Target Zero. Джек Марс

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СКАЧАТЬ eye and his gaze flitted left. A man with a military buzz cut was crossing his front lawn in a hurry—but more importantly, he was clearly wearing a holstered gun on his hip, and his right hand was on the grip.

      CHAPTER TWO

      Reid held up his arm like a crossing guard stopping traffic.

      “It’s okay, Mr. Thompson,” he called out. “It’s just pizza.”

      The older man on his front lawn, with his graying buzz cut and slight paunch, stopped in his tracks. The pizza guy glanced over his shoulder and, for the first time, showed some emotion—his eyes widened in shock when he saw the gun and the hand resting upon it.

      “You sure, Reid?” Mr. Thompson eyed up the pizza guy suspiciously.

      “I’m sure.”

      The delivery guy slowly pulled a receipt from his pocket. “Uh, it’s eighteen,” he said, bewildered.

      Reid gave him a twenty and a ten and took the boxes from him. “Keep the change.”

      The pizza guy didn’t have to be told twice. He jogged back to his waiting coupe, jumped in, and screeched away. Mr. Thompson watched him go, his eyes narrowed.

      “Thank you, Mr. Thompson,” Reid said. “But it’s just pizza.”

      “I didn’t like the look of that guy,” his next-door neighbor growled. Reid liked the older man just fine—though he thought Thompson took on his new role of keeping a watchful eye on the Lawson family just a bit too seriously. Even so, Reid decidedly preferred having someone a bit overzealous to someone lackadaisical in their duties.

      “Never can be too careful,” Thompson added. “How are the girls?”

      “They’re doing fine.” Reid smiled pleasantly. “But, uh… do you have to carry that around in plain sight all the time?” He gestured to the Smith & Wesson at Thompson’s hip.

      The older man looked confused. “Well… yes. My CHP expired, and Virginia is a legal open-carry state.”

      “…Right.” Reid forced another smile. “Of course. Thanks again, Mr. Thompson. I’ll let you know if we need anything.”

      Thompson nodded and then trotted back across the lawn to his house. Deputy Director Cartwright had assured Reid that the older man was quite capable; Thompson was a retired CIA agent, and even though he’d been out of the field for more than two decades he was clearly happy—if not a tad eager—to be useful again.

      Reid sighed and closed the door behind him. He locked it and activated the security alarm again (which was becoming a ritual every time he opened or closed the door), and then turned to find Maya standing behind him in the foyer.

      “What was that about?” she asked.

      “Oh, nothing. Mr. Thompson just wanted to say hi.”

      Maya crossed her arms again. “And here I thought we were making such good progress.”

      “Don’t be ridiculous.” Reid scoffed at her. “Thompson is just a harmless old man—”

      “Harmless? He carries a gun everywhere he goes,” Maya protested. “And don’t think I don’t see him watching us from his window. It’s like he’s spying on—” Her mouth fell open a little. “Oh my god, does he know about you? Is Mr. Thompson a spy too?”

      “Jeez, Maya, I am not a spy…”

      Actually, he thought, that’s exactly what you are…

      “I don’t believe this!” she exclaimed. “Is that why you have him babysit us when you leave?”

      “Yes,” he admitted quietly. He didn’t have to tell her the unrequested truths, but there wasn’t much point in hiding things from her when she was going to make such accurate guesses anyway.

      He expected her to be angry and start throwing accusations again, but instead she shook her head and murmured, “Unreal. My dad is a spy, and our next-door nut-job is a bodyguard.” Then, to his surprise, she hugged him around the neck, almost knocking the pizza boxes from his hand. “I know you can’t tell me everything. All I wanted was some truth.”

      “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Just risking international security to be a good dad. Now go wake your sister before the pizza gets cold. And Maya? Not a word of this to Sara.”

      He went into the kitchen and took out some plates and napkins, and poured three glasses of soda. A few moments later, Sara shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

      “Hi, Daddy,” she mumbled.

      “Hey, sweetheart. Have a seat. Are you sleeping okay?”

      “Mm,” she murmured vaguely. Sara plucked up a piece of pizza and bit off the tip, chewing in slow, lazy circles.

      He was worried about her, but he tried not to let on. Instead he grabbed a slice of the sausage-and-pepper pie. It was halfway to his mouth when Maya intervened, snatching it out of his hand.

      “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

      “…Eating? Or trying to.”

      “Um, no. You have a date, remember?”

      “What? No, that’s tomorrow…” He trailed off, uncertain. “Oh, god, that is tonight, isn’t it?” He nearly smacked himself in the forehead.

      “Sure is,” said Maya around a mouthful of pizza.

      “Also, it’s not a date. It’s dinner with a friend.”

      Maya shrugged. “Fine. But if you don’t go get ready, you’re going to be late for ‘dinner with a friend.’”

      He looked at his watch. She was right; he was supposed to meet Maria at five.

      “Go, shoo. Get changed.” She ushered him out of the kitchen and he hurried upstairs.

      With everything going on and his continual attempts to elude his own thoughts, he’d nearly forgotten about the promise to meet with Maria. There had been several half-baked attempts to get together over the past four weeks, always with something getting in the way on one end or another—though, if he was being honest with himself, it was usually his end that made the excuses. Maria had seemed to finally grow tired of it and not only planned the outing, but chose a spot halfway between Alexandria and Baltimore, where she lived, if he would promise to see her.

      He did miss her. He missed being around her. They weren’t just partners in the agency; there was a history there, but Reid couldn’t remember most of it. Barely any, in fact. All he knew was that when he was around her, there was a distinct feeling that he was in the company of someone who cared for him—a friend, someone he could trust, and perhaps even more than that.

      He went into his closet and pulled out an ensemble he thought would work for the occasion. He was a fan of a classic style, though he was aware that his wardrobe probably dated him by at least a decade. He pulled on a pair of pleated khakis, a plaid button-down, and a tweed jacket with leather patches at the elbows.

      “Is that what you’re wearing?” СКАЧАТЬ