Sorry for the delay―paying work comes before fun work!

Eliot slammed around the kitchen, slinging a pot into the sink and jamming the faucet on full force. "This just keepfs getting better and better," he growled under his breath.

"Spencer?"

"Yeah, kid." Eliot shut off the water and set the pot on the stove. "Garlic linguine okay?"

"Sure. Need any help?"

Eliot tossed him a head of garlic. "You can peel these."

He'd expected an argument, but Dougie separated the cloves without comment and pressed a few with the back of a serving spoon. The kid obviously had something on his mind―be strange if he didn't.

Eliot waited.

Dougie peeled off the papery skin and pushed the clean garlic into a pile. "Is Mom really with the jerk who arrested Uncle Nate?"

"We don't know for sure." But every instinct he had told him it was Sterling. And when he got his hands on that son of a―

"I know you all hate him," said Dougie, fiddling with the spoon. "And I get why . . . but I need you to tell me the truth about something."

"Shoot."

"If it's him, will he watch her back?" He met Eliot's gaze. "Will he keep her safe until it's over?"

Eliot opened his mouth, then shut it and gave the question some thought. The kid deserved a straight, honest answer. He wished he had one. "I don't know. Maybe. As far as I know, he's never hurt a law abiding citizen―by his definition. If she can keep him from knowing how close she is to the team, he'll treat her like one." He grimaced. "He thinks he's the good guy."

"He isn't?"

Eliot gathered ingredients while he thought. "Officially, yeah, but . . . he believes the ends justify the means. He uses people to get what he wants."

Dougie blinked. "Um . . . isn't that sort of what you guys do?"

Eliot scowled. "Yeah, that's what we do. But we don't lie to ourselves that we're on the straight and narrow while we're doing it."

"It's a fine line, but it's there," said Sophie, from the doorway. "Remind me to give you my 'shades of gray' speech when this is over."

"If you come speak to my Ethics Class, I can get extra credit. I'm pretty sure I'm gonna need it."

"I think I'd enjoy that. But, Dougie, Eliot's right. If it is Sterling who has your mother, she'll be fine. She's done nothing he can arrest her for―nothing major, anyway. The shelter will back her up, and so will the people she's helped. And there's something else to consider," she said, looking at Eliot. "If Jo could fight her way free from Wencel's goons, then she can escape from whomever she's with. There's a reason she's staying."

Dougie nodded. "She's trying to protect us. Like Uncle Nate did."

"She needs to think about herself and the baby," said Eliot, slicing into a tomato and leaving a gouge on the wooden board. He did it again.

"That may be part of it," said Sophie. "I doubt Wencel would move against an Interpol agent. Eliot," she added gently, "I don't think that tomato is secretly Yakuza."

Eliot glared at her, but shifted his grip.

"Okay," said Dougie. "So how do we find out for sure if she's with this guy?"

"Well, we can't ask her directly," said Sophie. "It's obvious she can't speak freely. I'm wondering if she'd tell us if she could."

"Of course she would," said Eliot. "She knows how we feel about him."

"Yes," said Sophie. "She does."

Dougie pressed the spoon down on another clove. "What if we―"

Parker ducked her head into the kitchen. "Jo's on the phone!"

Dougie shot through the door, followed closely by Sophie and Eliot.

Ron was talking into Hardison's contraption on the table. ". . . don't like you working so hard, Jo. Can't you even come home to pack a change of clothes?"

"There's no time, honey―emergencies aren't scheduled."

"I know, but―"

"But I promised Dr. Harbanks I'd scale back, and I will. This is the last one, I promise. After this one, I'll swear I'll only move between the couch and the bathroom for the next six months."

Jo wasn't hiding her pregnancy anymore―Eliot didn't know why, but he was relieved. Even Sterling―if it was Sterling―would think twice about sending a pregnant woman into danger.

"I'd hold you to that, if I didn't think you'd go stir crazy," said Ron. "Just hurry home. We miss you."

"I miss you, too. Is Dougie around?"

"Sure. Just a second."

Hardison held up a hand and counted down five fingers before pointing at Dougie.

"Hey, Mom. Pterodactyl?"

"Still Pteranodon, kid. I'm escorting someone out of town―way out. Looks like I won't be home for a couple of days. You two going to be okay on your own?"

