Busted Flush

“Kate, maybe you should put that down.” Ana nodded at the knife in her hand. Kate was gripping it, white-knuckled. In her mind’s eye she could almost see the glow, the buildup of power. In a temper, she’d let it fly and not even realize it. Ka-boom and fireworks. Wouldn’t that impress the newbies? But Ana recognized the mood. And Ana was about the only person who could say anything and not piss Kate off.

Carefully, she set the knife on the table and shook the tingle out of her arm.

John shuffled the folders in front of him, a mindless gesture. “Fine. We’ll switch. DB, you’re on the Arabia team. I’ll go to Africa. It’s not a big deal.” He pulled his chair back and sank into it. Catching her gaze, he was trying to tell her something. Maybe: See? I can play nice. But his solution left her feeling a little sick. She hated to think that a squabble like this might damage a mission, any mission.

Mostly, she hated that they were fighting over her. As if her own choice hadn’t had anything to do with which of them she’d ended up.

Seemingly mollified, DB sat, flexing his arms and running a quick riff on his torso.

John was talking again. “You have your assignments. The New Orleans team will leave first thing—”

A commotion sounded from the restaurant’s foyer: heavy footsteps, voices arguing. Just what they needed—more excitement. So much for a nice dinner.

A waiter spoke. “I’m sorry, we’re—”

“We have a warrant.”

Bugsy stared at the entrance and said, “I have a bad feeling—”

Three men and a woman, all wearing suits and an air of government-backed smugness, came through the door. The guy in front, above average in height and notably fit, filled his expensive pale suit well. He had a buzz cut and a face that was hard to describe. Not ugly exactly, but definitely not right. Crooked nose, uneven eyes—broken bones that had knitted a little off, and laugh lines that had developed oddly because of that.

That disconcerting face twisted in a smile that suggested he was enjoying the situation.

“If you’ll all remain seated and quiet we’ll get this over with as quickly and painlessly as possible,” he said in a decisive, cop-in-charge voice.

John didn’t stay seated and quiet. “Billy, what—”

“That’s Director Ray to you, Mr. Fortune. Now please sit down.” That was possibly the shit-eatingest grin Kate had ever seen. John sat.

Director Billy Ray drew a folded pack of papers from the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Mr. Jonathan Tipton-Clarke?” He scanned the group like he was looking for someone, but Ray knew exactly where Bugsy was. His gaze fell on him in a second. “I have here a warrant for your arrest.”

“What?” John demanded. “What for?”

“For disseminating classified information in a public venue and potentially damaging national security,” Ray said.

Bugsy smirked. “I blogged about Texas.”

“Geez, don’t admit anything,” John said. “He’s an affiliate of the United Nations, there are proper channels for this.”

It was a valiant effort, but Ray wasn’t interested in proper channels, obviously. He was probably very interested in parading a handcuffed member of the Committee past the paparazzi downstairs. “Mr. Tipton-Clarke, if you’d stand, please.”

Bugsy did. Ray gestured, and one of the agents produced handcuffs.

“You can’t do this, mate,” Tinker said. Murmurs around the table agreed with him.

“An American citizen engaging in activities damaging to the safety of the American government and people? I certainly can.”

Kate glanced around the table. Eighteen aces and jokers, all—most—with formidable powers. All of whom were tense, glaring at Ray and his goons with unhappy expressions. In one of New York City’s poshest restaurants. This could end badly.

Obligingly, Bugsy turned his back to the agent and put his hands behind him, letting them cuff him without complaint. That meant Kate saw him smile and wink, right before he disintegrated.

Thousands of green wasps buzzed as clothing and handcuffs fell. Ray lunged with what had to be ace-fueled reflexes. All he managed to do was snatch the shirt before it reached the floor.

“Shit!” Ray said, ripping the shirt and tossing it aside. “I hate when that happens!”

The agent who’d been trying to cuff Bugsy yelped and jumped back, reaching inside his jacket for a gun. The other agents did the same.

All around the table, aces and jokers braced for battle.

Kate had hoped her teammates weren’t stupid enough to start something against Ray and his goons. So much for that.

John shouted, “Stand down! Back off!”

The bugs swarmed the four federal agents, clouds of them fogging around their heads. The agents slapped and swatted, hissing as they were stung. Ray swore, snarling as he slapped at himself, crushing wasps when he found them, and scratching at new welts.