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“I get that. I’ve been on missions where I couldn’t have settled my mind to read a book if you paid me. What kinds of things are you thinking about?”
She looks straight ahead at the dark television screen. Her shoulders are tense, raised. So much so that if she were lifting weights, I’d encourage her to lower her shoulders out of fear she’d strain her neck muscles.
“You’re not scared, are you? We really are safe here. I know it might not be a television-style safe house, out in the middle of nowhere, but we’re safe. We blend in. And they built this house like Fort Knox.” Yeah, I’m exaggerating a notch, but we’re far safer than we would be back in my apartment.
“I’m not scared.” She dips her head, and her lips scrunch together. It’s like she’s puckering them, ready for a kiss. I’d like to give her that kiss, but I will not. Nope. I’m going to be a Boy Scout. “I’m just thinking about…back home.”
“I told you, he’s fine. I’m sure by tomorrow we’ll get a call that they’ve spoken to him, cleared his house.”
She nods. But her eyes are sad.
I nudge her leg with my foot. The blanket wrapped around her is thick, but the nudge wins me her gaze. “What’s going on in that head?”
“I’m sure a lot of my friends are worried. I haven’t turned my phone on in over a week. That worries me. I don’t want anyone to needlessly worry about me.” I raise an eyebrow. “But I’m not about to get on my phone and text anyone. I mean…unless…if I get on your phone, can I do a post? Just letting everyone know I’m okay?”
“Hmm. I’ll ask the team if there’s a way we can access it through a VPN. Or something untraceable. But it’s a definite no until we get clearance. These days there are computer brainiacs who can trace anything.”
“Do you deal with that a lot?”
“Some. More so now. In the Navy, there’s a group that deals with it. I wasn’t in that group.”
“Tell me about you. I mean, I know you can’t tell me about your government missions. That’s top secret. Sam made that abundantly clear.” Her eyes widen in emphasis, but then she reaches out and softly touches my leg. “But tell me about you.”
“Pretty sure you know everything.” She’s looking at me like I’m out of my mind, but there’s not a lot to tell, and she’s known me longer than almost anyone. Until high school, my dad was in the military, and I wasn’t great about keeping in touch with people after a move. Social would’ve helped, but my mom distrusted it, and I didn’t care enough to push for access.
“Tell me about your most recent girlfriend.” Jessica flashes in my head. Telling Sage about a woman I casually dated appeals about as much as a plant-based hamburger patty. “Or, I know.” Her voice rises an octave or two. “Tell me about the most important girlfriend. Or your first love.”
“Love?” It’s hard to keep a straight face. I’ve never thought of anyone as my first love. First sex, sure. Melanie Prescott, junior year of high school. “I’m not really a lovey-dovey kind of guy.”
She giggles. It’s cute. I’m teasing her, but I’m also more or less playing it straight.
“Seriously.” Her full lips glisten. She’s got a smile that’s about as girl-next-door as you can get, but in the homecoming queen-next-door kind of way. She’s the girl who wins the crown not just because of her looks, but because she’s nice to everyone, every clique, even all the girls.
“Seriously,” I repeat, raising my brows for emphasis. She tilts her head, the smile slips, and she feigns annoyance. “You really want to know?”
“Yes. I want to know more about Knox Andrew Williams.”
She says my full name like it means something. Like I’m special. She could care less that I’ve left the teams. “Okay.” I shift on the sofa so my back is against the arm rest facing her and stretch my legs out until my feet fit snuggly against her thigh. She lifts the blanket and covers my feet, cocooning them in warmth. “You may not like what you learn.”
“I doubt that. You’re Sam’s best friend.” The present tense reference to her brother jabs at me, but there’s no point in correcting her. I’ve already tried. “Sam didn’t date much, did he?”
I can’t recall Sam dating anyone regularly. I wouldn’t call us man whores, but relationships weren’t on our radar. A couple of guys on our team were married, but most of us were single. Two guys got divorced. Our jobs didn’t really cater to serious relationships or long-term commitments.
“No.”
Her lips curve up, and I register happiness, but her gaze is on her fingers, like she’s somewhere else. “He always told me if he met someone, I’d be the first to know.” She lifts trusting brown eyes to me and shrugs. “I’d always ask, and he’d always repeat that line back to me.”
“Doesn’t sound like a line to me. It rings of the truth. We spent a lot of time on the move.” In our line of work, I always figured it was better to be focused on the job at hand.
“Well, that’s Sam. What about you? You’re what…thirty-six now?”
“Thirty-five.” The gruffness in my tone aims for comical.
She giggles. Score. I like that I can make her laugh with so little effort. She grows serious. Or at least, that’s how I interpret her narrowed eyes and the tilt of her head. “But no serious relationship?”
Disbelief rings through her question. I let out a sigh and skim the past twelve or so years since Annapolis. Hook-ups, sure. Dates. Plenty. “I’ve dated. Have had some exclusive relationships.”
“Is that how you define serious? I might be out of touch with the lingo.”
