CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT


I've traveled by myself. I've traveled with a lot of people, a lot of
personalities, but as we were hurried through airport security (need to thank
the nifty DEA undercover badges) and onto the runway for private airplanes, I
realized that traveling with Jace and Scott was an experience to itself.


Scott, as he informed me many times, had been with Jace from the beginning.
In fact, Scott had been the one to scout out Oscar. Of course, it had been Jace
who recruited the 'two ton gravedigger', but it was really all Scott's idea.


It all sounded dandy, but I remembered my own little insight when I played
poker against the 'true founding father' of Jace's undercover empire.


I asked Scott when he trained underneath Greenback Buck.


Scott flushed, sat back, and shut up.


Jace lazily lifted his head from his seat at the opposite end of the jet and
grinned when he saw Scott's reaction to my words.


If I was a betting lady—and I normally was—I was willing to bet that Scottie
had himself a checkered past and that Jace knew full-well all about it…which
Scottie knew nothing about.


The tangled lives and lies of undercover agents, cons, and poker players. Or
were they all the same?


The question left me with an uneasy feeling, but I turned to the window and
tried to forget about it.


I failed, but Scott failed at keeping silent.


Turns out: he's a great undercover agent, but he's awful at being the silent
undercover agent.


After he launched into a story about a recon mission in South America, I knew
why Jace picked the seat in the farthest end.


Scott never shut up, not unless his life depended upon it.


I unsnapped my seat belt.


"Where are you going?" Scott asked. "I was going to tell you about the goat.
You have to hear about the goat."


If there was any conversation more fascinating—I was stretched to wonder what
it could be. Nothing was better than the goats, but I said anyway, dryly, "I
have to pee. Excuse me."


It wasn't a request and I scrambled over Scott's knees to breathe a different
air of freedom.


I almost pitied the goat in his story.


We sat in the front of the private jet with a mini-bar that stretched in the
middle section. Then there was another group of seats in the back, both rows of
two seats turned towards each other.


The bathroom was in the back, but a little to the left. It was far enough to
not disturb whoever sat in the back seats, but the bathroom was still in the
back.


After I left, I glanced to where Scott sat.


He had sprawled out over the two sets of seats and then I turned to see that
Jace was waiting for my decision.


Silently, he moved some papers, and I took the seat beside him.


I still had the window seat and Jace lifted his legs to stretch on the seats
before us. I felt protected, but I wondered if Jace was doing that on
purpose.


He knew my buttons and protection was one of them.


"He's nervous." Jace murmured.


I saw that he had been looking through the Master, but he moved the book to
the side now.


"What do you mean?"


My hand itched for the book. There were answers and I wanted to unlock
them.


"Scott. He's nervous. He talks a lot when he's nervous…well…if he can talk,
then he talks a lot." Jace frowned. "He can control it when he needs to."


"He played for Greenback Buck." I said faintly. Greenback Buck was one of the
Masters. I knew him and he'd taught me a few items, but ultimately—he worked for
Marcus so I stayed away.


Greenback drew people to him. He walked into a room, his cowboy hat perched
awkwardly on top of his head, his beard haphazard and uncombed, and people
didn't care about the blinding Hawaiian shirts he wore when they migrated to
him. It was always by instinct.


I remembered that feeling. I felt the pull and knew when Greenback took the
empty seat at my poker table. I knew that I wanted him to sit there and I wanted
to play against him.


He won, but I studied him and I won a few months later.


I'd like to think that I was still winning, but I didn't know anymore.


"Yeah, he did, but that was before." Jace murmured.


"Before you?"


"Before Jace. BJ." Jace grinned.


"BJ."


I hated to admit it, but it was true.


Before Jace.


It was a new epidemic.


"You can be pretty cocky, you know." I murmured and burrowed deeper into the
plush burgundy seat.


Jace nudged me with his shoulder, "And it makes you hot. Admit it."


"How can you do that?" I wondered outloud. "How can you…"


I fell silent.


