staring down the sun [9]
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A/N: I'm in my feels this week for a variety of reasons, so I'm posting this earlier than originally planned. I really needed to get this story out of my head, so to anyone who might be reading this, I hope you're enjoying it so far.
. . .
but the shadows still remain
. . .
Elena met Paul Smecker while undercover as a Russian escort in New York City. Following an FBI raid on the Russian mob’s ecstasy ring, she had been detained with the other girls working that night. She kept her cover going, speaking nothing but fluent Russian as the federal agents handcuffed her. The accent continued to fall from her mouth as Smecker tried to interrogate her. But then he asked, in Russian, “How did you get that bruise on your cheek?”
She didn’t say anything, just looked down at her hands, her wrists turning red from the metal rubbing her skin raw. “A little bird tells me it’s snowing in Moscow,” Smecker added, and Elena shot her eyes up at him. It was code, a signal that he knew about her, who she really was. “A sparrow,” he whispered, the Russian translation sounding like vorobey. Sparrow—her code name.
The gold earrings arrived three years after his funeral, with the Russian translation of sparrow typed on a notecard, along with a date and time to be at the Church of Saint Christopher in Boston. There, Paul fucking Smecker appeared from the confessional booth to reveal he had faked his death and why. She cursed at him, much like she heard Eunice Bloom did later, but she quickly crossed herself and recited a Hail Mary. Smecker smiled, “That’s why I chose you, my Catholic sparrow.” She still called him a motherfucker after that.
“Fucking Smecker!” Connor and Murphy simultaneously cheer as they enter the office.
Bloom approaches Elena as the men hug each other, her southern accent low and measured with a curious smile. “You told them, didn’t you?” Elena bites her lip, and Bloom beams with laughter. “Oh, of course you did.”
“Boys!” Smecker boasts like a proud uncle. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you two.”
The twins glance at each other and then back at Smecker, with Murphy sounding so incredibly relieved. “Aye, us too.”
Smecker shakes his head, placing his hands on his hips like always. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that whole fake out. I know you’ve had enough of the real thing lately.”
Elena studies the boys’ reactions respectively, hoping she is right in assessing their mental well-being. As Murphy nods in agreement, Connor swallows hard but still manages to mirror his brother’s nonverbal response. And then, without a word, they both sandwich Smecker in a long, tender hug.
“Well, I can see where I stand in this little reunion,” Bloom teases, nudging Elena with her elbow. The boys look over at the two women, smiling as they both move to embrace Bloom with a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Y’all sure know how to make a woman feel appreciated,” she smiles, winking at Elena before turning her attention back to Connor and Murphy. “As much as I would love to catch up, we all have work to do. I’ll let Fucking Smecker explain everything, but first, I wanted to ensure you get these.” She hands them each a burner cell phone. “These will be how we’ll communicate with you now that payphones are not as common as they used to be.”
“Not to mention we can send encrypted text messages,” Smecker adds, winking at Elena.
“Sometimes telling you to find a payphone,” Elena retorts, half laughing at how she’s had to communicate with Smecker for the past couple of months.
Bloom laughs and waves both hands. “With that, I’ll leave you to it. Glad to have you boys back.”
Connor and Murphy thank Bloom as she turns on her Christian Louboutins to leave. She whispers in Elena’s ear, “Come find me if you need to talk later.” While the sentiment is sweet, the statement leaves Elena confused and anxious about what’s coming next.
As Bloom shuts the door, Smecker motions for Connor and Murphy to have a seat. He leans against the front of his desk, crossing one foot over the other as he looks through a file folder. “Your first target is a drug trafficking ring in New York City. Feds haven’t been able to get someone inside, and they haven’t been able to get enough evidence for a warrant, so this is perfect for you. Get in, take out the thugs, and we’ll tip off local law enforcement on the contraband left behind.”
The boys turn to each other and smile, almost giddy. “Sounds perfect,” Murphy exclaims. Connor nods and hums his agreement, briefly looking over Murphy’s shoulder to see Elena standing against the wall.
