This is a Casey-only chapter.
Mercy Mild—Chapter Six
Victoria fought the good fight, but, eventually, she couldn't stay awake any longer. Casey watched her go out, and then he lifted his eyes to Riah's. He regretted having let their daughter crawl between them, wondered if he could move her without waking her so he could hold his wife, but he resigned himself to simply reaching across his sleeping child to put a hand on Riah's hip.
She raised her brows and asked, "So . . . you're now in the FBI?"
Casey gave her a disgusted grimace. "It means I don't have to go around as Jack's dad interrogating children."
A confused frown met that gripe. "I thought that was the point?"
He nodded. "They gave me an alias." He sincerely hoped she wouldn't make him tell her what it was. "It's still the FBI, but I suppose better an FBI special agent than an NSA one."
Riah's hand cradled his cheek. "Tori Bates is the sort of female you have no patience for."
"She's a kid." Generally, he got along fine with children, but he didn't usually have to get information out of them, so he suspected his usual tactics would have to be modified.
A funny little smile twisted her lips. "She's gossipy and girly."
Maybe he could let Dietrich do that one, he thought, but then he remembered that according to Victoria, she was the one who had seen Quinnell and his men load Jack and the Woodcombs into the SUV. "Who says I don't like gossipy and girly?"
His wife's smile broadened at his gruff, defensive tone. "Girly, yes, but the gossipy part—if it isn't shop talk—always makes you twitchy."
"I work with Bartowski," he reminded her.
"Shop talk."
"Grimes," he ground out.
"I'll give you that one, but since he's your son-in-law, you sort of have to tolerate him," she pointed out. Her face sobered. Riah drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. "Who is General Beckman sending to handle the press?"
That was one thing he hadn't yet followed up on, he realized. "I don't know. Why?"
"My mother has always used members of Louise Parsons's agency," she said. He'd heard the name, knew she ran some big-time entertainment PR agency. "Whoever we use, we'll need Louise's cooperation."
"Why?" They'd just tell the press Ariel had changed press agents.
Riah made another face. "Woman scorned. If Louise thinks she's been replaced without notice and a mutually satisfactory severance agreement, she'll spill everything Mum has paid her a lot of money over the years to make sure no one ever finds out—quite likely including exactly who her son-in-law is."
"I'll call Beckman," he promised tightly. He figured that if there were going to be any dealings with the media, it wouldn't happen quickly. Whoever it was would have to be briefed before they went before the vultures, so he decided it could wait until morning.
"I told Mum to talk to Louise, but Mum says she needs to know who Beckman assigned first." She ran her thumb over his cheekbone. "Since there were two Woodcombs taken, let's let Awesome do the hysterical family media interview."
"They'll expect someone in our family to speak," he reminded her.
"You can't, and I won't. I thought Mum could do it," she said. "Let her tell them I'm too distraught. Besides, they'll be so starstruck with Mum they'll play nicer than they will with a former spy who allowed her child to be kidnapped."
There was a very bitter note in the last, and Casey wished he could pull her tight and kiss her. "That isn't your fault," he said again.
"How can it not be if Warren Quinnell is involved?" She removed her hand from his cheek. "Galina Vian makes it more likely, too."
Casey shifted uncomfortably. "V. H. says she's in an English prison."
"Then who—"
"Don't know," he admitted.
"Grandpa V. H. thinks it might be that mean Ilsa," Victoria said sleepily and rolled to her side, clutched Jack's Woobie a little tighter. "I told him I'd have to see her again." Her voice trailed off as she went back to sleep.
"Again?" Riah asked, and there was an angry demand in her voice.
"That case with the Indonesian terrorist? The one I turned down?" She gave him a curt nod. "Ilsa was the reason. You were sick, I had the kids at the zoo, and she turned up to lobby me to change my mind." He remembered something else from that day and was about to ask why the zoo's staff had looked at Victoria like she was a master criminal in danger of going on a rampage, but he decided that was a conversation for another time, especially since his wife tended to go ballistic when Ilsa was involved.
