Ghosts That Haunt—49
Casey could tell what the others thought, that he hugged Alex awkwardly because he wasn't comfortable hugging another human being. Idiots. They'd seen him hug Riah often enough they should have known better. The truth was he didn't want Alex to think he was about to throw her over his shoulder again, though he was tempted, given the way Morgan Grimes looked at her. He didn't want to spook her, and he could tell from her expression that she still didn't know what to think about a man who had befriended her, kidnapped her, told her he was her dead father before he gave her the key to a locker holding huge amounts of cash and several fake passports in a hidden compartment.
Even he wasn't entirely comfortable with how they had arrived at this place.
It had started with Riah's insistence that he try and get to know the girl. He had returned to Los Angeles after his side trip to see her and Victoria in Ottawa, and one evening as he missed his wife and daughter, he had given in, had begun pulling the files on Alexandra McHugh. There was a part of him that was more than a little pissed off that the U. S. government had obviously kept tabs on his older daughter and her mother. He couldn't help but wonder why, though he knew someone, someone with the authority to order it done, had known he was connected to a rather ordinary woman, a widow without having been a wife, and her daughter.
According to her school records, Alex was a good student, not a stellar one, but a good one. She was enrolled in a good college and was doing well if not spectacularly. That could be because of her need to work to help pay her tuition, he thought, and he felt guilty. That was not a problem Victoria would have when her turn came. He also smarted because he would have found a way to help had he known—a dummy scholarship, maybe, to help pad out the financial aid for which she had qualified.
A few days later, missing Riah more than he should and at loose ends for an afternoon, he drove to the little place where Alex worked. He sat in his car and watched her serve customers for an hour or so, and when the place was nearly empty, he impulsively got out of his car, went in, and took a seat.
Alex was a little shorter than Riah, and Casey thought about how his wife maintained Victoria would be tall like him. Kathleen hadn't exactly been short herself, so maybe Alex was a throwback to shorter women in one of the family trees. She didn't look that much like him, didn't look an awful lot like her mother, and Casey was a little relieved she simply looked like herself. It made sitting there easier.
He hadn't expected to like her. Like good waitresses anywhere, she talked to him pleasantly, gave him an easy smile. She didn't recognize him from her mother's house, but then she hadn't even looked at him that day. Admittedly, he got out of that house before she could. Alex didn't ask nosy questions, but she possessed the same talent her mother had to put people at ease.
A few days later, he went back. Alex had given him a sunny smile, something she must have learned from her mother, and asked how he was doing. "Fine," he told her, though he didn't exactly feel it at the moment. Earlier in the day, he'd had to listen to a fellow agent make comments about Casey's wife. It had soon become obvious the man had seen that picture of Riah, the one for which Beckman had verbally torn strips off him about using government property for very personal use. Casey wondered how many people at the NSA had had a good look at his wife wearing practically nothing, let alone heard them have phone sex.
Pushing aside the instinct to kill someone, he ordered what he had the last time: apple pie and black coffee. Alex said, "Let me make some new. It's been stewing a while."
He knew they closed in an hour, so he shook his head, told her he liked it bitter.
She raised her brows and told him, "I think it might be beyond bitter at this point." He heard her moving around, and a little later she brought him fresh coffee. "You left me too big a tip last time to let you drink that," she said defensively.
Casey knew most of the new pot would wind up down the drain, and he rebelled a bit at the waste. Oddly, he could hear his wife's voice tell him to shut up and drink it. "Thanks," he said. "You live around here?"
She nodded. She told him she was a student, named her college, and then added, "This job is pretty flexible, so it doesn't interfere with my class schedule."
Casey nodded. He asked what she was studying, and she told him. He nodded once more. He knew that, but she didn't know he did. It occurred to him that she was pretty free with her personal information, and he wondered if he ought to tell her to be more cautious about what she told others. Someone else entered, and she moved off. He ate his pie, drank his coffee, dropped a tip on the table, paid and left.
He kept going back. Casey told himself he was just seeing that she was okay, could take care of herself. She was old enough to not really need a father, and he wasn't entirely sure he could fill that role if she had. As pieces of the puzzle that were Alex McHugh were revealed or fell into place, he found himself more and more curious about the rest of the picture. He tried to vary the intervals, tried to vary the times, but he made sure he only went to the Pie Shack on days she worked. Her schedule wasn't that hard to determine.
On his fourth visit, she asked his name. He told her his first name.
On his next visit, she noticed his wedding ring. He told her his wife was away visiting family. It wasn't completely the truth, but Riah was, in effect, visiting her father. Alex next asked if he had children. For a moment, he wasn't sure how to answer, but he finally said, "We have a daughter."
