Secrets Collide (Bluegrass Brothers)

sister’s notes. I won’t be able to develop a plan until I know what we’re working with.”
    “And you think we’ll have those resources in Kentucky? We should be staying here and working with the LAPD.”
    “Oh, don’t you worry about resources. You haven’t met my brothers yet. Or for that matter, the rest of the town,” Cy grinned.
     

CHAPTER SIX
     
    Cy leaned back in the light tan leather seat as the plane shot down the runway. Gemma sat next to him with Fred curled up in her lap. As soon as the plane leveled off, Cy turned to her and placed his hand on hers.
    “You okay?” he asked, pulling Gemma back to reality. She had been thinking of Christmas when she and Gia were just seven years old. They had been embroiled in a debate over Santa Claus and Gia was determined to prove he existed. They fell asleep at eleven-thirty, but when they woke up the next morning, the cookies had been eaten and a note left by Santa telling them how sisters were the most treasured gift any girl could ever get.
    “Yes. Sorry. What?” Gemma blinked her eyes and looked out the window into the dark night sky before looking back at Cy’s handsome face. He may be edgy and slightly dangerous looking, especially with his five-o’clock shadow, but the way his warm hand relaxed her made her think he couldn’t be all that bad. He did save her life after all—twice.
    “If you wouldn’t mind, and since you’re not too happy with my lack of plans, can we take a look at what was so important that someone is trying to kill you?” Cy looked down at her purse and Gemma similarly looked down at it. Inside was the key to everything, but a force was holding her back.
    Gemma finally took a deep breath and handed Fred over to Cy. It was time to see what Gia had gotten into. She opened the large bag and pulled out the three notebooks. “What’s that?” Cy asked and pointed at the almost-Greek-looking symbol on the bottom of the cover.
    “It means one. We had a secret language.” Gemma’s eyes misted as she remembered sitting at the dinner table having their secret conversations about school, boys, and how horrible their mom’s chicken was—all while their parents looked on in confusion. It was theirs and theirs alone. She couldn’t remember when it started; they had just always had it from the time they could talk. Gemma opened the notebook and swallowed hard. The notebook was filled with their language . . . every page and every line.
    “What the hell is all that?” Cy asked as he looked at the notebook.
    “It’s all in our secret language,” Gemma said as she shook her head.
    “Can you read it?”
    “Some of it. It’s been over ten years since we talked it, even more since we wrote it. Since high school, I think. It’s going to take me a while to go through this and try to remember all the symbols for the alphabet and for certain words.” Gemma felt crushed. From what she could see, it meant nothing. She remembered some words for her name and some other random words, but not nearly enough to translate it.
    “Don’t worry,” Cy said as he placed his hand on her knee and gave it a slight squeeze. “You’ll remember. I don’t know if I’ll be able to help, but I’ll do whatever it is you need me to do.”
    Gemma looked up from the notebook and over where Fred had curled up in the crook of Cy’s arm and fallen asleep. She felt the pressure of needing to remember the secret language pressing down on her. She needed to think about something else. That’s when she remembered the phone call from Cy’s brother. “Wait. Didn’t your brother say you were in danger at home?”
    “I was. That’s what I’m trying to figure out—how my cover was blown.” Now it was Cy’s turn to look distant as Gemma could see him thinking.
    “Well, it’s not as if you’re hiding who you are.” Gemma watched as he slowly turned to look at her. “Well, you’re not. You gave me your name right away. It would be easy for someone to make a couple of calls to find out where you were born.”
    “I didn’t use my real name.”
    “Cy isn’t your name?” Gemma asked. Who was he then?
    “Cy is my name. But my last name isn’t Davidson. It’s Davies. That simple little switch was easy to remember and enough to hide my identity. The CIA provided me with such a deep background and documents that it would be impossible to trace me back to my real identity. Instead of being from Keeneston, I was from Louisville. There were