His response apparently mollified her, though, or she worried that their daughter wasn't really asleep, because she changed the subject. "So who was the man?" she asked softly.
Casey had been turning that one over in his head. While he really didn't want to share without evidence, if it really was Ilsa, he thought it was Antoine du Montfort. The young man started working with her a few years back, but Casey had no idea why they might have been following his wife and children around or why they hadn't stopped Jack and the Woodcomb's abduction. He also had no idea why they had vanished afterward or why Ilsa hadn't at least contacted him.
Riah clearly expected an answer, so he told her who he thought it was. She looked thoughtful in the darkened room. "I've met Antoine," she said softly. "Victoria's description mostly fits."
Casey wondered how she knew the other man, but he decided not to ask—yet. He also decided not to ask about the mostly. "I think," he said, and his hand stroked her hip, "that while I'm grilling our daughter's friends in the morning, perhaps you and your dad could chase down who Quinnell's partners are."
"Most likely they're CSIS—or former CSIS," she mused. "He really never seemed to have many contacts outside the agency."
Lee Nevins had been CSIS, but Casey wasn't sure. People who did what they did generally worked with other agencies, knew people in them, and often formed friendships with them. Of course, Quinnell appeared to be working with a CIA officer, so maybe he was friendly with more scum in more agencies than any of them realized.
"I suppose there might be someone inside ISI," she granted, "but I don't know who, and Dad will likely have to look into that since I'm no longer an active operative."
Casey noticed how she phrased that. He nearly called her on it. Officially, she had resigned a second time, but he suspected either she really hadn't or her dad had simply put her on the agency's inactive list.
"Tell me about Quinnell's connection to Bridges," she suggested softly.
He told her what he knew, which really wasn't much and had come mostly from V. H. When he finished, the silence stretched.
"Do you think someone in the ATF might know more?"
Casey considered. Since Bridges was an arms dealer and because of his connection to the hillbillies who used his weapons for their crimes, the ATF should have been the go-to agency; it had become Team Bartowski's, as the kid still referred to them, because of the terrorist component. He suspected the other agency had someone working the case, so it would simply be a matter of finding out who. That probably meant talking to Carina, the DEA's agent on the ground, who would likely know who it was and which came with risks, both personal and to the operation. "I'll find someone," he promised.
After a while, he realized she was still awake, and he remembered there was something he hadn't told her yet. "Alex and Grimes are coming tomorrow as planned."
"Is that wise?"
He gave her a grim smile. "Probably not, but we think Grimes might be the leak, so we thought it might be best to get him where we can sit on him, maybe gag him." Casey realized he had nearly revealed something he hadn't told his wife at all—something that might seriously piss her off.
"Leak for what?" she asked stiffly when he didn't finish.
In the dark, he debated deflecting her or telling her the truth.
It didn't matter because she moved on, probably because she was well aware that Morgan Grimes couldn't keep his mouth shut except to guard Chuck Bartowski's secrets. It made Casey feel guilty nonetheless.
"I don't think I'm up to dealing with anyone, not even family, John," she said. "I don't think I can pretend not to worry or be upset."
He eased off the bed and went around to her side, slid onto the edge and wrapped an arm around her. "No one expects you to be the entertainment director," he assured her. "They're worried, too."
She looked over her shoulder at him, and he kissed her. "Get some sleep," Casey told her softly, realized he'd only had about three hours of sleep himself. He doubted he'd sleep much, but she dealt with sleep deprivation far worse than he did, and she would have plenty on her plate with a house full of family.
Riah moved Victoria further toward what was normally his side of their bed and shifted over to give him more room. He wished she'd turn over, but Victoria whimpered. Her mother soothed her until she relaxed back into sleep.
"Have I told you I love you?" he asked.
