Torn (Deep 8, #5)

28. Roger

TWENTY-EIGHT

Roger

The relationship between Harlow and Dean would make any man jealous, yet it seems more on par with the closeness of a brother and sister rather than lovers.

As we drive, the possibility of Nick anticipating Dean’s move to see his family gnaws at me. Nick's the head of ASIO for a reason, and we might be walking right into his trap, ending up at the headquarters for a long, unpleasant visit.

The farther we drive away from the city, the more scenic Australia becomes. Rolling hills flank the road, and the houses are larger, evidence of more affluence. The view stirs a pang of homesickness for Texas. I haven’t seen my mom in a while, but I try to call once a week unless I’m on a mission. My ex-girlfriends called me a mama’s boy, but I had to look out for her after she left my dad. Untangling herself from a narcissist was hard and protecting her might prevent her from getting hurt again.

"Why don’t we do a drive-by of the house and check things out?" I suggest, knowing Dean’s emotions might cloud his judgment.

"Good idea," Dean replies, his face lights up like a man seeing land for the first time after months at sea. "It’s the gray house on the hill."

We approach the large white gates closed at the bottom of the driveway. A pink and white van sits near the house with the name of a cleaning company printed on it.

"That’s my mum’s cleaning service. Low, did you pick up on any tails?" Dean’s head turns toward the house, straining to see a glimpse of someone.

Low? What’s with the nickname?

Harlow checks the rearview mirror. "You haven’t called me Low in years. It must be because we’re back at home. No tails. Let’s head back."

Dean fidgets in the back seat. We pull up to the gate and he gives Harlow the code to punch in. "I’m glad they didn’t change it, but I would have climbed over the gate."

Harlow rolls up behind the cleaning van, and before she stops, Dean jumps out of the car, jogging toward the front door. We follow him in as my eyes scan the area, waiting for the big black SUVs.

Dean stands in the open living room, shouting for his mom when a cleaning lady comes around the corner and screams. "Isabel, it’s me, Dean. Where’s my mum?"

The older woman, with gray hair and tortoise-shell glasses, raises her arms to hug him. "Way to scare an old lady to death. I’m so glad to see you," she says with a heavy accent.

He gives her a bear hug with a grin spread across his face. "You’re not old, and I’m so happy to see you. Do you know where my mum is?"

She stands back, her hands clasped in front of her with worry etched on her face. "She left a couple of days ago. She didn’t tell me where she was going, but I saw her plane ticket for New Zealand."

Dean frowns. "She doesn’t like New Zealand because?—"

Isabel finishes his sentence. "She’s scared of earthquakes. I know. She mumbled something about meeting the girls and it would be a safe place according to your father."

Dean grabs his hair. "Fuck. This has my dad written all over it. Low, give me your phone."

"I don’t think that’s a good idea." She keeps her hands in her pockets.

Dean sits on the couch with his head in his hands. "I was so close to seeing my family, and he managed to rip it away."

Harlow sits next to him, rubbing his back. "Do you have any idea what’s going on with your dad? Why did he send your family away?"

"I don’t know. He has a million tricks up his sleeves. He must know something we don’t. Maybe he was trying to put me in protective custody for a reason."

I sit back in the chintz-decorated chair, trying to piece everything together, but nothing fits. We’re two steps closer to finding my father, but Dean has lost track of his family, and we don’t know why.

"Make the call," I demand.

Dean and Harlow turn in my direction. "Why? What’s the endgame?" Dean asks.

"Let your dad know where you are and what you know. See what he has to say. Flush him out. His answers might give us clues about what’s going on and what to do next." I need answers.

Dean holds out his hand, and Harlow looks at me with questions in her eyes before giving him the phone. He presses some buttons and asks Peter to put the call through so it’s untraceable. Peter asks him something and Dean replies, "Yeah, I’m sure."

He waits. "Delta, Whiskey, Romeo, eighty-eight." He rubs his forehead. Harlow giggles, earning her a hard stare from Dean.

She mouths the words, "It’s still funny."

I’m confused and get waved off by her.

Dean’s mouth draws a taut line as he presses the speakerphone button. "Dean." His dad is cool but seems a bit unnerved.

"Hi, Daddy. I’m at the house to see Mum, only she’s not here because you sent her to the last place she would ever want to go—New Zealand. What the fuck?"

"You’re so predictable, Son. Who are you with besides Harlow? She would never disobey a direct order. They killed two of my best men." His voice remains calm.

"What did you always say? All’s fair in love and war. This is war. I was handcuffed in the back seat of the car. I was flagged at the airport, but we had intel I was cleared. What is going on?" Dean’s voice trembles with restrained anger.

"You had bad intel. This is bigger than you and whoever you’re with. Get to the airport and get out of Australia. For once in your life, do what I’m telling you to do." Nick’s voice wavers.

"I did what you told me to do, and what did it get me? Nothing. I haven’t seen Mum and my sisters in years. If you’re involved with this, I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger." Dean’s face reddens with fury.

"Oh, Son, I don’t think you have it in you. By the way, what is this?" Nick’s reply is dismissive.

Harlow twirls her finger in the air, signaling Dean to wrap it up. Dean pushes the end button and hurls the phone across the room. "Fuck him!"

Harlow picks up the pieces of our evidence of being here and crushes the SIM card.

"We need to get the hell out of here. You were on a little too long. We’ve got to ditch the car. Are we going on foot?" I suggest, ready to lead us out of Nick’s snare.

"There’s a 1960 Land Cruiser FJ25 in the garage. It’s perfect because my dad loves it, and I can beat the shit out of it. There’s no GPS to track us," Dean fumes.

He grabs the keys from a drawer, and we head toward the garage. The vehicle is a thing of beauty—red with a white canvas top. We pile in, and Dean tears out of the garage and down the driveway.

"Our first stop is a paint shop. They’ll look for this one, and we stick out like a sore thumb." He yells over the roar of the engine.

My phone dings with a message from Pippa. "Looks like our next stop will be my dad’s office. She thinks we might be able to find something there. There’s no word from Deep 8 on where they want us to get the final piece."

A second message comes through. "The rest of the team have abandoned the safe house. We need a place to stay and strategize. Dean, do you have any ideas?"

"It’s out of the way, but that’s where we need to be." He rattles off the address, and I send it to Pippa to send the team.

We’re better as a cohesive unit, ready to spread out from one location. This feels like the moment before a tsunami hits when the water rushes away from the coastline. Something big is coming, and I’m not sure we’ll be able to handle it, but we will all die trying.