Scotland for Christmas. Cathryn Parry

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CHAPTER ONE

      U.S. SPECIAL AGENT Jacob Ross was sitting in an intimate Italian restaurant in midtown Manhattan, next to a woman he wasn’t interested in being with, when the text message that he’d been waiting for came in.

      Jacob reached for his jacket and stood.

      “Where are you going?” Eddie asked from across the table.

      Jacob glanced at his oldest friend and ex-partner, the guy who’d ridden with him nearly every day for seven years, back when they’d still been on the New York Police Department together. Clinging to Eddie, practically in his lap, was his wife, Donna, and though she leaned forward, desperately trying to catch Jacob’s eye, he was purposely avoiding the two women and their blatant interrogation.

      “A job,” he said to Eddie. “Sorry, but I have to go.”

      Eddie put down his wineglass and raised his eyebrow. He probably figured Jacob was bluffing about the text message, but would never say so in front of Donna.

      “Right,” said his ex-partner. “The Cifelli bust?”

      The Cifelli bust was their personal code. It was nonsense—meant absolutely nothing. Jacob and Eddie had made all kinds of fake codes and shorthand between them over the years. Since they’d been special agents in the U.S. Secret Service together, though, they’d been working under stricter protocol, as part of bigger teams with more complex oversight.

      Jacob paused. He still had his phone out, in the process of texting back, but in terms of operational backup, it probably was best to involve Eddie. They’d both gone through the brutal Secret Service background check at the same time—from polygraphs to psychological testing, and in Jacob’s case, to the dark cloud that still hung over him: the threat of further, future investigation. There wasn’t much his old partner didn’t know about him.

      “Actually,” he said to Eddie in a low voice, “it’s about Sage.”

      “Sage?” His former partner made a soft whistle. Then he reached for his jacket. “I’m coming with you.”

      “Eddie, not you, too!” his wife said. “We just ordered.”

      “Give me five minutes, hon,” Eddie said as he kissed her, and then he motioned Jacob toward the exit. Jacob led the way, weaving through a crowd of waiting diners as he pushed through the heavy glass doors.

      Outside, the street was brightly lit, loud with students and tourists. The Friday after-work rush was in play, too; businesspeople hurried past, intent on getting to their subway and bus stops. The sky was spitting rain; a miserable, late-October night.

      They took refuge under an awning near the sign for West Fifty-third Street. Not wasting any more time, Jacob pulled up the text message.

      Eddie angled toward the screen, squinting at it. “Why are you getting a text about John Sage after all this time? What’s happening, Jake?”

      What was happening was that Jacob’s application to the most elite and sought-after of Secret Service jobs—the Presidential Protective Division—had been put on hold. The new department psychologist had flagged Jacob’s file, and not in a good way. “I got called into headquarters today with a list of questions I need to answer,” Jacob said.

      “You’re kidding. Questions about your father?”

      Jacob nodded. Eddie knew he didn’t like to talk about him. He shuffled his feet from side to side, not saying anything more.

      Then again, special agents were superstitious. Nobody liked to talk about police officers killed in the line of duty.

      “Can your mom help with the questions?” Eddie finally asked.

      “No.” His mom never discussed it—she’d already remarried by the time Jacob’s biological father had died, and Jacob didn’t want to upset her by reopening old wounds.

      Exhaling, he tried to relax. “I thought I’d covered this stuff in the original interviews, but there’s a new psychologist on staff. She’s not giving me a choice. I have to deal with it if I want to advance.”

      “Well, if you want help investigating anything, you know I’m in.”

      “Thanks. I appreciate that.” Jacob just had a bad feeling in his gut about the whole thing. It wasn’t as if he’d ever even met his biological father, so he didn’t see how the fact that he wasn’t clear on the details of his father’s death was even relevant. After the new department psychologist had buttonholed him, he’d pushed aside the old anger and confusion and had tried to look at the situation objectively, like an investigator would—the way he’d been trained.

      Unfortunately, very little was available online about the botched kidnapping-rescue, twenty years earlier, of the young niece and nephew of the Scottish industrialist John Sage. In Jacob’s experience, it wasn’t normal for information to be scrubbed like that.

      “I phoned authorities over in Scotland, but they don’t have dossiers anymore. They don’t want to talk to me, and I think it’s because they don’t know what to say. My instinct tells me the case has been covered up, and I don’t have jurisdiction to force the subject.”

      “I didn’t know that,” Eddie said quietly.

      Jacob shrugged. There was nothing he could do to change history.

      Eddie gestured to Jacob’s phone. “How is Lee helping you with this?”

      Lee Palmontari was ex–Secret Service, and Jacob and Eddie’s boss until he’d retired. Now he owned a high-end bodyguard/driver business, mostly staffed by other retired federal agents working on contract.

      “Lee is me thinking outside the box,” Jacob said. “Every billionaire industrialist in the world needs to travel to New York City sooner or later, right? Who else would John Sage call for local security services during his stay?”

      Eddie nodded. “Lee.”

      “Exactly. I left Lee a message explaining what I wanted. He just texted back saying he could help.”

      “How?”

      “I don’t know yet.”

      “So call him and find out.”

      “I will,” Jacob said drily, “when you go back inside. Your five minutes are up.”

      “Nope. You’re not getting rid of me.” Eddie shook his head and grinned. “Look, Jake, I know you’re angry about the setup tonight, but don’t blame Donna. My wife means well—she wants you to be happy.”

      What did happy have to do with anything? Jacob just wanted to do his job and get to D.C. He would be part of the Presidential Protective Division. Filling the holes in his personnel file was the first step in getting there.

      “You know I’m not family material. Not like you.” Jacob gave СКАЧАТЬ