She smiled over her shoulder at him. "This week?"
"Funny." Casey moved his hand over her side and tucked his arm around her so that he could fit his body closer to hers. It was true he didn't say it often enough.
"I don't need the words, John," she said. "I know you love me."
"Get some sleep," he told her gruffly.
Just before dawn, Casey eased off the bed. Riah rolled to look at him, so he bent and dropped a kiss on her mouth. "I've got a few ideas. I'm going to wake your dad and run them by him."
Riah studied him. He feared she would argue. Instead, to his relief, she simply said, "Don't hurt him."
He snorted, kissed her again, and left her with their daughter. The truth was that none of them slept, really. Riah dozed now and then, but Casey remained awake, watched his daughter fall asleep only to jerk awake, usually with a whimper. He was glad there were no screams because he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to cope with that level of terror on Victoria's part. The whimpers were difficult enough, cut, made him feel as though he had failed her, her mother, and Jack.
Casey didn't like failure, and he saw his actions the previous day as failure. By the time dawn was nearly there, he was mad as hell, mostly at himself, but largely at whomever had done this to his son. Chuck Bartowski had once told him—well, Walker, actually, who relayed it to Casey after the fact—that he didn't really have a calm center but an angry one instead, and for the first time, he realized he thought better with a cold anger percolating.
He decided his first priority was coffee and his second figuring out where Emma stashed his father-in-law the night before.
In the kitchen, he found V. H. already up and sitting at the table with a laptop, his cellphone, and coffee. Casey found a cup, poured a ration of his own, and sat down opposite his father-in-law.
"Video surveillance on the roads didn't turn up much of anything," V. H. announced. "They either switched vehicles between cameras or somehow found a route with no video."
Casey wasn't surprised that Quinnell had managed to go off grid, figured he had someone inside whatever organization or contractor Chicago used to monitor the cameras. Someone would have to hunt down whoever that might be. He eyed V. H., thought his father-in-law could take that part of the operation.
With any luck, Tori Bates, got a good look at all four men and could describe and identify them. Unfortunately, finding out would likely call for the kind of negotiation Casey notoriously did not like. It often took too long to charm a witness, so he preferred simply demanding things with enough intimidation people raced to see how quickly they could spill it. He couldn't do that with a seven-year-old, no matter how much he might think them little terrorists in training—his daughter excepted. He was still surprised Dietrich had agreed to deal him in, but he figured his old friend knew he'd insist—and had likely heard stories about his ability to be very creatively and persuasively insistent when he did so.
"You look like you're plotting an invasion," V. H. observed.
"Canada's ripe for plundering," he shot back, glad for the distraction his father-in-law conveniently provided. "It's that long, unprotected border. You're just asking for trouble."
Almost as soon as he said it, he froze. That largely unprotected border had contributed to Quinnell's ability to get to Chicago.
"Your side leaks as well," V. H. reminded him. For once, the other man didn't make it personal, but Casey figured that had more to do with the fact the Canadians couldn't take the blame for the fact that the Americans on the border were ignorant when it came to early twentieth century comedy teams. V. H. shot his brows up, lifted his coffee cup and added a nice little taunt—though Casey would never acknowledge it hit a nerve: "At least we don't let them cross with enough military weapons to mount an invasion."
Casey was suddenly on point. "Something I need to know here?"
His father-in-law sipped his coffee and then nodded. "One of my people pulled one of our operative's report. Quinnell met someone in Thunder Bay and arranged a shipment of military-grade weapons." V. H. turned his laptop toward Casey with an inventory of weapons stolen from an army weapons depot in Manitoba on the screen.
"Looks like he is planning an invasion," Casey mused, scrolling through. Not only that, but the weapons had been manufactured by the scumbag his operation from the day before targeted. That probably explained why Quinnell had driven a vehicle tied to Bridges. "Where did he ship them?"