"How can I what?" Jace prompted, quietly.


"How many agents do you have at your disposal?" I asked to make my point.


"None." Jace answered quickly.


I pushed away from the seat and turned to face him squarely. "How many would
drop what they're doing to come and help you? Don't tell me 'none' because I
know that's a lie. So how many?"


He waited, studied me, and then said softly, "What does it matter?"


"How many? Just answer the question."


"I don't like answering questions like those." Jace spoke clearly and
succinctly. He reached for my hand, but I withdrew it and said again, "How many?
Give me a ballpark number."


"No." Jace straightened in his seat. He withdrew his lounging leg from the
parallel seat and sat up to face off with me.


"I'm guessing it's over twenty, at least. Twenty plus agents who would leave
their current assignments and help you. You have them—you have that power. And
we're here, in a private jet that you secured us, and you were flirting with me
just now as we fly to a place where we might die. How can you do that?"


"Maya." Jace said silkily. "If you're trying to tell me that you're amazed by
me and in love with me—I already know that."


I hit him. I didn't punch him. I didn't stab him. I just hit his forehead
with the palm of my hand—not a Maya thing to do, but I did it.


I didn't know who was more perplexed, Jace or myself, but there we
were—stupefied by my actions.


And then I laughed.


Jace measured my laugh, he wanted to make sure it was okay to laugh beside
me, and then he tipped his head back and chuckled.


Yet another moment where I could only stand in awe of this man.


He spearheaded an attack on an entire empire and here he was—laughing, but
making sure that it was okay to laugh.


He was human. Like myself.


And I loved him.


My heart didn't stop at that realization. It didn't thump harder. It just was
because I admitted to myself when I refused to dwell on throughout this entire
ordeal.


….I loved Jace Lanser…


And heaven help me, but I needed him to love me back.


I didn't blurt out my confession, but what I did do was stop laughing. In
fact, I choked on my laughter and Jace was instantly concerned, "What?" He
asked.


That's what he asked when I thought the words to myself—I loved him. I loved
someone.


Spellbinding sunscapes. Oceanic blue-depths. And startling stars in the night
sky. That's what love was to me because I only watched them, I never
participated. I was never among any of those marvel creations.


"What?" Jace questioned, concerned.


I shook my head. "Nothing. I'm just not up to hearing about the 'goat.'"


Jace grinned and shook his head, "It's a good story. You should hear it. The
goat tried to eat the pocket where he was holding the drugs that they needed to
meet the drug supplier with. Ever seen a goat high?"


Goats were…goats. They baaa—ed. And they produced milk.


Jace chuckled to himself, "You should hear the story. Way that Scott tells
it, it's like the goat tried to rape him." He rolled his eyes, "It was a goat.
It was funny, but Scott wasn't the hero that he always makes it sound."


A hero.


No. To some, I think that Scott would've been, but I didn't believe in
heroes.


"Those don't exist." I said softly and settled back in the seat.


Jace had lifted the Master to his lap, but he paused and glanced up, "What
are you talking about?"


"Heroes." I said dryly. "They don't exist."


"Then I feel bad for your existence." Jace replied. "They do exist, but
they're not inspired by the good of just being good."


"What are you talking about?"


"Heroes save people, but they might not be saving people to save them. They
might be saving those people because it's a job and if it's not done, then
they're a failure. I think that's what heroes are, not what everyone else thinks
about."


"So they're selfish?"


"Yeah." Jace said swiftly. He dropped his pen on the book and regarded me.
"They're selfish because they're doing what they know they can do and no one
else can do. That's not a hero. That's just…someone doing what they're supposed
to do. I think that's what heroes are."


"I don't care." I said swiftly. Passionately.


Jace was startled.


He was never startled—not really, but he was startled now.


I continued, just as passionately, "I don't care what heroes are. They save
people. I don't care what their motivation are and if you save my nephew—you're
one of them, so deal with it."