"Oh, sure! I mean, we'll miss you and everything, but I've got some friends over to play Risk and Dad made his famous chili, so―"

Ron and Eliot shared a frown. Ron hated chili.

"I've been replaced by war games and jalapeños?"

"No one can replace you, Mom," said Dougie, sounding far more serious than a fourteen-year old should. "Hey," he added, "I almost forgot: can silver spoons go in the dishwasher?"

"Silver spoons? What silver . . . " Jo paused and when she spoke a moment later, her voice had changed. "Douglas Franklin Schulte, you are not using your grandmother's good silver to eat chili! Tell me you haven't used them yet."

"Well . . ."

"Dougie! Wash them off in the sink, carefully, put them back in the box and back away. That stuff's off limits, kid―to you, your friends, and your father. Or I will teach you the meaning of risk. Understand?"

"Yeah." Dougie drew in a breath. "Sorry, Mom. I didn't know."

"Now you do." She sighed. "And I'm sorry for yelling. I'm tired and the little critter is tough on my temper. You should be glad you aren't here to witness my mood swings. Or the morning sickness."

"Are you okay, Mom?"

"I'm fine. Just keep my stress levels in mind, okay?"

"I'll try."

"Fair enough. I love you."

"Love you, too, Mom. You need Dad?"

She chuckled. "More than you want to hear about. But I have to go. If it's not too embarrassing, give him a hug for me, okay?"

"Maybe I'll just tell him."

"That'll work. Bye, Dougie."

"Bye, Mom." Dougie waited for Hardison to hang up. "It's Sterling."

"Nice job," Hardison high fived him and Parker patted him on the arm.

Dougie looked at Ron. "Mom's upset."

Ron gave him a one armed hug. "She'll get over it. Eventually. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, Dad."

"It's nice to have confirmation, though I think we'd like bit of a warning next time," said Sophie. "Is there any significance to grandmother?"

Dougie shrugged and looked at Ron, who shook his head. "I don't think so. Her mother died a long time ago and my mother isn't involved with any of this. And before you ask, we don't have any silver."

Sophie nodded and jotted something down in her notebook. Hardison? Did you get anything?"

The hacker should his head. "There isn't anything to get. She used the same phone as last time and I lost the signal around Stratford, Ontario. She hasn't used her credit or bank cards―probably because they're all in her purse over there―or withdrawn any funds from her bank accounts. She's gone off the grid―and the lady knows how."

"Let's ask Nate where she's going," said Parker. "He's the one who knows where the guy's wife is."

"We can't get to Nate, Parker," said Eliot. "Sterling and half the FBI are hoping we'll try."

"Maybe we don't have to," said Sophie, tapping her pen on the table. "If we can't find Jo and we can't find Madeline Wencel . . . we'll find Sterling instead."

"Sophie," said Hardison, in a patient voice. "I can't trace that phone and it looks like he's using a Company credit card for this gig―and I'll tell you right now, I'm not going anywhere near the Interpol databases for his itinerary."

"You don't have to," said Sophie. "The other half of the FBI will do it for us." She smiled. "It's all who you know . . . and who'd like to know you much, much better."

Hardison sat up. "Oh, hell no," he said. "No, no, no, no, no."

Eliot raised his eyebrows. "You really think she can pull that off?"

"I think she's the only one who can."

"What? Who?" Parker stared back at everyone. "Is there something on my nose?"

oooooOOOOOooooo

"Does he have to see her?" asked Hardison.

"Yes," said Sophie, reaching over the screen to fluff Parker's hair. "Remember to wear your pleasant face."

"This is my pleasant face. This isn't pleasant?"

"Not entirely, no. Just keep that worried frown and try to look relieved to see him. No, Parker, that's the wrong sort of relieved. Try for glad."

Eliot rolled his eyes. It was a good thing love was blind. Or in this case, completely clueless.

"Glad to see him―what's wrong with e-mail? Or a nice phone call? I'll just set up a nice, untraceable phone call for you, all right?"

"Calm down Hardison," said Eliot. He moved around the table so he could see Hardison's screen and Parker's face. "This ain't a date."

"Sophie thinks it is," Hardison grumbled. "Fine. Call's connecting . . . three . . . two . . ." He pointed at Parker.

A fresh-faced man in a suit and tie filled Hardison's screen, his coffee cup lowering as he swallowed. "Agent McSweeten. How can I―" He did a double take, inhaled, and stared coughing. "Agent Hagan?" he croaked.