"That's the interesting part." V. H. met his eyes. "One of my teams followed it after it was unloaded from a container ship to a warehouse here in Chicago. Not a bullet has budged since the weapons arrived—and Quinnell hasn't gone near it."
Maybe Quinnell had changed his mind, decided to lower his carbon footprint, buy local. Casey considered the risks in sending Bartowski back to Win Bridges to see what he could learn. Given the circumstances, he wasn't sure the kid could hold it together long enough to do the job, especially if he knew Bridges might be connected to the abduction of his sister and niece.
Casey supposed their operation might be Quinnell's target, but now that Casey had a little caffeine percolating through his brain, he hit on another possibility. "Quinnell knew you'd come to your daughter if something happened to one of our kids."
"Or you," V. H. acknowledged. "At least I wouldn't be the one who had to get on a plane, shoot you, plan and attend your funeral, comfort Mariah and your kids, and pretend to be sorry you're dead, but I would have had to do all but the shooting you part."
Casey gave the other man a scorching stare.
V. H. held his good hand up. "You've been a good husband to my daughter, and except for your dictatorial decrees about what I discuss with my grandchildren and your notorious lack of tolerance for most humans, you've been a good father. I long ago accepted you're not going to do something that gives me an opportunity to put that scenario into play." He then lifted a brow and gave Casey a hard stare of his own. "Unless you've been up to something I don't know."
The night before, Victoria had mentioned V. H. thought the woman she'd seen was Ilsa Trinchina. Casey didn't believe the French woman would help kidnap his son. Then again, she was ambitious and ruthless, and there had been a time he might have done something similar to make sure he stayed embedded with the bad guy he pursued. He liked to think he'd make sure any innocent victims remained safe.
He wondered if the French had an interest in Bridges and what that interest might be.
His father-in-law hid a grin behind his coffee cup. Casey narrowed his eyes on him and tried to decipher what that amusement was about, because it was obviously directed toward Casey. He amped up the glare as V. H. swallowed and set his cup on the table before him.
Raising his brows, V. H.'s grin broadened. "I hope you have body armor in the house."
Casey wracked his brain before hitting a possible explanation. If V. H. was right, then he might need that body armor if he had to tell Riah the woman was Ilsa. She'd let it go the night before, but that could have been because Victoria might have heard more than their daughter really should.
If it was Ilsa and if she turned out to have played an active role in the abduction, then Casey really didn't want to have to be the one to tell his wife. The last time he and Riah had fought about the other woman—the only time they fought about Ilsa—his wife had been angrier than he'd ever seen her, violently angry.
"Any chance you have a picture of Ilsa?"
Casey shook his head. Unlike the ones he had finally given Alex of Kathleen, he hadn't kept any photographs of Ilsa. He could get one from Beckman, but he had a feeling V. H. had already acquired one. He asked. "You?"
"ISI does," V. H. confirmed. "I've asked someone to send it to me, and then we'll need to show it to Victoria."
Casey took a long hit of caffeine. "When she wakes up, have at it."
"Do you have your mother's flight information yet?"
Shaking his head, Casey wondered if he should call her and ask. He shot a look at the kitchen clock and decided it was a little too early. "We'll still need to escort Alex and Grimes."
"Have you considered distracting Mariah with that assignment?"
There was no way he would allow his wife outside without protection while the men who stole their son—who might be interested in taking her as well—could be waiting for that opportunity. Riah would go alone, at most take Emma, and he wasn't risking another member of his family. "She'll be busy getting the house ready for incoming family, and she'll need to keep Victoria distracted from playing spy."
His father-in-law looked grimly amused. "If you're going to pat Mariah on the head and tell her her place is at home with her daughter, I can't wait for the fireworks."
When he put it that way, Casey could easily see the flaw in his plan. "Wear your own body armor," he grunted.
He didn't doubt his wife would insist on helping with the investigation, so he'd have to convince her Victoria needed her and hope she wouldn't insist the FBI could protect their daughter.
