Page 22 of Smoke Screen
“This morning,” Zeke said. “I put another call in to him when we got back. Voice mail.”
This time, it was Phin’s turn to lean in and grab his brothers’ attention. “We should tell him, right?”
“I vote yes,” Cruz said. “No freaking drama. Please.”
Ha. Cruz. The guy had the body of a gladiator and, when it came to family, the mind of a yogi. He couldn’t stomach infighting.
Zeke peered at Rohan. “What’s your vote?”
“It’s not worth a battle. Once we get a signed agreement, we let him know.”
“If we’re straight with him,” Phin added, “we can help each other. They’ve probably gone through the security footage. Maybe he can give us something we can move on.”
The true suckfest would be that if BARS recovered the jewels, the feds would, no doubt, take credit.
“It chaps my ass that we could recover this stuff, and the feds will get the glory.”
“Man,” Cruz said, “you got to quit worrying about shit you can’t control.”
Zeke sighed. “Literally just had this conversation with him.”
Not one to let an opportunity slip by, Phin raised both his hands toward each brother and flipped them off.
“Hello, my boys.”
Phin dropped his hands and spun to where Mom entered. She wore her typical uniform of Levi’s, loafers, and a cotton button-down shirt. Her work uniform, she called it. She’d tucked her wavy brown hair behind her ears, the silver streaks illuminated by the overhead lights.
She walked toward them and held up a piece of paper.
“I have something to show you.”
“Good news?” Zeke asked.
“Ithink so.”
She passed the document to Zeke, who perused it before handing it back to her. “You should tell them.”
A wide smile took over her face—was that a twinkle in her eyes?—and a sudden warmth lit inside Phin. Was there anything better than making their mom happy?
“Boys,” she held the document up for them to see, “this is a contract signed by Gerald Thompson. BARS has officially been hired by a former President of the United States. Your father would be amazed and I …” Her voice took on a gravelly tone, like pebbles clogging her throat.
Hang on. Was their hard-ass career military mother choked up?
She stopped, cleared her throat while Phin imagined his body plummeting through the floor. She made eye contact with each of them, then nodded. “I could not be more proud of you. Thank you.”
Silence hung in the room. A sort of shocked awe that held Phin, and apparently his brothers, speechless. That alone might be a miracle.
Sure, they’d known the contract was coming, but seeing it? Seeing their mother’s reaction to it? Whole other level.
As much as Phin hated giving up his dream of a political career and possibly impacting a life with proper healthcare and the myriad of other things that made being an American a privilege, this moment with his mother?
Not trading it.
Ever.
Sacrificing his own dreams might damned well be worth it.
“So,” Phin said, smacking his hands together. “I guess we better get hold of Ash before he hears we took this job.”
