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I’m already chancing enough with my shenanigans. What the hell is it about Sage that I’m turning into a hormone-laden teen? Kissing her every chance I get. It’s not appropriate. Horrible timing. And what is the point? We live on different coasts. I don’t do difficult relationships. And Sage deserves better.
She’s inside, probably wondering what I’m doing. But I need the air. It’s too tense in that house.
My phone vibrates, and I pull it out of my back pocket.
“Hey,” I say in greeting.
Max responds with, “All good on the western front?”
The people next door are outside on their deck. The smell of hamburgers on a grill wafts through the breeze. A mother and son head out onto the sand to toss a frisbee.
“Slow.” Keeping Sage safe is important, but I itch to be doing something. “You got any news?”
“We’ve got eyes on Jimmy.”
“So that’s confirmation he’s safe and sound?”
“Affirmative. Kairi’s team cleared him. No suspicious banking activity. He’s referenced in the police report on Sage’s house.”
“Sage said he’s her best friend.”
“Right. So, right now, he has a bunch of guys over. They had dinner. Now they’re hanging out, drinking. Once his guests leave, the plan is for our guys to go up, ask him to step outside, and talk to him. Convince him to let them search his place for listening devices.”
“If Sage talks to him, they won’t need to do any convincing.”
“Good point. I’ll relay that to them.”
“It’s late on the East Coast. He’s still got people over?”
“And they’ve been drinking. They may hold off approaching him until morning.”
“Copy that.” The statement is habit more than anything else. I push off the back wall with my back foot, knowing I should head inside.
“What’s going on there?”
“We ate dinner. Sage is getting a shower. I’ll let her know Jimmy’s safe.” If I let her call him, he’d probably clear the house pronto, but if there are listening devices, we don’t yet know where they are. If anyone is watching the house, they might get suspicious.
Sage enters the den in loose sweatpants and another tight short sleeve tee that accentuates her chest and skims her belly button. This t-shirt has the phrase Keep Asheville Weird scrawled across it. A wet, black braid curves around her neck, ending just above the peak of her breast.
“Talk later.” I end the call, slide the phone into my back pocket, and open the door.
Her almond-shaped eyes avoid mine as her socked feet slide across the wooden floor.
“Jimmy’s safe. We have confirmation. He’s with a bunch of friends right now but we’re going to talk to him later.”
“He’s pretty social,” she says with a fond smile.
“I’m going to lock us in.” She stands in the middle of the room, arms crossed below her breasts, like she doesn’t know what to do. I busy myself checking locks and securing the alarm.
When there’s nothing left to lock, I take a seat on one end of the sofa. She curls up on the opposite end, tucking a blanket around herself. Her freshly scrubbed skin looks dewy beneath the lamp’s glow. A scattering of freckles spreads from her cheeks across the bridge of her nose.
Our conversation at dinner had been fine. Slightly stilted. She’d had questions about Arrow. How we’re funded. When I reminded her that Jack owns a gun and weapons manufacturer and told her how much money a billionaire earns in interest each year, she accepted they could afford to take her case and do all this pro bono.
The television is off. The phone digs into my ass, and I shift and pull it out. It’s one issued to me by Arrow, with government-level security measures. I’m scrolling through our team Slack channel, searching for team updates. She’s got a book spread out on her lap, but she hasn’t turned a page in a while. It’s a book she found on the bookshelf in the den. I think it’s Tom Clancy.
“Not your favorite book?” I prompt. Talk to me. Don’t read.
She flattens her hand over the pages and gives me a sheepish smile. “Just a lot going on in my…” She holds her hand up and gestures to her head.