"If she's going to shoot someone," V. H. told him, "it'll be you—and she rarely misses." He shifted the phone in front of him. "You never do, so I suspect I'm safe without the body armor."
Casey decided to drop the subject and drink a bit more coffee.
"How's my granddaughter's aim?"
He choked on the mouthful of coffee and eyed V. H suspiciously, wondered how in hell he knew he'd been training his daughter to fire a handgun. Then he realized Victoria must have told her grandfather, though it was possible V. H. had someone spying on them. "I see we need to update the list of approved topics of discussion with my daughter."
"More like you need a list of approved topics about which Victoria can talk to me."
"She told you."
Fortunately, V. H. understood that was a question. "She did—rather enthusiastically." He snorted. "Do you really give her targets with the faces of your government's most wanted?"
"I could probably get some with your government's most wanted," he retorted. "What are the most serious crimes against the Canadian state? Maple syrup rustling? Hockey puck forgery? Grand theft Zamboni?"
"Funny," V. H. deadpanned. "When my daughter finds out what you've been teaching her daughter, you're definitely going to need body armor."
Unfortunately, that was probably true. Riah had repeatedly made her views on training their daughter to fire weapons crystal clear. It wasn't that she completely objected; it was more that she thought Victoria should be considerably older before he began. Casey had decided that in a household with more weapons than the average arsenal Victoria needed to know a few things, particularly since any of their lives could be in danger. He'd bought her a small Beretta pistol for her birthday and regularly took her to a range where she could learn to use it and hone her abilities.
"I assume you have a plan," V. H. said.
"First order of business is to find out what the CARD team picked up overnight, and then talk to the two girls Victoria spoke to last night." He took a swallow of coffee. "I want to know what the CPD learned when they canvassed the neighborhood, and I want to know where Quinnell had his weapons stashed." He looked at V. H. "I'm also going to find out where his bolt-hole in Chicago is."
"I have people working on the last one," V. H. admitted.
Casey's phone rang before he could ask for an update. Since it was Walker, he answered.
"Coming in the back," she said and hung up. Casey stood, looked out the kitchen window to see her and Bartowski walking his way. One of Dietrich's FBI agents stopped them, and Casey watched as they showed ID and were waved through.
"Figured you'd be with Captain Jockstrap," he said as he held the door.
"Sarah tranqed him," Bartowski said. There was a shocked, cranky edge to that. Casey surveyed Walker and lifted his brows.
"If he were a woman, you'd call him hysterical," she told him tightly, "which is still a pretty good word for how he reacted."
Casey snorted, bit back that Woodcomb, despite the testosterone-fueled extreme sportsman, was more woman than Ellie Bartowski dreamed of being. "You left him alone?"
"There are four FBI agents there," Walker admitted.
He offered them coffee. As he poured, he could picture the distraught histrionics of Ellie's Ken Doll and Chuck's efforts not to freak out so he could talk the man down. It said a lot that Bartowski had let Walker do it and a lot about the level of Woodcomb's distress. Bartowski's brother-in-law was basically an adolescent trapped in a man's body, but he loved Ellie and their daughter.
Casey briefly wondered what it was about Bartowskis that they surrounded themselves with man-boys.
"The press haven't tied any of us to this yet, but I'm not sure how much longer that will last," Walker told him as he handed her a mug of coffee.
The truth was Casey didn't give a shit what the media reported—unless they gave name, rank and serial number for him, Walker, Chuck, or Riah.
As he handed Bartowski a mug of coffee, he remembered part of his conversation with his wife the night before. He was about to explain to Walker about the press agent when a ringtone broke the silence.
V. H. made an exasperated noise, reached for his phone. "Yes?"
Casey met Walker's eyes. The blonde raised her eyebrows, and they all listened.
"Tell them I have no comment."
That probably meant the Canadian press had made a connection to V. H.