He could have said he had two daughters, but he was more comfortable with the answer he gave her because it meant he didn't have to make up any lies. He didn't want to outright lie to Alex any more than he had to, especially considering everything she thought she knew about her father was a lie—not that he ever planned to admit who he was to her. He suspected, though, that if he told her he had an older daughter, she would want to know about that girl, and if he had to explain, Alex might see the parallels with her own story, might eventually make an intuitive leap from the middle aged man who had started showing up in her restaurant to her own circumstances and think he was stalking her. He played it safe, but he was surprised by how much he had begun to want to tell her the unvarnished truth. That, though, was dangerous—to him, to her, to her mother.
"How old is your daughter?" Alex asked.
He told her, and she raised her eyebrows. "Late starter, huh?"
Casey snorted, amused. "What about you? Any brothers or sisters?"
She shook her head, and then she told him her parents had never married, that her father had been a Marine who was killed in a training accident before she was born. He noticed she was matter of fact about it, but then she had never known her father. If she was upset or saddened about that, it didn't show except for a momentary change in her eyes.
"So let's see her," she said with a smile, pushing a hand lightly against his shoulder. He frowned at her, mainly because he hadn't tensed as he usually did when someone he didn't know touched him. "Your daughter," she prompted, misreading his reaction. "I've never met a father yet who didn't carry around pictures."
That stung. He had no pictures of Alex, and he felt guilty, because he did indeed have pictures of Victoria. He pulled out his wallet, careful to make sure Alex didn't see anything that personally identified him and pulled a snapshot of Riah and Victoria out before handing it to her. Her father had taken it the night they went to dinner at his Ottawa home. He had e-mailed it to Casey who printed it out. "This your wife?" she asked. He nodded. "She's pretty."
Casey felt color run up under his skin. "Thanks."
"What's her name?"
"Mariah," he said. "Our daughter is Victoria."
Alex smiled and handed the photograph back. "Good name, Victoria," she said, "old fashioned. I was named for my father." He lifted a brow. "I don't mind," she said with a grin. "My mom loved him, and that makes it mean even more, like I have a piece of him with me."
Casey focused on the picture before he returned it to his wallet, refused to acknowledge either the moisture that blurred his sight for a second or the impulse to tell Alex who he was. Another customer saved him by asking if she could get a refill. Once more he dropped a tip on the table, paid the bill and left.
In half hour increments, he got to know Alex a little bit, enough that she started telling him about her classes, her struggle to keep her grades up and afford school, her mother, her sometimes boyfriend who didn't seem to be able to make up his mind whether he wanted to date her or be her friend, and other bits and pieces of her life. Casey talked about Riah and Victoria and little else.
He liked this young woman a lot. He admired how she made her own way, took responsibility for her life and her decisions, and he liked her sunny disposition. He marveled that she seemed to like him in return. At first he told himself she was just being a good waitress, just chatting up the regular customer, but she started lingering longer, talking more with him. As a result, he found himself telling Riah about her late one night when once more he missed his wife enough he couldn't resist hearing her voice. Riah sounded pleased for him, and he wished he could see her, could know exactly what she felt, thought, about him making a connection with Alex.
In hindsight, he probably should have known better. He wasn't sure if it was the phone call to Riah or if he or Alex herself had been under surveillance, but when it all went south with Bartowski and Shaw a few days later, when he told Walker they had to take care of what they loved, he had gone to Alex. Riah and Victoria were safe, so he focused on the part of his family that wasn't. As he walked toward the Pie Shack, he tried to figure out the best way to tell her what he needed to say to her. He would have to convince her somehow, and that wasn't going to be easy when every attempt he'd composed in his head sounded insane. Not for the first time, he wished he had kept something that identified him as Alexander Coburn. He had the photographs of him and her mother, but she was a smart girl and might point out the ease with which those could be faked.
He thought a moment about Riah, and he wished he could call her and seek advice. He couldn't risk it, though, knew now the Ring would have an intercept on the call. He had, however, called V. H. on his way there with the agreed code so the other man would know to tighten security on Riah and Victoria. She and her father were spooked enough over the American agent who had turned up at ISI a few weeks before looking for her.
When Justin Sullivan sat down across from him, Casey switched to survival mode. When the other man told him he never figured Casey for a dad, he took the opportunity to get the drop on him. Then he reacted. Alex was over his shoulder, and he was running with her to the Vic.
