we know, interweaving our intel and stories but keeping it down so as not to wake the girls who crashed out on the couches after what seemed like mere minutes.
I can’t blame them. From what Kyle’s told me, it’d been a long day for Carly, most of it spent with nervous imaginings of what awful things I was doing to her friend. And I know Emma was trembling on the edge of exhaustion when we got off the plane. Another round of adrenaline crash, when we’d just left the dangers of the jungle, was more than enough to put her out of commission, though her quiet snores have been a balm as my conversation with Kyle has kept us both on edge. The information has been a hard share on both our parts.
“Coffee?” I offer, hoping the ubiquitous equalizer can help keep us on the same side and awake long enough to figure out what the hell is going on.
We’ve managed to plot out that my dad and Anna were working on finding the stone I just recovered, though I keep that tidbit to myself, and that my dad made a secret trip to Brazil, though it doesn’t appear that he went into the jungle.
Most likely, it seems he was getting the map that progressed Anna’s understanding of what and where the stone was.
That’s the tie between them both.
The stone. The map.
So if someone wanted the stone, they needed the map. And to get the map, they’d need to get it from either my dad or Anna.
It’s the best motive we can come up with and it seems to fit all the elements. It’s ironic that two soldiers have done in a few hours what two international agencies and countless private investigators couldn’t accomplish. But they didn’t have the pieces we do. More importantly, they didn’t have the motivation to see this through and get answers. Those investigators and agents probably shrugged their shoulders and closed up the files on Michael Stone and Anna Russo, simply moving on to the next case. But for me and Kyle, there was no ‘next’. These questions have weighed on us. Maybe even more than we realized.
But who knew about the map? It wasn’t like it all came from one source. Dad used researchers, geologists, and more to compile the whole thing into one unit.
And who knew about the stone’s existence? The stone isn’t exactly as famous as the Holy Grail. There haven’t been ten thousand assholes tramping around the Amazon looking for it.
Answers that only lead to more questions, frustrating us both.
Coffee, though, that’s universal, and Kyle nods. “Fuck, yeah. Black and forty-weight, if you can get it.”
I lead the way to the kitchen, looking back as I pass the doorway, “Also, you hun—“
My question is cut short by a soft pfft-pfft sound and then Kyle’s roar of surprise and pain.
Instincts take over instantly, my brain recognizing the silenced shots before my ears even register them fully.
I duck and slide toward the island for cover as Kyle dive-rolls, sliding past me but still ending under cover.
Even in the dim lighting, I can see his eyes narrow at me.
I shake my head and silently ask him the same question, Did you do this?
He shakes his head, and I hear a tiny creak as a cabinet door opens.
With barely a nod of his head, Kyle and I are on the same page, and he goes around the island one way and I go the other, converging on the small black-dressed shadow that’s creeping through my kitchen.
Kyle roars again, this time for distraction, and an errant thought races through my mind that I’m thankful I don’t have neighbors because they’d surely hear him and call the police.
I see Kyle’s fist connect with the masked assassin, the two of them almost dancing as they move across the tile. Kyle drives into the man, smacking sounds of fists hitting flesh sounding loudly through the tiled room.
The assassin stumbles backward, directly into my arms, and I lift him, preparing to slam him to the ground.
He’s flailing, fighting against me and fighting against Kyle with obvious training, but he’s overpowered and outmanned. With a grunt of effort, I drop the attacker to the ground, driving my weight on top of him.
Whoever my attacker is, he slumps semi-conscious as I drive the wind out of him, and I get up, furious that someone dared to attack me in my own fucking house.
Again. Twice in one night, for fuck’s sake. At this