Rubbing a hand over his face, Casey leaned against the counter next to Walker and Bartowski. "Riah refuses to talk to the press," he admitted. "She suggests we use her mother, but someone from Ellie's family will have to speak, too, and that's going to have to be Woodcomb."
Bartowski swallowed some coffee. "I'm not sure Devon can pull himself together enough."
A look at Walker showed she concurred.
"Since Ariel likes the spotlight," Casey sniped, "we'll put them together and let her take the lead." His mother-in-law would get this right, at least, since she would protect herself and her daughter. With any luck, she'd make things easier for Woodcomb. "The two of you prep Woodcomb, give him the limits of what he can and cannot say. That includes Jack's surname."
He could tell Bartowski was about to say something imbecilic, so he added, "I've got to find out who Beckman's sending." He rubbed the thumb and forefinger of his free hand over his tired eyes.
Bartowski wore an expression that straddled a line between he'd just smelled something that stank worse than a skunk and Bryce Larkin was back from the dead yet again.
"About that," the kid said, and Casey had worked with the kid long enough to know that phrase meant he was really not going to like what Bartowski had to say. In typically Bartowski fashion, the intel was not immediately forthcoming. Just as Casey was about to retrieve the loaded Glock Riah velcroed to the bottom of the counter in the top of the deep drawer where she kept her chef's knives and point it at him to reinforce the need to spill, the kid finally spit it out: "Alex Forrest."
Casey's eyes narrowed, but Bartowski repeated the name and added the kind of inevitable panicked babble he resorted to when a grownup appeared pissed off.
It was a matter of waiting him out, but when the babble didn't seem like it would soon abate, Casey decided to stop it—without bullets because Riah would be pissed if he actually shot someone in her kitchen when one of the kids was home.
Bartowski screeched to silence on the word, "49b," when Casey folded his arms and summoned the ugliest, most pissed off glare he could.
Walker tried to salvage the situation by pointing out, "Forrest is by the book, and she's tightlipped, which is what we need."
"What we need," Casey said, still angry, "is someone with charm."
Bartowski had that look on his face, the one that was a cross between horror and amusement where amusement would win after the momentary shock passed. Casey knew that would be at his expense. The kid had once referred to Forrest as Casey in a skirt—in Casey's hearing. He admitted he had once been a lot like that woman—by the book, no nonsense, no sympathy, use any means necessary, and, always, maximum firepower. Unless she'd changed since Beckman sent her to be Walker's 49b years earlier, he didn't think the humorless woman would survive the media onslaught.
Casey couldn't say he'd completely left the traits he had shared with Forrest behind, but he had always had the ability to shift personality a bit and take on whatever the needed role required of him. Other than that pole dance at Woodcomb's bachelor party, he really hadn't seen that in Forrest. It likely explained why she had remained a mid-level operative, one who got good assignments but not career-changing ones.
On second thought, Walker's 49b assignment had changed Forrest's career, just not for the better once Beckman had read Casey's report and assessment of the other agent.
The worst part was going to be watching Forrest try to manage his wife, and that would make Riah's encounters with the likes of Carina or Ilsa look like playground taunts if Forrest tried any of the arrogant bullshit she normally displayed. Riah had a very low tolerance for that kind of attitude.
A little smile curved his lips as he thought about Forrest attempting to manage Ariel Taylor. That he would enjoy the hell out of. Two immovable objects, each of whom was certain she was right and no one else was. Given Ariel would try and protect her daughter while Forrest issued orders left and right, the fireworks should be pretty spectacular.
Maybe he should send Riah along to collect Alex and Grimes.
"When's Forrest coming in?" he asked.
Walker told him, "She's already in the air." Her eyes found the kitchen clock. "She should have landed half an hour ago."
ETA any minute, then. He turned to V. H. "Get Ariel."
Casey wanted everything in place before he had to leave with Dietrich at nine. That gave them a little over three hours, so he'd have Ariel call her publicist and set things in motion.