Now, as he escorted Alex to Bartowski's dinner table, he took the opportunity to shoot a glare at Grimes. He enjoyed tormenting the kid about having Alex's phone number, something he was careful not to do when she was in hearing distance. When it had all been over, she had told him she gave Morgan her number in case he had news about Casey. He had to admit he enjoyed making Grimes squirm. Grimes was about the only one on this mission he could still intimidate.
When they were all seated and eating, Ellie asked him, "When will Mariah and Victoria come back?"
Casey swallowed and said, "They haven't lifted the deportation order yet."
Alex shot him a puzzled look. While everyone at the table had had his or her cover blown in one way or the other, Alex still didn't know everything. That his wife had been deported was one thing he hadn't told her. "Your wife was deported?" she asked.
"It's complicated," he said.
Bartowski jumped in there, explained that Riah was Canadian, that when Casey got fired, they deported her.
Alex stared at him, and he recognized that Chuck's explanation had just confused her even more. "My wife works—worked," he thought a second and then corrected himself once more, "works for a Canadian intelligence agency. Her father is the boss." Alex relaxed a little at his explanation, and he hoped she realized why he had not been totally honest before. "The American government deported her when I was arrested for treason." He would rather explain that in private, so he turned to Ellie again. "We're hoping they let her come home in the next week."
Ellie turned to Alex then. "Have you met John's wife?"
Casey froze. He reminded himself Ellie knew nothing beyond the fact Alex was his daughter. She had made an assumption he had not corrected, had assumed Alex was his child from a previous marriage. Casey was surprised she had made no comment about Alex's absence from their wedding or asked questions about Kathleen.
Alex shook her head. "No, but John's told me a lot about her."
If Ellie thought it was odd for Alex to call him by his name, she said nothing. Walker smoothly changed the subject to whether or not Ellie would still be able to accept the fellowship to USC she had been offered before she and Woodcomb had taken their disastrous Doctors without Borders jobs. Casey gave his partner a tiny nod of thanks. The rest of the evening went smoothly, and when it was over, he asked Alex if she would like to come to his apartment for a while and talk.
She had shaken her head. "I have a makeup final exam tomorrow, and I need to study some," she told him. He had quietly pulled a few strings to get her college to let her take the exam she had missed when he sent her underground. He couldn't bear for her to not graduate on time, to possibly flunk a semester because of him, especially when she was working so hard to earn her degree. Still, he was disappointed to miss a chance to talk to her openly. He walked her to her car, made her promise to call him when she got home, and returned the hug she gave him before she climbed inside and drove away. When her taillights vanished, he walked slowly back to his empty apartment.
To his surprise, he found Bartowski's sister waiting outside his door. For the last several weeks, she'd treated him as though he were a leper. Given what her idiot husband and brother had told her about him, he could understand it even as it had irritated the hell out of him. He'd asked Bartowski if he and Captain Moron had added to their story, but the kid denied it.
"Could we talk?" Ellie asked.
Casey studied her face and then nodded. She led him to a table in a corner of the courtyard where he waited for her to take a seat before he took one opposite her.
"You really don't have a drinking problem, do you?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"So where did you and Mariah go when the two of you said you were going to meetings?"
Because he suspected she was working her way up to whatever it was she really wished to say to him, Casey indulged her, answered. Any other person he would have either stared down or suggested they fuck themselves. "Truthfully?" Ellie nodded. "The first time we went to dinner. After that, we ordered room service at a hotel."
There was a split second when he thought she'd ask why, but a faint blush stole up her skin as she realized what the answer was. Her mouth made a silent O. She blinked and found her courage. "I didn't know what to think."
He waited to see if there was more, but when she sagged, defeated, he threw her a line. "It's okay, Ellie. Your husband needed to make sure you didn't figure it all out. I wish he and your brother had found a kinder lie, but they didn't."
"I might not have believed it, John, but Mariah had a lot of bruises over the months leading up to that, and then there were her absences." She blushed again.
"I've never physically hurt her, Ellie," he said gently. "I wasn't the reason she was gone, either. She had things to tie up with her old job, and there was her safety—and later Victoria's—to consider."
Ellie chewed her lip a moment. "She's really a spy, too?"
He stifled the instinctive snort at her change of subject. "Retired—or she will be again as soon as the paperwork is done." His government had to take care of things on their end before Riah could come home, and she'd made it plain that until they did, she would remain at ISI.
"So they let spies get married," Ellie observed.
