“But what will you do?”
“A friend is producing a TV show, CIA, and he’s asked me to be technical advisor.”
Shortly after Bryan’s announcement, Tony made one of his own—he was leaving the NSA and moving to the West Coast as well. “I have no desire to drop dead at my desk,” he informed us. “And besides, someone’s got to keep an eye on the sprout.” He slid an arm around Bryan’s shoulders.
There had been such tension, such distance between them for so many years. All we could do was shake our heads and be thankful they’d worked out whatever it was that had kept them apart.
They were spending Christmas with me, and we would all ring in the New Year with Jefferson and Ludovic, who’d moved to Shadow Brook after Father passed away.
“Thank you for coming with us,” I said as Tony turned into the parking lot of Arlington National Cemetery. Quinton and I would bring Nigel up to date on whatever had gone on in our lives.
“We wouldn’t be anywhere else.”