After V. H. left the kitchen, Casey turned to Walker and Bartowski. The kid frowned. "Why do we need Mariah's mom?"
"Because this is going to have to look like her people are in charge, and apparently the woman she uses is a tyrant who'll burn the lot of us if we don't manage to convince her to play along. Forrest's cover will have to be that she works out of Parsons's office here in Chicago." Casey looked at the kid.
Casey decided the short version would have to do. "I'm going with Dietrich to interview a couple of Victoria's friends," he clipped out. "She talked to them online last night, and both saw the getaway car. One saw the four men who took them. Unfortunately, they connect two important dots: the operation with Bridges and the Intersect."
Bartowski's mouth dropped open, and he paled. It was such a situation-normal reaction Casey ignored it.
Walker, though, demanded, "The Intersect? How?"
"Warren Quinnell was one of the men."
There it was, Bartowski's flash face. When the eye flutter and open mouth were finished, the kid gasped, "Not good. So not good."
"Spill," Casey growled, wondered if there was anything new about Quinnell in the kid's noggin.
Predictably, because Bartowski always found it easier to tell Sarah the good, the bad, and the ugly in the Intersect, he turned to her. "First, Montreal Project. Second, he worked with Lee Nevins, who shot Mariah in Ottawa years ago, but third, he's working with Win Bridges to bring nuclear enabled weapons to insurgents in Iraq, Syria, and, inexplicably, Quebec."
"Not so inexplicable to a Canadian," Casey said gruffly. Truthfully, that litany convinced him Quinnell was after the Adderlys. He figured working with Bridges got Quinnell close to Riah, and taking Jack got V. H. and Riah in the same place. That made Ellie and Clara Woodcomb collateral damage.
He tried to remember everything he'd ever learned about the Montreal Project, which wasn't much. He'd never seen the files, but that long ago night on the beach, Riah, who had, had outlined it for him. Bartowski had had a data dump during the mission that took down Gray Laurance, and Casey mulled over what he could recall. He'd need to talk to Riah, and he was going to put pressure on V. H. to disclose anything Casey still didn't know.
That discussion would have to wait since Ariel sailed in, V. H. in tow. "Gang's all here, I see," she said. She crossed her arms and eyed Walker. "I assume you're the one who's going to play publicist?"
"An agent named Alex Forrest," Casey corrected tightly. "She's on her way. We need you to smooth things over with your people."
It was easy to see Ariel was calculating the level of insult she intended to offer. Casey's jaw tightened as he waited. He had to play nicely, but that didn't mean he had to just stand there and take it, especially with Riah upstairs and out of the crossfire. Ariel, though, apparently decided to back down. "I talked to Louise last night," she admitted. "I just need a description of Agent Forrest."
While Casey tried to figure out why she changed her mind, Bartowski said, "Tall and slim, long red hair, no sense of humor, likes guns."
Ariel's amusement was obvious, and the look she turned on Casey spoke volumes. He gave her a perp description: height, weight, hair and eye color.
"I'll call Louise back," she said and left, presumably to do exactly that.
He gave V. H. a suspicious look. The other man shrugged. "Your wife gave her a tongue-lashing last night about being nicer to you."
Another debt he owed Riah—if the truce held. He and Ariel had managed before, mainly for Riah's sake, so he supposed it would. He was determined not to be the one who broke it.
While they waited, he filled Walker and the kid in on the traffic cameras and where they lost the SUV. Then he drew a deep breath and said, "Alex and Grimes are coming in this afternoon, private flight. Someone has to get them here safely."
"Is that—" Bartowski started, but Walker cut in and said, "We'll do it."
He nodded thanks.
Ariel strolled back into the kitchen and announced, "Done," just as Walker's phone rang.
Within moments, Forrest was walking in the back door.