He knew she was thinking about her brother and Walker. "Not without a lot of obstacles," he told her. When she met his eyes, he explained fully. Casey suspected Walker and Chuck were headed in that direction, but Walker was going to have to be dragged kicking and screaming. She loved the kid, about that Casey had no doubts, but she had been a spy too long to ever trust emotion, especially after that jackass Larkin.
That wasn't something he could explain to the hopelessly romantic Ellie, though. In her world, people who loved one another got married. Despite her dysfunctional family, the loss of her mother and the multiple losses of her father, she still believed that people who loved one another got married and stayed that way. She determinedly held reality at arms' length when it came to love and marriage.
"I called Mariah," she admitted softly. "I told her what I should have told you once I learned the truth.
Casey cocked his head, waited.
"I'm very sorry, John," she finally said. "I'll admit you seemed a little strange from the beginning, but you were at least a grown up, unlike most of Chuck's friends." She sighed, pushed her bangs back and met his eyes. "I believed what Chuck and Devon told me because I wanted to, because if I didn't, then something was wrong between me and Devon and between me and Chuck, but I knew all along that the story they told me couldn't be true—I just refused to admit it."
Having someone apologize for believing him a bastard was a novel experience for Casey, and it had been a very long time since he'd experienced any real novelty. "It's alright, Ellie," he heard himself say. "I can't say I liked what you thought, but the subterfuge was necessary." He remembered then how pissed off Riah had been when she learned what the other woman thought. "Riah wanted to kill your little brother for telling you that."
Ellie cringed, and Casey took pity on her.
"Don't worry," he assured her. "No matter how pissed off she was—and she was seriously pissed off—she wouldn't have done it." He knew Ellie had made Chuck promise to quit working for the CIA, but he felt it necessary to plant a few seeds. "Your brother is a unique asset, Ellie. Thanks to your father's work, Chuck is able to do things no one else could." He thought about Riah for a moment, but he wasn't about to tell Ellie her brother wasn't really unique. "He's been invaluable to our government, and it's a shame we have to lose his services."
"I can't lose anyone else," Ellie said in a firm, soft voice, and Casey was simply glad it didn't hold any hint of accusation. That was one of the things he liked about Ellie. No matter what was thrown at her, she simply put her head down and did what needed doing. He suspected it was that trait that made her an excellent doctor. The drawback to that approach was that it gave her tunnel vision, but Casey could hardly blame her for that.
"I understand, Ellie," he assured her.
Ellie rolled her lips between her teeth and studied him. "You didn't know about Alex, did you?"
Startled, Casey didn't hesitate to agree. Her brother was good at the intuitive leap, so he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that Ellie was as well. Her sympathetic gaze had him spilling the entire story to her even as his brain reminded him that civilians weren't allowed to know the things he told her. After what Ellie had done to save them and after the ways in which they had all deceived her, he figured she deserved the truth.
"She's a nice girl," Ellie told him, though Casey knew he had nothing to do with making Alex the young woman she was. "What does Mariah think about her?"
"They haven't met," he admitted, "but she thought I should get to know her."
Ellie nodded, and then she said, "Thanks, John."
He nearly asked for what.
"Thank you for watching out for Chuck and for Devon."
She stood then, and Casey stood as well. He almost wished he hadn't when she rounded the table and hugged him. After a moment, he returned it, probably even more awkwardly than he'd hugged Alex earlier. "It was my duty."
Ellie smiled and kissed his cheek. "I'm still grateful," she assured him. She frowned at him. "And I'm sorry about that," she told him, pointed at his bruised cheekbone.
"You didn't break anything," he observed gruffly.
Inside and alone once more, he reached down a glass and the scotch bottle. He splashed a little whisky in the glass and returned the bottle to the cabinet. He had some work to do before he could turn in, but he felt the silence of the apartment push in on him. As he headed upstairs, he pulled his phone out and called Riah.
She sounded harried when she answered, so he asked what was wrong, instantly on alert when he heard excited, angry voices in the background. He could tell something was going on, and given the lateness of the hour in Ottawa, it couldn't be good. "Dad's overreacting," she said.
"To what?" he demanded. He dropped into his desk chair and logged on to the computer. He popped open a message from V. H.
"Someone fired a gun as I left work tonight," she groused. Casey read a message to that effect, only her father added considerably more detail in his message and stated that Riah had been the apparent target. He had also attached a security camera video and a still of the man identified as the shooter to the message he sent Casey. Casey immediately began running the shooter's face through the databases.
"Where are you?" he demanded.
"In Miscellaneous Affairs with Monroe, Travis, Vincennes, Dad, and Greenspan," she sighed.
