Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

“I found him.” Cass burst into Irish’s office, her dark eyes alight with determination.

“Who?”

“An officer who was there when I arrived at the CIA as a child. Someone who, for two years, worked on a special project .”

He sat back in his chair, wishing he could pull her onto his lap. The way she’d looked after him four days ago after their raid on the sex trafficker’s place was never far from his mind. “And you think the special project is whatever happened to you?”

“Yes. I do—” Cass paused, and the happiness that’d lit her eyes dulled immediately.

Irish was up and by her side before she could say anything else. “ Alastronia ? ”

“I had another memory,” she whispered. “It was awful. I had a cap on my head, with wires going back to a machine. I was being showed pictures of animals over and over. I had to keep repeating the words in English.”

Irish pulled her tight against his chest and pressed a kiss on top of her head. Controlling the anger swirling inside was difficult but he kept it tamped down.

No way was he going to freak Cass out, not when she was going through another traumatic experience.

From what she’d just told him, it sounded like they were trying to train her brain to think in English and not her native language. Whatever they’d done had worked because not once, in all the time he’d known Cass, had he ever picked up on a hint of a Spanish accent. She hadn’t let Spanish words slip, like his former teammate Frog always had, except for that time when she’d been dreaming. Frog, aka, Andreas was always cussing in Spanish, and when he got angry, he’d switch languages. Although he’d been born in the United States, his mother was Mexican.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” Irish said.

“It’s okay. But something else happened.”

He pulled back a little so that he could look down at her. “What? ”

“It’s like that memory unlocked more things. I remember more of my time with my papa . I know what he traded in is awful and hurts so many innocents, but he was so nice with me. He was always smiling and hugging me in those memories. He loved me,” Cass finished on a whisper.

Once again, Irish cursed the failed operation that had ripped her life apart. Although if things hadn’t gotten fucked up, he wouldn’t be holding her in his arms. He wouldn’t know her, and he couldn’t be angry about that. “I’m sure he loved you. Do you—” Perhaps he shouldn’t ask, but he had to, so he pressed on. “Do you remember your uncle? Has he shown up in any of your memories?”

Cass shook her head. “All I’m remembering are the good times with my papa. There’s no one else with us. It’s always just us two.”

What did that mean?

Was Gomez actually a part of Manuel Ramirez’s organization, or had the drug cartel king kept his brother far away from his business? If he had been in the fold, wouldn’t the transition from Manuel to Gomez have gone a lot smoother and with a lot less bloodshed?

“I’m glad you’re remembering your papa in a good light.” Irish hadn’t missed how she’d reverted to the Spanish word for dad or daddy . It was as if it was natural for her to think of him like that and not father, or other English words.

“I think I would’ve been happy had nothing happened and he hadn’t died.”

No way was Irish touching that. There was no telling what Manuel Ramirez had had in mind for his daughter. “I’m sure you would’ve been.”

They stayed wrapped in each other’s arms for a few more minutes. His body heated at the closeness. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her, but he would push his desires away because there were far more important things to deal with—like the CIA officer she’d first told him about when she’d come into his office.

Irish led her over to the extra-large armchair in his office. Many a night he’d crashed there, unable to go home and face the quiet of his apartment. “Tell me about this CIA employee.”

“From what I’ve found, Roderick Martin was a psychologist working with both the CIA and DEA. Some of his techniques for extracting information from persons of interest are still in play today. I’m sure you used some of them as well.”

“Probably, but I don’t want to know.” Irish didn’t. Torturing people to get information had been a necessary evil in his job, but it didn’t mean he’d enjoyed doing it.

“Fair enough. Anyway, he was involved. The moment I read his name, my gut twisted tight, and I couldn’t breathe. That’s when I had the flashback.”

“Makes sense. I take it he’s still alive?” he asked.

“Yes, and he doesn’t live far from here. Apparently, he retired and lives with his daughter. She married a rich businessman, and he lives in the guest house on her property. From my digging, he’s happy there, and he has a good relationship with this daughter and her family.”

Which meant that Cass didn’t want to upset his happy life but needed to so she could get the answers she wanted.

“You have to go see him. You know that, don’t you?” he asked gently.

