Martin Boyd, or as this passport read, Mark Doyle, strolled through JFK International, enjoying the oblivious hustle and bustle of the red-eyed crowd. He'd just returned from his extended business trip to Asia and was honestly glad to be back on US soil.
New York in particular was one of the most varied and rich epicenters of the world. Everyone that was worth a shit... came through New York. The opportunities it offered were endless, and that was certainly true when it came to the most lucrative Arms Events. Period.
Boyd enjoyed his new line of work; arms smuggling was a high rolling and exciting job. Okay, so maybe not as moral as his days with the SEALs, but hell, if people were gonna kill each other anyway.., why not get rich selling them better tools to do it?
He loved weapons, always had. He was good at using them and two years ago, found out he was even better at selling them. Getting rich dealing in the best and most exclusive armaments, well that was just icing on the cake!
But there were times he missed his old life. The physical challenge, the impossible missions, and the comradery he shared. The SEALs had been his life and his family, until they turned their backs on him.
'Leave no man behind.' A motto that doesn't mean crap when your team doesn't give you the benefit of the doubt. But there it was, one fuck-up... a couple stupid villagers in the wrong place at the wrong time and you're life gets blown to hell right along with them. In the end you're nothing but a number skewing things the wrong way for some paper pushing asshole's acceptable statistic chart.
Bureaucratic bastards had no idea what real life was like beyond a paper cut. "What ever..." at least now things were on his terms. With the black market items he purchased and sold from just this annual Event, he could easily retire to some tropical paradise in a couple years.
With nothing but his carry-on, he was out of the terminal and quickly hailing a taxi. "The Ritz-Carlton, Central Park. Take the long way, I'm not in a hurry."
Slowly, John began to wake, but without his usual hyper-alert anxiety. No. This time he felt strangely... calm. That's when he noticed the sweet smell of jasmine gently coaxing him awake. Carter.
Her head lay on his chest causing her silky hair to delicately drape over his shoulder. Her arm was outstretched, reaching across his chest while the graceful curves of her body pressed along the lengths of his. He marveled at her serene beauty, still asleep, yet holding him in such a protective embrace.
He couldn't believe she'd managed to lay down down next to him without his realizing it. Normally he was an extremely light sleeper. He'd gotten used to not sleeping much, and never well, so this was something new. He hadn't slept this soundly in.., he couldn't remember.
Sure his nightmares had worried her, he appreciatively studied her sleeping form. Despite how good it felt, he hated making her feel responsible for him - again.
John tentatively nuzzled her soft hair, while watching her long eyelashes play against her cheek in a busy dream.
He really wasn't sure how to handle this situation. It surprised him that he'd stayed here last night, after being so sure telling her it simply wasn't safe to have him so close in her life. The whole thing left him off balance, and that wasn't something he was used to.
The thought of allowing himself to have a closer relationship with Carter, both scared and thrilled him. He paled to think about anything happening to her because of his increased involvement in her life. But like she was quick to point out, 'She too, had chosen a dangerous profession and whether he thought so or not, they were already involved.' Leave it to Carter to simplify the complicated. He smiled.
Still, his life was one of harbored darknesses and passed evils, most of which Carter was - thankfully - not aware of. He didn't want to taint such purity; the thought made his stomach twist.
No matter how much he tried to make up for his past sins, he believed that redemption and forgiveness were nothing more than the illusive creatures of rumor and myth, just all consuming hopes to be chased, but never attained. He was who he was, and nothing could change that. But sometimes...
Sometimes, when she looked at him, her eyes would be filled with such acceptance and faith; it almost made him believe she wasn't seeing a monster at all, and that maybe forgiveness and second chances where possible.
If only he could hold onto that idea, but it didn't matter. It didn't change the fact that he was still a dangerous risk that she didn't need. And yet, that's what he'd thought about Jessica. He had pushed Jessica away, kept her at arms length thinking she would be safer - and it backfired. Ironically, he hadn't been close enough to save her. Could he better protect Carter by being closer to her, or would that just bring her into the cross hairs meant for him?
Dammit, how many rounds of soul-searching did it take!? He could usually see things so clearly, but where Carter was involved... things were so much more complex.
They worked together, saved and killed together. They fought the very battles, he'd told himself, he was sparing Jessica from. Was Carter his second chance? If he walked away from her, would he be condemning them both?
Joss was like no one he'd ever met before. She was so brazen, independent, determined, exceptionally skilled, and exasperatingly stubborn, definitely one of the most intelligent and capable people he'd ever worked with. But as capable as he knew she was, he just couldn't stop feeling responsible for her.
He looked at her with amazement, savoring their momentary contact. He couldn't make another mistake. Not with Joss Carter.
John looked at his watch, suddenly aware Finch hadn't called him yet. The machine had thrown a good curve ball, one that needed his undivided attention and he couldn't afford any distractions right now. As it was, he'd been so lost in his thoughts he hadn't notice the sleepy brown eyes gazing up at him.
"Hello Detective. I don't remember you tripping and falling on me last night."
A rose hue bloomed across Carter's cheeks. "Yeah, well... your nightmares were kicking your ass, so I thought I'd lend a hand. Do you always have them?"
"It's why I try not to sleep much. Thank you... it helped." He shared one of his rare smiles that actually touched his eyes. "I should go. Finch has probably worn a hole through his keyboard by now."
Carter sat up, so Reese could slid his legs off the couch. "John. Five numbers is too many for you alone. You need to dole them out. Fusco and I'll meet you later." She stood.
"If they end up being out of the country or even just spread across the US, you and Fusco can't be involved."
She didn't like it, but logically he was right. "You know, this happens too often, you might want to add another 'Friend,' to the 'Mutual Friend Club'."
John stood and faced her. "I think you and Finch are all I can handle, and Fusco..? What can I say.., I keep him around to make me look good."
That earned him a smack to the arm. "Would it kill you to be a little nicer to the guy. You intimidate the shit outta him, ya know."
"And take all the fun out of it..? I'll call you later Detective." John playfully grinned over his shoulder and walked out the door.
Dan Erinson disembarked his private jet feeling excited and eager. He stretched his long, tall, muscular body and ran his hands through thick, dark hair as he took in the gorgeous city silhouetted against the brightening sunrise.
Funny how each city had its distinctive and unique skyline. Those few renowned buildings, so unmistakable, they identified that specific city whether by day or night. Paris, London, Chicago, San Francisco, and New York. Unmistakable.
He settled back into the rich leather of the waiting limo and rolled down his window, content to enjoy the short trip to the NY Essex House Hotel.
Everything was ready for the annual buying trip. Before leaving, he'd wrapped up the last shipment out of San Francisco and destined for Columbia. His warehouses were now bare, cleaned out and awaiting the new products.
Last year's order had doubled his money - this year he intended on tripling it. Without the Event, he might as well be selling the furniture he used to smuggle the weapons in. He laughed at that thought... "Weapons smuggling ex-Marine goes legit in furniture business... Yeah right! Like that would ever happen!"