Casey shuddered. He didn't know Travis or Vincennes, but, like V. H., he had no love for Monroe, a hatchet of a female operative. Greenspan was more irritating than Grimes, if that were actually possible. Casey briefly wondered if there was something about short men whose surnames began with G. He also wondered why Adderly hadn't forcibly retired the man. Rather than ask the questions he really wanted to, he asked, "Why Miscellaneous Affairs?"
"No windows," she snorted.
"Where's Victoria?" he asked.
"With Isobel," she ground out. "I don't suppose they've made any progress with letting me come home to you?"
Casey suspected that was about to go on hold if someone was shooting at her. There was no way in hell her father would let her travel if she was wearing a target, nor would his boss allow her home if it might threaten Bartowski—whether the kid was on or off the government payroll. "Have you checked with Izzie to make sure they're okay?" If Riah was a target, it was possible that Victoria was, too.
"First call I made," she said. "I was about to call you."
He grunted. The computer pinged it had completed its search. "Put your dad on the phone."
"I love you, too," she sniped, but she did as he told her since the next voice he heard was V. H.'s.
"Shooter's suspected Ring," Casey said, skipping the preliminaries. "Name's Lee Nevins." He scrolled, scanned the file. "Says here he's CSIS."
"Must be nice to have the good toys," V. H. bit out.
He ignored that to say, "She's my wife, and I expect you to take care of her."
If her father was annoyed by the turnaround in their usual conversations about Riah's safety, he didn't say so. Casey watched the security footage as V. H. ran through what they knew. The video's vantage point was across the street and of a quality common to security cameras in private businesses. Riah had been walking with two ISI operatives—Travis and Vincennes, he presumed—when the shot was fired. One of them shoved her to the sidewalk, and he noticed she went down hard. He also noticed the glass shattered out from the window, indicating the shot came from inside the building. One of the idiots with her tried to drag her inside, but she fought him, finally got him to understand what had happened. It was about then that the presumed shooter exited the building, probably because he recognized that only Riah had realized where the shot originated.
"Was she hurt?" Casey demanded, and he realized that should have been his first question. He would hope Riah never found out that once more years of doing the job had conditioned him to act as an agent first and a husband second.
"Cuts and scrapes from the glass and the sidewalk," V. H. said. The other man hesitated, and Casey got the feeling he wasn't telling him everything. He was about to demand he tell him the rest, when he saw it on the video. Nevins turned, pointed his weapon at Riah, who was then on her feet, and pulled the trigger.
"I assume a doctor saw her," he said tautly.
"Barely a flesh wound," V. H. admitted. "She's giving me this look that says if I don't let her speak for herself as opposed to talking about her as if she isn't here, she will shoot me."
Casey nearly laughed at that, but it wasn't funny at all. He wondered if Beckman would let him go to Ottawa, and he started writing the request as V. H. handed the phone back to Riah. "It would only be fair," his wife groused when she put the phone to her ear. He did laugh then.
"They get Nevins?"
The ongoing argument in the background got a little louder. "That his name?" she asked softly. He confirmed it and told her what he'd told her father about the man. "Are you alright?" she asked.
He hadn't told her about the tumultuous last few days, hadn't really had the time or opportunity to do so. "Yeah," he said, and then decided to tell her part of it, "but it didn't look like I would be." He ran through the highlights, Sullivan's attempt to take him, taking Alex out of the Pie Shack, her escape, his arrest, getting rescued, and getting Daniel Shaw. He left a few things out—nearly getting killed, being certain he was about to be killed, and the death of Stephen Bartowski. He figured he'd tell her the rest in person. "Everyone is alright?" she asked, and he heard the concern, knew she'd probably figured out he'd given her the expurgated version.
"Everyone's okay," he agreed. "Well, almost everyone. Listen," he began, but she cut him off.
"Dad's going to let me go home," she said. "I know it's late, but can I call you when I get there?"
He agreed and let her hang up. He immediately texted a threat to her father that she had better arrive home safely.
Casey finished his request to visit his wife in Ottawa and sent it to Beckman. He then wrote a preliminary report about what had happened in Ottawa that evening and attached the photo and video footage and sent it to Beckman as well. He followed that with an expense report; a requisition to replace some equipment they had expended, some that had been confiscated by Ring operatives, and some that had been destroyed when the Buy More was; and a query about the status of Operation Moron (though he didn't refer to it that way in the communiqué) now that the Buy More was gone and Castle had sustained some serious damage to the portion under the store.
His phone rang again about an hour and a half after Riah had hung up. He looked to see who it was and said hello again to his wife. It was late, even later where she was, but he was glad she called. "Before you ask, Isobel is staying with me, there's one operative on the main doors to the building, another outside the elevator, and one more outside my door. Dad tried to convince them to put plywood over my windows."