“I know, but he’s happy. ”

“And your happiness isn’t as important as his? If what you’re telling me is true, the man did unspeakable things to you. Robbed you of your memories.”

Cass sighed in his arms.

Her compassion amazed him.

Why wasn’t she raging at the unfairness of it all? Why wasn’t she demanding that the man was made to pay for what he’d done to her?

“I know. But it was his job, Irish. If anyone understands how unpleasant it can be when asked to perform terrible acts, it’s you. We both know you were forced to do unsavory tasks as well,” Cass said.

How could he deny any of that? She was right. “I get it. I do. What’s your plan?”

As much has Irish would like to talk her out of meeting or talking with this man, he wasn’t going to be able to sway her. Why should he, when it had been her life that had been thrown into turmoil and ripped apart?

How could he deny her the opportunity to get the answers she sought? If the man would give them to her anyway. All CIA employees had to keep their missions confidential.

“I don’t know. I was hoping you’d help me. It’s not like I can just phone him up and demand he tells me everything he did. He may remember me if I give my name, or he may not. Heck, he could’ve already been notified that I’ve found him.” Cass sighed again.

Irish trailed his fingers up and down her arms, enjoying the way she relaxed farther into his body. His mind turning over the problem. She was right. She couldn’t go up and demand the answers to the questions she had. She’d have to play it right.

No, they would have to play it right.

Being held by Irish was fast becoming one of Cass’s favorite things in the world to do. Whenever his strong arms closed around her, it was as though a safety net surrounded her and no one could get through.

“Should we tell Ox what we’ve found?” she asked after the silence stretched between them.

“It’s up to you. It’s not my story to tell. But it may not hurt to have more heads in the game so we could come up with a solid plan.”

To tell their boss would mean she’d have to move. To get out of Irish’s arms, and that was the last thing she wanted. “I think we should tell him.”

“If that’s the case, then why aren’t you moving?” he asked, amusement clear in his voice.

“Because I like being here…with you.”

Irish nuzzled her neck, and a shiver of desire rippled down her spine.

“I like having you here, too. Maybe we can come up with something ourselves without having to move and tell Ox.”

Cass chuckled. “Maybe we can. And if we do, we can always let him in on our thoughts after we explain everything to him.”

“There is that. You know, I have had one thought.”

She shifted so she could look at him while he spoke. She loved losing herself in his striking blue eyes. Eyes that could turn cold and deadly when facing an adversary and hot and slumberous when he was buried deep inside her.

That thought had her squirming as a rush of wetness dampened her panties. God, this man turned her on without even doing or saying anything. A thought about him was all it took for her body to warm and yearn for his touch.

She shoved hazy desire to the back of her mind and concentrated on what Irish was saying. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” she asked. “I got a little distracted.”

A knowing glint shone in eyes, and one corner of his mouth turned up. “Is that right?” Irish’s hand trailed up and down her back, doing nothing to help her concentration.

Cass really should move away. Get up and lean against his desk. Put distance between them so she could think clearly. She did none of that. She remained where she was. “It is, but I’m listening now so you can continue.”

He leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers in a short, sweet kiss. “Okay. What I said while you were thinking of us together, was that we should try and get the guy here. We can say he’d been recommended to us. That we need him for a particular case, one where we need his knowledge and skill to help us unravel or discover the secrets the person is hiding. With us working with the FBI on various cases, it gives Alliez the credibility that he’d be wanting to confirm before he agrees to come here.”

Cass cocked her head to one side. “It could be a solid plan, but the guy has retired. What makes you think he’ll come and help?”

“Ego. Boredom. Curiosity. Any one of those things. The guy was a career spook. You can’t tell me he wouldn’t be flattered that he’d been contacted,” Irish said.

The more Cass let the idea sit, the more she believed it could work, but the doubts still lingered. Little pinpricks of apprehension that the minute she walked into the room, he’d clam up, and she’d never get the answers she wanted.

If they didn’t try, she’d never know, and apart from marching up to his doorstep and demanding entry, she didn’t have any other workable ideas. “I say we do it. We both know what the possible outcomes will be, and we just have to hope that it works in our favor.”

He grabbed her hands, as if knowing she needed the contact, which she did.

When he touched her, he grounded her.

“Let’s go see Ox. I know he’ll be onboard,” Irish said.