Smecker looks incredibly pleased with himself. “Good. And Jensen will go with you.”
“What?” The adrenaline makes her feel lightheaded, and her face flushes with pure frustration. The boys echo the question as they fast stand up and join Elena in her standoff with Paul fucking Smecker. The three keep their eyes locked on him as they argue why she shouldn’t go.
“No, no, it’s gotta be just me and Connor,” Murphy pleads.
“No, that’s not what I signed up for,” Elena protests.
“No, it’s too dangerous,” Connor attests.
All three of their voices overlap and rise in volume and anxious energy until they reach the boiling point of annoyance, forcing Smecker to yell. “Will you all just shut the hell up?” Elena, Connor, and Murphy stop, their jaws still hanging open like little kids getting in trouble. “This is not a negotiation. Jensen is going. Think of her as your…transition specialist.”
Elena glares at him. “You mean, ‘babysitter.’” The word falls out of her mouth, not realizing it, until Connor and Murphy turn their disapproving stares onto her. She rubs the bridge of her nose, wondering how she can explain what she really meant. Instead, she asks Smecker for his pack of cigarettes, then tosses it to Murphy. “Connor, Murphy…I need to speak with Smecker in private for a moment.”
Murphy looks at Connor, and the slight head nods, furrowed brows, and shifting eyes all add up to the twins speaking their silent language. Elena’s seen it before, specifically during that first therapy session at Hoag. It didn’t phase her then, and she’s not about to let it phase her now. And as irritated as she is by the whole situation, she’s really only trying to look out for them. She lowers her voice, almost begging the brothers to listen to her. “Please, go.”
The twins share another look between them, one of acceptance as Murphy lightly taps Connor’s arm with the back of his hand, motioning for them to leave as requested. While Murphy heads for the stairs, Connor hesitates, giving Elena a soft nod of reassurance despite his face looking so drained and unsure of anything.
Elena takes a deep breath as the boys leave, shutting the door behind them.
“What happened to your hand?” Smecker asks, his voice low and inquisitive.
Elena rubs the bandage as she sits in one of the chairs across from his desk. The truth feels like a loaded answer. “I can’t do this, Paul.” She sinks deeper into the leather, feeling small and embarrassingly hopeless. “I’m only going to put them in danger.”
Smecker walks around his desk and pulls out a bottle of Jameson, pouring two glasses with his trademark smirk. “First of all, you’re not putting these boys in any more danger than they already are. They can take care of themselves.”
Elena rolls her eyes, remembering every time Connor and Murphy declared that sentiment during therapy. She lets out an exasperated breath. “The FBI brought me in for questioning though. They think I might be an accomplice.”
Smecker hands her the whiskey, tapping her glass before he takes a sip of his own. “I’m not convinced that the FBI is handling this ‘by the book,’” he adds, gesturing quotes with his fingers for added emphasis. “Who was it?”
She glares into her drink. “Fucking Walsh.”
“He’s always been a by-the-book type of law enforcement officer.”
“He’s an asshole,” she says with whiskey coating her tongue.
“That, young lady, is an undisputed fact.”
Elena chews on her thumb, thinking about a million different what-if scenarios. “You think he made me? Maybe my cover’s blown?”
“I know you don’t like hearing me say this, but I don’t know. I doubt it. Seems to me that Walsh might be after something else. If he genuinely thought you had something to do with the boys’ prison escape, he would have kept you in custody.” Smecker sips his whiskey, thinking long and hard about their situation. “That is, if he’s still ‘by-the-book.’”
He sets the glass on his desk, running his finger over the edge like he’s searching for a warm tone to play. “That’s why I need you out there with them. Because if there’s something more insidious going on, I need you to find it.”
She looks at Smecker, feeling the weight of what he’s asking her. This man who had pulled her out of that Russian club and then helped her seek revenge on the Nikolai fucker that beat her up.
“The boys need you, vorobey.”
She takes a deep breath and throws the rest of the Jameson to the back of her throat. “Fuck.”
. . .
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