He could tell that pissed her off. She was claustrophobic, so it would make her climb the walls if her father got his way. "Tell me about the wound," he said.
"Like Dad said," she huffed, "barely a flesh wound." He growled, frustrated by what he considered a non-answer. "Through and through," she sighed. "He got the fleshy part of my left side."
"I'm pretty fond of your fleshy parts," he said softly, "and I don't appreciate someone deciding to puncture them."
She snorted; then she laughed. He was glad someone could. "It was less puncture and more furrow." After a moment during which he considered making a crack about plowing and furrows, she dropped her voice to a sultry tone. "Perhaps you should come inspect it, Dr. Casey."
He grinned and decided to hell with Beckman's orders not to use his government-issued phone for personal matters. It was a pain in the ass to have two phones at all times, so he had basically ignored the rules. "Working on it," he assured her. "Bed rest would be in order—lots and lots of bed rest."
"That's no fun," she said, and he imagined the pout he could hear in her voice. He pictured her dressed as she'd been in the photograph she'd sent him.
Jesus, if Beckman didn't let him go to Riah, he was going to have to get himself suspended so he could not only check on her personally but could also talk her into putting on whatever that was she'd been wearing and re-enacting what he'd convinced her to do during the phone call that had preceded the message with that picture.
"I would need to very closely supervise you during your enforced bed rest," he assured her.
Riah's Mmm of agreement had him wishing he hadn't started this. Sleep was already going to be hard to come by as it was, and that throaty sound of hers had him thinking about what they could do be doing if they were in the same city, in the same apartment, and in the same bed. "Knowing you as I do," she said, "rest won't factor into the equation much."
Because he needed the distraction from his sudden spike of desire for his absent wife, he asked about Victoria, listened as she talked about their daughter, and wished he hadn't seized on the change of topic after all. Victoria was growing up without him, and that depressed him. He'd already missed one daughter's milestones, and when Riah mentioned Victoria was apparently teething, he realized he was missing those of his other daughter as well. He wanted them home where they belonged, home where he wouldn't miss any more than he already had in the few months they had been separated. She then echoed his thought: "John, I want to come home."
"I'm working on it," he said. Beckman and Riah's father would make the call, but he figured V. H. was about to lock her down.
"How's your face?" she asked. He didn't answer, tried to figure out what she was talking about. "Ellie told me she clocked you with a cast-iron skillet."
He snorted, amused, though he hadn't been at the time. "When did you talk to Ellie?"
"This morning—most recently," she said. "Ellie's called me every week or so since I've been gone." When she paused, he waited to hear what she might add. Riah sighed. "She's upset she doubted you now that she knows, and I think she's a little embarrassed she didn't trust what she knew of you."
"I guess she told you what's been going on," he said, and he wondered how much damage control he might have to do.
"Not much," she said. "She told me about her father, but mostly she needed to talk about Chuck." She paused. "She mentioned Alex was coming for dinner tonight."
When Riah's voice went that flat, it usually meant she was hurt he hadn't told her something. "I took your advice, got to know her a little" he confessed, "and I may have to kill Grimes as a result."
"Oh?" There was a wealth of amusement behind that single syllable, and he remembered the night he had taken her to dinner after the Banff disaster when they had talked about the many ways she had considered killing Morgan Grimes.
"If you can remember any really good scenarios, I'm listening," he told her, and he was gratified when she laughed. "When we were taking down the Elders, Alex's phone number dropped out of his pocket."
"Ah," she said, and he was glad to hear she was still amused.
"I finally had to tell her who I was," he admitted.
"How did that go?"
"Not well," he confessed, and he proceeded to tell her. He wasn't sure whether or not to be upset when she laughed at his description of how Alex beat him up when she tried to get away. In hindsight, he admitted a certain pride in her skills, and he was impressed and a little concerned his daughter was so willing to take on someone so much bigger than she. He went on and explained how Alex had come to be invited to dinner that night.
"How's her mother taking Alexander Coburn's apparent resurrection?"
Casey knew he didn't imagine the slightly frosty tone. He bit back a grin, knew Riah would never admit jealousy. "As far as I know, she still thinks he's dead." He filled her in on what he'd learned about Kathleen.
"Sooner or later she'll find out, John." Riah sighed. "Sooner or later she's going to want to know where her daughter disappears to, and sooner or later, Alex is going to say something about John Casey that will need to be explained. She shouldn't have to lie to her mother, John."