Sophie gestured to Parker, who jolted out of her frozen smile. "Yeah. Hi. I need to ask you a favor."

"Really?" He straightened up, set his cup down, and caught it as it tipped, sending coffee splashing on his shirt.

Hardison smiled.

"Uh, name it," said McSweeten, wiping his tie.

"I'm undercover, working on the Wen―" she shook her head in time with Sophie's frantic motions before catching on. "Oh! I mean, never mind, I can't tell you. Because it's a secret. But there's an Interpol officer who's working on the same case, and he could ruin things for me if he shows up because he's an evil jerkwad."

Hardison rolled his eyes and held up a card: Don't Improvise! He held up another one.

"I mean, I-need-to-know-where-that-officer-is-right-now."

"Are you in danger?"

"Not yet," she said. "I mean, could-you-find-out-for-me?"

Sophie glared at Hardison and took away his card.

"Sure. Um, Agent Thomas is really good at this stuff. Why isn't he—"

Parker blinked. "He can't. I mean, I can't ask him. We . . . you know, we're kind of seeing other partners right now." She glared off screen. "He's kind of bossy."

Hardison's jaw dropped.

"Yeah, I noticed that. Taggart can be the same way."

"Uh-huh. And if Thomas thought I couldn't do this on my own, he'd never let me forget it."

"Right. It's not fair―you're great. I mean, you're a great agent." He cleared his throat. "Who are you looking for?"

"James Sterling."

McSweeten's eyes went wide. "Wow! You must be working an important case. That guy's got an impressive record."

"Hah!" said Parker. "I mean, I guess so. But that's why I want to win this one for the, uh, home team, you know?" Her gaze flicked a question to Eliot.

He nodded and she relaxed.

McSweeten grinned. "Yes, ma'am. You have a secure line I can call?"

Hardison took his card back and flipped it over. Parker read off the number.

"Great. I'll call back as soon as I can."

"Thanks."

"Thank me later . . . over dinner?"

"Sure. Oops, gotta go!"

"Good―"

Hardison stabbed the keyboard and cut him off. "No, you didn't just―do you know what you did? Do you? Tell her―tell her what she just did."

"She just did a very good job," said Sophie.

Parker beamed.

"A good job? She just accepted a date with the F-B-I!"

"He's sweet," said Parker.

"Sweet? He's sweet and I'm bossy? Is that it?" And what's this about seeing other partners? You can't break up Hagan and Thomson―they're a dream team!"

Eliot's phone vibrated. The incoming number was blocked, but they'd reached him through a dummy number he hadn't seen in years. He stepped into the kitchen and closed the swinging door, cutting Hardison off mid-rant.

"Yeah?"

"Eliot Spencer," said a voice too sure of itself to make it a question.

"Yeah."

"I'm Robert Wencel. I've heard good things about your work from some very bad people."

Eliot went on alert. "I could say the same, Mr. Wencel."

"Good, good." The voice was amused. "I heard you experienced a recent shake-up in your organization. Are you still in Boston?"

"How did you get this number?"

"Money. Are you free to meet me for a business proposition?"

"What kind?"

"Lucrative."

"Where?"

"The Starbucks on Charles Street. You pick the time."

"Two hours."

"Fine."

Eliot shoved his phone in his pocket and went back into the living room. "Sophie, you have a safehouse in town?"

"A few. Why?"

"Pick one―no, don't tell me. Pack everyone up―Parker, help Dougie and Ron. Tell Ron to bring Jo's files, her purse, and any pictures you have of any of us."

Parker disappeared down the hall.

Hardison began breaking down his equipment. "What's going on?"

Eliot grimaced. "Robert Wencel just offered me a job interview."

oooooOOOOOooooo

Eliot parked his truck a few blocks away from the Starbucks and walked.

"I still think I should have gone with you," said Hardison. "You know, as back up."

"Me, too," said Parker.

"No," said Eliot. "Better I go in alone until I find out what they want. You all moved out?"

"We're traveling now," said Sophie. "Are you sure you don't want to know where?"

"Not yet. Make sure you're not followed."

"Oi, teach your grandmother to suck eggs," she said, making him smile. "And be careful, will you? Holler if you need us."

Eliot turned off his earbud.

