Kimberly Van Meter - The Agent's Surrender

“A bar?” Holden had exclaimed as Miko drove them to the location for the first time. “You bought a bar?”

“Yeah, sounded like a good idea at the time,” Miko had said, grinning. “What could be better than being the proprietor of good times? I figure I might as well make a little money at the place where I most often frequent on my downtime, right?”

“Owning a bar is more than just free beer, Miko,” Holden had said, frowning. “It’s a huge responsibility.”

“Stop being such a wet blanket. Things are good. I’m no longer punching a clock and I’ve landed a pretty sweet side gig, so I can afford to lose money on the bar for years before I start to sweat. And if it gets to be too much of a pain in the ass, I’ll just unload it. So stop worrying.”

Holden had glanced around the bar, grudgingly noting the whiskey-soaked charm of the place, and he’d realized his brother could make a killing if managed properly. But Miko was all about the good time, not the profit margin. He had thought then that even if Miko put minimal effort into the bar, it’d still turn a profit, which had been reassuring. Good location, clean but not too pristine, with a lived-in, comfortable feel. Like the bar in that show Cheers. Where everyone knew your name. He had looked to Miko, who had still been awaiting his opinion, and said with a smile, “Tell me about this side gig.” Miko had just shaken his head and hooked his arm around Holden’s shoulders.

“First, we celebrate. Life is good, my brother. Life is good.”

As Miko’s voice faded from Holden’s memory, his eyes stung. “You okay?” Jane asked, peering at him. “You look as if you’re going to cry.”

“I’m fine,” he said roughly, heading toward the staircase, then taking the steps two at a time. He detoured to the left and opened the door to Miko’s private office with Jane on his heels. To her credit, she didn’t pester him to share his feelings, and he was grateful. His grief over the death of his twin was something he kept close to his heart and covered with plenty of layers—he didn’t have the luxury of breaking down. The hardwood floor creaked beneath their feet and echoed in the nearly empty room. Everything of value had been stripped from the walls and sold at auction. Only Miko’s desk remained for staging purposes. A small, high window let in cold, milky light, but the gloom in the room seemed to seep into Holden’s bones. A sense of danger clung to the shadows, and he pushed the disquieting sensation away so he could focus.

It seemed he wasn’t the only one keying in on the weirdness in the room. “The mind plays tricks on you when you know someone died violently in the space you’re in,” Jane said, rubbing at her arms and shivering inside her thick jacket. “But even still, this place is giving me the creeps. Can we get on with it before hypothermia hits?” She glanced around with irritation. “I don’t even know what we’re looking for.”

“Anything.”

“Well, thank you for that completely unhelpful direction.” She gestured to the still room. “Nothing’s here. Everything’s been cleaned out, either to sell or to put into evidence.”

She wasn’t saying anything that Holden couldn’t see for himself, but his gut told him that something was here. Show me, Miko. If you’re in this room, watching me stumble around in the dark...give me something to go on....

He crossed to the desk and began opening the drawers, the old wood scraping against the rollers with a screech. A few pens rolled out along with a puff of dust and an assortment of discarded paper clips. He picked up one of the pens and shone the light on the lettering. Tessara Pharm. Not surprising, since it had been discovered Penelope Granger, aka Penny Winslow, was the one pulling the strings. He pocketed the pen and closed the drawer.

Jane caught the movement and moved toward him. “What’s that and why are you putting it in your pocket?”

“Calm down. It’s a pen.”

“Why are you taking it?”

“Because I am.”

She let it go, which was good. He didn’t know why he had scooped up the pen, either. “Where’s it from?” she asked.

“Tessara Pharm.”

“Ugh. That place leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Big pharm companies are usually up to no good, in my opinion.”

“Yeah, I hear you,” he agreed, moving to the next drawer and opening it. Empty. He slid his hand along the edge of the bottom, looking for anything that his brother might’ve hidden, but nothing aside from wood met his fingers. Dropping to his knees, he flashed the light beneath the desk, checking for evidence of a false bottom, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He rose with sharp disappointment, feeling as if he were missing what was right in front of him.

He thought Jane sensed his disappointment, though for a long moment, she didn’t say anything. “I understand—” she began, and he immediately cut her off.

“You don’t understand, and don’t patronize me with your attempt,” he said brusquely, moving away from the desk and flashing the light into the corners of the room.

“I’m just trying to help,” she muttered.

“Yeah, well, help by looking. There’s something here. I can feel it.”

“Great—another gut instinct. Does your gut give a clue as to where exactly we should be looking, because all I see is a sad empty room that’s as cold as a storage locker.”

Frustration built under his breastbone. “Hell, I don’t know,” he said, walking slowly over the floorboards to listen for minute changes. He walked into the small supply closet and flashed the light around. Nothing but empty shelves and dust. He stamped the floor, listening for a sound change. He explained when he caught Jane watching him with a question in her gaze. “When Miko and I were kids, we would hide things in the floorboards of our old house. We were always trying to hide alcohol or important stuff from our old man, who was a raging alcoholic. When he was sober, he was an okay dad, but when he drank...let’s just say he made living hard.” He didn’t know if Miko had held on to the habit, but it was worth a shot.

“How often did your dad drink?” she asked.

“Only on the days that ended in Y. ”

“Sorry.” She seemed to mean it. “So what’d you hide?”

“Anything we didn’t want him to sell or break. Sometimes we hid money, too. Otherwise, our dad would drink it all away and we’d have nothing left for food.”

“That’s rough.”

He shrugged. “Everyone’s got a sob story, right?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“How about yours? I can only go from what I know firsthand, but your dad seems like a piece of work. Couldn’t have been easy growing up with The Major.”

“Oh, is this sharing time?” She lifted her brow. When he hiked his shoulder, she shook her head, not ready to reciprocate. “Let’s just focus on the task at hand, all right?”

“I’m curious.... How happy was your dad when you broke things off with me? He probably threw a ticker-tape parade.”

“My dad doesn’t like showy extravagances,” she answered, flashing her light along the ceiling, looking anywhere but at Holden. “And he’d never do anything that gave anyone the impression you mattered in the overall scheme of things.”

“What was his problem? As far as I know, I never pissed in his cornflakes.”

“Are we doing this now?” she asked, annoyed. “It’s in the past and we’re here to do a job. Story hour will have to wait.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged and continued to slowly pan the floor. Why was he looking for answers to a mystery that didn’t need solving? Who cares if some self-important asshole didn’t think he was good enough for his daughter? “But here’s the thing, you dropped me like a bad habit all because Daddy said so. Frankly, Fallon, I thought you had bigger balls than that.”