He knew that, had known it all along, even as he had pretended he could just play customer at the Pie Shack and get to know his daughter a bit, satisfy his curiosity.
Riah changed topic, then. "I'm tired, John," she said. "It's been a long day, and I have to get up in a few hours."
"You're not going to work," he ordered.
"Yes, I am," she said firmly. "I won't sit here and go stir crazy all day. Besides, I'm in the middle of something that needs to get finished."
"I think your father may have something to say about that," he warned.
Riah snorted. "My father sent me the assignment, and he won't trust it to anyone else."
Intrigued, he wanted to ask, but he didn't. She wouldn't tell him, especially not over a phone call that might be intercepted by either agency.
"If it helps," she said, "my building has a parking garage beneath. I suspect Dad will send a car for me, and I'll never set foot outside either this building or ISI. I'm willing to bet my office is being moved to Miscellaneous Affairs as we speak, and I'll have two or more operatives in lockstep with me until they catch this Nevins."
He thought Riah might be naïve if she believed those were the only precautions V. H. would take. He said nothing, though, gruffly told her he loved her, and when she returned the sentiment, hung up.
The phone alert that sounded when Beckman's text came through woke him at five the next morning, and her message was explicit: Be available at 5:30 a.m. and don't invite Walker or Bartowski. She was prompt as always, and she started immediately. "The CIA is acquiring the Buy More," she said. "It will be rebuilt, as will Castle beneath. We will use it as a CIA/NSA joint substation." Casey nodded. "While that happens, Colonel, you are going on vacation." He was about to protest, but she added, "A courier will arrive within the hour with your boarding pass for a flight to Ottawa. He will also carry documents for your wife. V. H. Adderly and I have agreed that it might be safer, at this point, to lift the deportation order and allow her to return home."
It wasn't in Casey's nature to show his feelings, but he had to fight the urge to this time.
"Colonel, in the interest of full disclosure, someone made an overture to your wife. Her father prevented the contact, but he and I are both concerned that the operative was dispatched from our embassy in Ottawa. I doubt the man they sent knew what he was carrying, but it appears someone was trying to lure your wife home."
Casey frowned, realized this explained Flores. If they wanted her home, then his money was on Shaw and his operation. If she had been here, they could have thoroughly cleaned the Intersect operation with them all in Los Angeles. After the Coburn affair, as Casey had come to think of it, it was probably clear to Shaw and the Elders that Riah would be unlikely to give up until she had answers—the right answers at that. "What was he carrying?"
Beckman grimaced. "We're not certain, but from the chatter we've picked up, we believe it was a false passport and evidence you betrayed her."
He ground his teeth, and his fist clenched. "What kind of evidence?"
The General read the menace and told him, "We don't know since we don't have the package. I'm certain it was fabricated." She folded her hands and leaned forward. "The latest incident involving your wife has both of us concerned, Colonel. We know we haven't identified all the Ring agents, let alone rounded them up, but we do believe someone wants your wife or daughter who plans to use them to get to you." Beckman unfolded her hands, clearly uncomfortable. "Casey, you committed treason once for your former fiancée. The concern is that what's left of the Ring believes you might do worse for your wife or daughter. We're hoping letting Mrs. Casey return to you either flushes them out or defuses the plan."
Casey thought of Alex, and then he thought of Kathleen. "General," he began, but she had obviously had similar thoughts.
"Your daughter Alex and her mother will be placed under surveillance. In Kathleen McHugh's case, that is all we can do without having to make explanations we believe it best not to make. Alex may be a different matter, especially since you have established contact and a relationship with the young woman."
He heard a note of censure there, but in the last couple of months, he had begun to realize Beckman's crusty exterior hid a soft heart, and he suspected that the fact that she was not taking the opportunity to explain the error of his ways to him meant she wasn't as disapproving as she appeared. "I will leave any additional protection you believe Alex needs to your discretion."
Casey nodded. He would give thought to that, wondered if she could be persuaded to stay in his apartment in Riah's old room for a while.
"One last thing, Colonel," Beckman said. "You're to tell no one, Bartowski and Walker included, that you will be bringing your family home with you. Adderly is rightly concerned that someone may try an ambush."
When he nodded, she launched into a discussion of the Buy More project and its operational procedures. Casey was amused that the government actually thought it could operate a store corporate headquarters had planned to close before its destruction, but he listened to her brief sketch of the CIA's plan. She sighed, conceded there were a number of kinks and concerns to work out, but she told him to cooperate as much as possible. From there they talked about a few security blips in southern California and considered whether continued observation or actual intervention was the best course of action.