A big man with the shoes and blank face of an ex-military bulletcatcher stepped up to him before he reached the coffe shop. "You Spencer?"

Eliot nodded.

"You carying?"

"No."

The man pulled out something that looked like a smartphone and pointed it at him. It beeped twice.

"I'm not wired."

"I know." The man opened the door for him.

Robert Wencel, a dark haired, handsome man in an expensive suit, was seated at a table in the back corner with another man in a cheaper suit. A bodyguard, the twin of the guy outside, stood to one side, his primary focus on Eliot.

Wencel looked up from his iPad as Eliot approached. "Mr. Spencer?"

"Mr. Wencel?"

"Guilty." Wencel signed something on the iPad with a stylus and tapped it twice. "Today, Jeremy." The other man murmured something and left without a glance at Eliot.

"Have a seat, Mr. Spencer," said Wencel, pushing aside the iPad. "I hear you're the best in the business."

Eliot pulled out the seat and moved it around so he could keep an eye on Wencel, the bodyguard, and the room. "Depends on the business."

"I'm primarily interested in your reputation as a retrieval specialist. You've made a lot of bad-ass enemies, which means you're good." A smile corssed his face. " And you're still alive, which means you're very good."

"If you say so."

"I do." His expression changed. " I want you to find my wife."

"I don't retrieve people."

"I know." The smile widened. "I know all about you, Spencer."

Eliot sincerely hoped not. "Then you know I don't mess with domestic situations. You need a private detective."

"I have ten," said Wencel, leaning forward. "I need you."

"Why?"

"You've been working with Nathan Ford."

Eliot shrugged. "Off and on. Not for a while now, and never again."

"Doesn't matter. You know how he thinks. And he's the one who helped her leave and helped her hide."

Eliot checked the position of Wencel's goon and looked toward the door. He could see the other goon through the window.

"Relax," said Wencel. "I know you weren't involved―you were in Oklahoma.." He let that sink in. "Beautiful country. You have any leftover loyalty to Ford?"

Eliot curled his lip and let two months of frustration and anger wash over him. "To a star witness?"

Wencel studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Fair enough. Ford gave Madeline the contents of a safety deposit box. It had her family's jewelryin it, but there were papers in there, too. Important papers―incriminating, one could say.

"And now, Ford's sequestered so tightly my people can't reach him. I won't be able to get to him until well after the trial―and I can't wait that long.

"Got any leads?"

"I did. The do-gooder who called in Ford."

"Yeah? What did he say?"

"She. She got away―rescued by the Interpol officer who's also on my back. Ballsy little guy―James Sterling. I'm sure you've heard of him."

"Yeah. I've heard of him."

"I'm told he's found out about the documents. And he's got Ford to tell him where Madeline is."

"Why don't you have Sterling put down? From what I hear, he doesn't share info with others. End him, the whole mess goes away."

"Don't think I haven't thought of that. It would fix things, at least temporarily. You know anyone who might accept the contract?"

It occured to Eliot that taking this man down would fix a lot of things, permanently. But this wasn't the time or the place. "I might do it, for the right price."

Wencel named a figure. "That right enough?"

Eliot nodded. " I'll throw in the do-gooder for another twenty percent."

"I heard you give women and children a pass."

"There's a recesssion on."

Wencel chuckled. "I like how you think, Spencer. Tell you what: take care of Madeline, too, and I'll double your fee." His grin widened. "I'll want pictures, of course. As proof," he added.

Eliot forced himself to smile.

Five minutes later, he hit the street, pretending the outdoor guard wasn't following him at a discreet distance. He scratched his ear. "Hardison."

"Eliot." For once the hacker was serious. "You want our location now?"

"No. Looks like I'll be working solo for a while."

"Eliot," said Sophie. "Don't."

"Don't worry, Soph," he said, walking back to his car. "We're a team. We stay a team. But we can't look like one."

"It's your call," she said, after a pause. "We trust you."

"Thanks," he said, meaning it. "Any idea where Sterling's taking Jo?"

"Yeah," said Hardison. "McSweetiepie just called. Eliot, man, you're not gonna believe this."

Eliot listened as he got into the truck. He closed his eyes "Jo's gonna kill Nate."

"I know, right?

Eliot started the ignition. "Better and better," he growled, as he pulled away, fully aware of the gray Crown Vic trailing him up Charles Street.

I hope this makes up for the late update―Say you forgive me?