Casey kept his mouth shut while they worked out the details. Ariel provided the woman Parsons's phone number so Forrest could talk to her directly, and then Forrest turned her attention to Casey.
"Colonel, it would be best if your wife were part of this."
"Riah says no," he told her, "and I agree."
"In normal circumstances, the boy's parents—"
Casey stopped her with a scowl. "Ours isn't a normal family, and this isn't a normal circumstance. Ariel will represent us."
"And what excuse should I make for the boy's grandmother speaking for the family?" Forrest demanded.
The repetition of the boy was beginning to seriously irritate him. "I don't care," Casey bit out, "as long as no names are used."
To his surprise, Ariel said, "I believe we can simply say Mariah and her husband are too distraught."
A part of Casey rebelled at that, but it was plausible. "No names," he insisted firmly.
"Alright," Ariel agreed, and corrected that to, "My daughter and her husband are too distraught by the loss of their son." She looked at him, and he narrowed his eyes, not liking the fact that she had just made it sound like Jack was dead. "I think we'll have to name him, but since Mariah used my name when the two of you met, I suppose we could say he's John Taylor."
As far as Casey knew, there had never been any public announcements of their marriage, but that didn't mean no one knew who Ariel's oldest daughter had married. It was the best they could get, so he agreed.
Forrest, though, doggedly objected. Casey found it tiring to retread ground, but he figured if he just let the woman run her mouth, raise her objections, when he finally issued orders, she'd be more likely to fall in line.
Victoria burst into the kitchen, and Forrest stopped in mid-explanation to stare at her. From the woman's expression as his daughter ran to Casey, who scooped her up, he wondered if Forrest had ever been this close to a child. "Morning, kiddo," he said.
"Morning, Daddy," she responded. "Who's the skinny lady?"
The temptation to tell her, as the old joke went, that Forrest was no lady was fairly strong, but Riah entered the kitchen and said to the agent, "Forgive my daughter. Unfortunately, her manners desert her at the best of times." Riah crossed to the agent and said, "I'm Mariah Casey. The rude thing clinging to her father is Victoria."
"Alex Forrest," the other agent said, and Casey noted she looked at his wife as though she were part of some exotic museum exhibit.
Riah nodded. "I assume General Beckman sent you?"
Forrest gave a curt nod of her own. "I was just explaining to Colonel Casey that you, at least, should be present to talk to the press."
"No," Mariah said firmly.
"I understand why the Colonel needs his identity hidden, but there's no reason you . . . ." Forrest trailed off when almost everyone in the room gave her an incredulous look. Everyone except Riah, who had a tight little smile.
"Dad," she said.
"V. H. Adderly," her father said coldly. "Director General of ISI. My daughter is a former ISI operative. Your own agency makes use of her talents from time to time, and that means she needs to remain as anonymous as we can make her."
"But—"
"No buts," Casey cut in firmly. "My wife remains out of sight. Her mother will speak for the family."
"If you'll come with me," Ariel said, gesturing at the door and the hall beyond it, "I'll walk you through what you need to know."
Casey half expected Forrest to object, but she very wisely shut her mouth and followed Ariel out of the room. He figured the two women were fairly evenly matched, though he filed away that Ariel had rather genteelly railroaded Forrest.
Riah asked Walker and Bartowski about Woodcomb, sympathized when they told her, and then asked if they were staying for breakfast. Casey suggested Walker follow up with Chicago PD, and when he asked what he could do, Casey told Bartowski to try and talk Woodcomb down enough he could function with the press. He told Walker he'd let them know about Alex and Grimes's arrival, and then watched them leave.
"Do you only know mean redheads?" Victoria asked when it was only family left in the kitchen.
Casey frowned at her, caught an amused sound from his wife, and noticed V. H. buried his face in his coffee cup. "Never thought about it before," he told his daughter as he set her on her feet.
Riah's expression had him searching his memory. When he remembered Celia, Casey decided Victoria might have a point.