After the briefing finished, it occurred to Casey that there had been yet another shift in his relationship with the General. She had apparently decided to fully trust him again, and that felt good.
The courier arrived not long after he finished his conversation with Beckman. Casey examined the seemingly non-descript cardboard mailer carefully. When he was satisfied it had not been tampered with, he opened it, set his boarding pass aside after noting the flight number and airline, then picked up the sealed envelope he suspected held Riah's American passport from the feel of it. He examined it as well, noted Beckman's signature across the seal and the other security measures. Satisfied it had not been tampered with, either, he opened it, found the passport and a letter of apology. Amused, he noted it was not a passport with a tracer chip in it. He wondered what Beckman had had to do to get one of those.
He packed. His flight was in just over three hours, so after he zipped his bag, he set about doing the things he needed to, including walking across the courtyard to let Walker know he was leaving for a few days. Beckman had said he couldn't tell his partner Riah and Victoria were coming home, but she hadn't said he couldn't tell her he was going to visit them. Bartowski came in the living room as he made his explanations, and he knew he shouldn't have been surprised the other man was happy for him. He was pretty happy for himself, though he could have wished for other circumstances—like not having had her sent away in the first place.
Walker must have picked up on something, though. "What are you not telling me?"
She would persist he knew, so he told part of the truth. "She was shot yesterday on her way home from work." He held up a hand to stop the flood of concern about to spout from Bartowski. "It was just a flesh wound, but since we're standing down temporarily, I asked Beckman to let me go see her."
He had to tell them about Nevins, and it occurred to him it wouldn't be a bad idea if the two of them kept an eye out for him. He told Walker he would e-mail the still photograph V. H. had sent him and the file he had retrieved on the man to her before he left. Then he told them he'd appreciate it if they could keep an eye on Alex while he was gone.
Bartowski looked suspiciously blank when he said, "No problem," and Casey cocked a brow as his hand fisted.
"What?" he barked.
Chuck shrugged, Casey amped up a glare, and the younger man cracked. "I think she's going to be hanging out here some."
Casey read that as she was hanging out with Grimes. "Tell the bearded troll that if he touches her, he will have a painful, prolonged death."
It was gratifying to see Bartowski flinch even as Casey realized he'd just channeled V. H. Adderly. He thought the kid had lost his fear of him.
He returned to his apartment long enough to e-mail Nevins's photograph and file to Walker and to grab his bag. He called Alex on his way to LAX, explained that he was going out of town for a few days. When she asked, he told her he couldn't tell her where he was going. "Job, right," she said, and he felt guilty.
"Vacation, actually," he said.
"Seriously?" and she sounded happy. "I bet you're going to see your wife."
Flabbergasted, he wondered for a second who had told her. "How'd the final go?" he asked.
"I just finished about half an hour ago," she told him. "I think I did alright—and don't think I didn't notice you ignored what I said."
He ignored it once more. "Listen, Alex, be careful, okay? If you see anything suspicious, if anything happens that doesn't seem right, call Walker or Bartowski, okay?"
"Not Morgan?" she asked with a slight laugh, and it dawned on him she was teasing him.
"Definitely not Grimes," he said. "Call a professional."
"Can I call you?"
That feeling he got when he held Victoria shot through him, and like a kill shot, it hit him dead center of his chest. "Of course," he said, "but I'll just turn around and call Walker, so you might as well save me the effort."
He imagined the smile on Alex's face when she laughed and then said, "No, I meant can I call you just because I want to and not because I'm in mortal peril."
This hadn't been what he intended when he started visiting the Pie Shack, but he knew now that hadn't been true: he had hoped this would happen. "You can call me whenever you want for whatever reason you want," he finally said. "When I get back, you and I need to talk, though."
"About Mom," she said.
For a moment, he wondered if she read minds. "I talked to Riah last night," he admitted, "and she pointed out that sooner or later you're going to have to do some explaining about me. We need to talk about that."
"So you are going to see your wife," she said. "When do I get to meet her?"
He sighed. Why were the women in his life so tenacious? "When she gets to come home," he promised, "but right now I have to go."
Casey caught a lucky break at the airport. He had dealt with the TSA inspector on duty before, so he was cleared through the checkpoint quickly. He bought a copy of The Economist and a copy of The National Review to read on the plane before he took a seat to wait for his flight. He'd learned a few hard lessons about travelling armed with copies of Guns and Ammo or Soldier of Fortune, the latter of which he considered comic reading.
When he was settled into his seat, he considered how he might best supervise his wife's recovery.