Children were pure, right, and learning. They were the morsel to be cherished
and handled with care. Children were…a second chance for humanity.


My nephew was my blood and he was my second chance for a better world.


I didn't give a damn what the motivation of saving him was—I just wanted him
saved.


Jace quieted.


The pilot chimed over the announcement that we needed to buckle our seatbelts
because we'd start our landing in ten minutes.


Jace sighed.


I didn't. I moved forward, cupped his cheek, and kissed him.


Jace responded quickly, cupped his hand behind the back of my head, held me
station, and we explored each other as the plane landed.


Scott and the goat would have to wait.


I didn't count the time, but Jace rested his forehead against mine later on
and breathed out.


Scott coughed loudly and in no way discreetly.


Jace swore, but he swore good-naturedly.


The plane had landed and Scott was waiting by the entryway with his bag in
hand. He smiled widely, "Time to go, boss."


Jace stood up, grabbed his bag from the overhead compartment, but waited
until I had all the books in my arms before he remarked, "When have I heard
those words before?"


"Too short. Not too long."


That was all Scott said and he finished it with another chuckle that might've
been described as evil.


Jace shook his head and bypassed Scott to lead the way out of the jet. As he
walked past, Jace shot out a hand and punched him.


Scott fell back, but laughed again, "Too short. Not too long."


"Inside joke?" I asked, tongue in cheek.


Scott grinned as I followed behind Jace. "Yeah. It's about the goat
story."


We descended down some narrow stairs that had been wheeled to our jet. Two
cars were parked on the private airstrip that I saw we landed upon. They were
the same black Bravados that Scott had driven us to the airport, but the first
driver's door opened and Oscar came out to greet us, grinning.


Scott let out a yelp and ran to meet the older man. As Oscar laughed and held
out a hand, Scott jumped up and wrapped his legs around Oscar's waist.


Oscar laughed, caught him, and cursed as he quickly shoved him off just as
quick.


Jace watched in amusement.


So did I. I also watched perplexed.


"We got close during our training." Jace explained in my ear.


Scott laughed and Oscar tried to punch him, but Scott dodged out of the way
and then spread his arms wide, "Ready to take down the world, baby!"


Oscar's deep baritone guffawed as he shook his head, "Still the same Crazy
Scottie."


Jace waited until they had finished their jokes and punches to greet each
other. He moved forward and the slight show of camaraderie was done. The leader
had stepped out and they readied themselves for his instructions.


Jace asked, "You have a place for us?"


Oscar nodded and waved to me, "Maya."


"Hi, Oscar." I replied. "How's Abagail?"


"She's good. She's got lots of food for the two of you. I think she was hurt
when you guys didn't eat the last bunch."


Jace interrupted, "Oscar."


"I've got a place. It's a shithole, but it'll house most of the group."


"Group?" Scott asked, alert. "What group?"


"Jake and Adam are here." Oscar told him, but shot his eyes to Jace.


"You never told me they were coming." Scott said to Jace.


Jace opened the backdoor of the second vehicle and stowed our bags inside.
"And that's a surprise?"


"Somethings never change, do they?" Scott griped, but he didn't sound
offended. In fact, he looked and sounded like a little boy lost in a candy
store.


I had a hard time imagining my brother mixing with this group.


"Stirley called me." Oscar spoke up.


The little boy in Scott died abruptly at those words.


Jace straightened away from the opened Bravado door and waited.


Oscar continued, "He's got her back. He's coming to help out."


Scott exclaimed, "Man." It was all he said. Something else was curling around
the group, but no one said what it was. I felt it and it had something to do
with Stirley's return.


There was a sense of wariness about Stirley coming back. I waited until Jace
and I got into the second Bravado and Scott rode shotgun with Oscar driving the
first one.


As the last seatbelt was clipped into place and Oscar led us out of the
airstrip gates, I asked, "I take it that Stirley coming back isn't a good
thing?"


Jace narrowed his eyes, but said almost casually, "I didn't drop the case to
help Stirley find her. He wanted my help, but I only gave him some resources.
That's all…there might be some hurt feelings."


