to arrive. You got one more second?”

Damn. Now what?

“Whatever you told Maverick must’ve worked. He came to my desk and sat down and talked to me. He just needed help with a server error, but he’s never given me the time of day until now. I think he’s coming around.”

“Thanks. At least he didn’t quit, huh?”

“Aw, Mark. We’re not quitting on you. You’re stuck with us.” Ember had to be smiling. He could hear it in her voice. “Hurry back. A cup of coffee’s waiting for you.”

He did hurry back, after sweeping the mess and securing the Stewarts’ bullet-sprayed home. He’d no more than stepped up to Ember’s counter and taken a good long pull on that promised cup of coffee when the elevator chimed. Out marched the agents he’d assigned to track down Becker.

They didn’t look happy. Especially Izza. Steven and Taylor strolled out of the elevator behind her, but she looked ready for a fight, her fists clenched at her side, her chin tucked into her neck and her brows furrowed, like a ledge she needed to keep between her and the first person who crossed her path.

Mark truly enjoyed working with Connor’s spitfire wife, but for now, he kept any hint of a smile off his face until he knew why she radiated death. When pushed to her limit, Izza’s knee-jerk reaction was always to come up fighting, something she’d learned growing up with an alcoholic father. The last thing she needed was for anyone within reach to not take her seriously.

“What the hell’s wrong with you, Houston?” She slapped her gloves to the counter, her normally brown eyes shiny black and full of sparks. “You’re supposed to have our backs when you send us out on an op.”

“We do. What’s wrong?” he asked, opting for calm instead of confrontation.

She pursed her lips. Not a good sign. “What’s wrong is I’ve been flat on my face with my wrists tied to my ankles for a couple hours now. I want to know why you guys didn’t follow through. Why didn’t you check on us when we didn’t call in? Hell. You should’ve come looking!”

“I did. The minute I left Kelsey’s last night, I called Mother to tell you to stand down.” Mark snapped his mouth shut. Mother’s words came back to him. Don’t worry. They’re safe. How would she have known, or did she? Was she in collusion with Becker and Fallon, too? “Who’d you talk to the last time you checked in?”


“Mother. Every hour on the hour, like we’re supposed to do when we’re on an op.”

“So Mother didn’t tell you that Gabe intercepted Becker last night? That you guys were supposed to come in?”

“No, she didn’t mention that, did she, Steven?”

He shook his head. “No, sir, and we’ve been on stakeout all night. When I called her last night, she said to sit tight. A relief team was on its way.”

Words Mark wouldn’t allow to slip past his lips filled his head. Mother. The bitch. She’d actively compromised this operation and his team. No wonder Izza was fired up.

Connor sat quietly watching from the safety of the Sit Room, a lopsided smirk on his face at his wife’s very loud attitude. Smart man. They were quite the pair, a blonde, blue-eyed and very laid back Irishman married to a kickboxing, passionate, and volatile Latino woman with a giant chip on her shoulder.

“Mother doesn’t work here anymore,” Mark stated for the record. “Be mad at me, Izza. You’re right. I should’ve come looking for you the minute she walked out on us this morning. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Are you okay?”

“Am now.” Izza wiped her nose with the back of her hand, the way a prizefighter in the middle of a brawl might. “What do you mean she doesn’t work here anymore?”

Mark let his suspicions out of the bag. “I think she’s working with Becker and Fallon. She deliberately lied to you and me. You guys should’ve been sleeping in your own beds last night. She knew damned well what was going on when she fed you that bogus intel.”

“Mother?” Izza about choked. “Our Mother? Sasha Kennedy? That Mother?” She shook her head, her ponytail flipping from side to side. “No way. She wouldn’t help Becker kill Alex. She’s been to our house, Mark.”

Connor didn’t seem as surprised as Izza. He’d stretched one long leg under the conference room table, his chin cupped in one fist. “That explains why we couldn’t get her to help us. After Steven exposed Becker, she got all sorts of goosey. Like she didn’t want to talk to us anymore.”

“Like she had something to hide,” Rory piped up.

Mark blew out a rattled sigh. He should’ve talked to her when he’d first noticed her attitude. Mother. His first failure as a boss. Damn. “Let me worry about her. We need to strategize. Do you need a drink or something before we get started? Coffee? Something to eat?”