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Tracy felt her brows bunch. “Which means exactly what?”
“That everything’s running smoothly—as long as the bull lets him lead.”
“Okay.” The way she drew it out clearly captured John’s attention too. As he peered harder at her, she continued to Sol, “That’s a good thing, right? As long as we know where the bull is?”
Sol released another chuckle—this time, actually stirring warmth into the sound. “Damn. You are missed around here, Mrs. Rhodes.”
“Oh yeah?” Her smiled spread into her tone. “Unbelievably, I miss you guys a little too.”
“Hmm.” The reaction shot out with his normal Sol efficiency, but was clipped with more nuance. For a second, it seemed as if her confession really was a surprise. “Just a little?” he added, making Tracy aim a bewildered glance at the phone. Who was this guy, and what had he done with the friend who always helped her make fun of Capitol Hill antics like it was high school with more money? Right now, Sol sounded like the epitome of achy-breaky-needy bestie. It was annoying—another truth she didn’t mind meshing into her tone.
“I’m sure as hell not hiding out across the country for my health, bucko.” Though thanks to the man still so focused on her from across the room, she’d been rocking the best sleep of her life the last few nights. Falling asleep with the big dragon wrapped around her was better than a couple of glasses of wine and fifty pages of committee reports. “So let’s make a deal, my friend. Push on your friends at the FBI and CIA to find out who the hell masterminded the blackest day in world history, and I’ll come back to DC to help you all throw their asses into the deepest, blackest, piss-filled prison cells we can find.”
The phone turned into a ball of static from the rough exhalation from across the miles. The sound ended in Sol’s low, appreciative whistle. “Well, shoot my pretty horsie in the foot,” he added to it.
“Excuse me?” she retorted.
“The sweet widow from Texas really does have a few fireballs in her arsenal.”
She snorted. “Fireballs are just the start of my secret powers, Sol. But like every good Texas dame, I wait for the perfect moment to whip them out.”
He released another chuckle, though once more it walked the weird wilderness between humor and gloom. Still, she could hear the echoes of his typical hurried footsteps, even over the line. Maybe this was Sol’s usual tone, and she’d simply always been too busy to analyze it in full.
Finally he countered, “Well then, get a stack of those flamin’ pups bagged up and ready to go.”
Her face must have reflected the jump of her interest. John straightened, dropping his hands to the ends of the chair’s armrests as she prompted, “Why? What’s up?”
“You mean who’s going down?”
She plunked her hip to the side of the desk. “Are you kidding?”
“Kidding is for the playground.” It was another of their shared one-liners—only for the first time, Sol invoked it without a single lilt of laughter.
She twisted, glancing at John. “Can I put you on speaker, Sol?”
There was a half-second’s pause. “With who?”
“Franzen.” She let her tone add the Duh, dude to it.
“He’s with you? Even now?”
She let her own telling moment go by. Not for Sol, but for her. For just a few seconds, she let the question stream through her with a different meaning.
He’swith you, Tracy?
Taking care of you?
Giving you everything you need…as a guardian, a person…a lover?
“Yeah.” For just one more moment, she pretended all those questions were still on the line too. She gazed at John as if they were. Sure as hell reached for him like it. Her fingers looked so tiny against the back of his hand. “Yeah,” she repeated softly. “He’s with me.”
She refused to feel guilty for it, either. For once, it felt good to say it like that. To have someone to say it about.
For once, it felt good not to be completely alone.
“Well.” Sol didn’t waste a second getting it out. “He’s taking the detail seriously. That’s…good.” Though he sounded more like the drama geek praising the quarterback for freakishly landing the lead in the school play.
Tracy pushed aside the metaphor, telling her imagination to calm the hell down, while locating the speaker button on the unfamiliar device in her hand. “Okay,” she said, back to business once she did, “you’re on the air, Wrightman.”