"And hurt feelings means holding a grudge, doesn't it?"


Jace nodded.


"Kind of like Krein."


"No, not like Krein. I didn't lie to Stirley, not once, but I didn't tell him
everything. I lied to your brother for six years. I love these guys, they're
family in some way, but they weren't with me when I took over the Panthers, when
I found out I had a son, when my dad beat me bloody. Your brother was there for
those things….it's a little different."


"Who do you think Stirley's coming back to help?"


"Us." The answer was immediate. "But he might have something to say
afterwards." Jace clipped out the rest.


I smiled. "Remember when we were driving with Taryn and Tray? That seems
simple now."


"Yeah." Jace laughed. He relaxed a bit. Just a bit. "It's all got
history."


"Yeah…"


"I'm going to have to go and see Taryn. I need to apologize to her for how I
left."


I looked over, startled at the admission, but I saw the regret in his eyes
when he met my gaze. His fingers tightened over the steering wheel, displaying
his knuckles prominently.


"I'm not apologizing to her." I remarked.


"Taryn wouldn't respect you if you did." Jace pointed out.


I knew that. So did he.


"What's the plan now?" I asked and settled back in my seat. Who knows how
long we'd be driving. I did know that Jace needed to sleep. And I needed to make
sure he slept.


"Oscar will take us to the 'shithole' and we'll plan everything out."


"And sleep."


Jace hid a quick smile, but inclined his head, "And sleep. We definitely have
to do that."


"And eat."


"I ate." Jace glanced at me.


"I didn't."


Right. The books. That's what I'd been doing, studying those while Jace ran
over New York City and made all sorts of arrangements.


"I meant…what's going to happen with the encampment?"


"We're going to work up a plan to infiltrate it and you're going to study
those books. I need as much information out of those that you can get."


"I'll study them, but it's going to take me much longer to decode them than
you think."


"Ela manna." Jace mused. "What do you suppose that means?"


"Where was Galverson's originally from before he moved into Pedlam?" I asked,
frowning.


"Uh…South America."


"What country?"


"Brazil. Why?"


"You said that the books were coded before Marcus got them?"


"Yeah."


"So…Portuguese is the common language in Brazil. 'Ela' is the Portuguese word
for 'she' or 'her'."


"What about 'manna?'"


"Manna is flat bread that was eaten for Passover."


"And the Passover was…?"


I grinned, "Something the Great Jace Lanser doesn't know? Shocked."


Jace rolled his eyes, but he smirked at the same time. "What does it
mean?"


"I looked it up on your laptop, you know—when I had six hours to sit
alone…not eating…just studying hard…"


"Go on." Jace commanded with a faint grin tugging at his lips.


I checked my grin and explained, "The Passover was a feast where they ate
flat bread. It's also where blood from a lamb was marked on the Hebrew
households. The angel of death skipped over those households and saved their
firstborn son. All the other firstborn sons were killed. It's supposed to
commemorate their 'liberation' from slavery…and I'm directly quoting my source
here. The other firstborn sons were sacrificed for their freedom."


"That's…gruesome." Jace mused.


"It's also what Jesus ate the night before he was arrested and
persecuted."


"And that's not a coincidence. Jesus was sacrificed, right?"


"So says theology."


"Manna is the bread of sacrifice—that's the way I see it. Let's not eat that
before we go into the encampment."


I laughed. "Let's not."


"I feel like I need to go to church."


"Fifty thousand Hail Mary. What's the plural of that?" I remarked. "And
that's just for your sins in this year."


"We should go somewhere where they preach forgiveness and mercy." Jace
remarked and sadly, I don't think he was joking.


"Maybe…" I turned and looked out the window. The scenery flew by and I saw
the trees once again.


I almost missed them—almost.


Oscar led us further and further into the soulful forest.


Just when I thought the path was clear…I found myself overshadowed by what
was larger than us.