“Probably worth the trip,” I say, looking around at all the suits.I hate any sort of hobnobbing.
“Must be nice,” Brady says, pleasant as a blade, his eyes pinned on Caroline, “having the kind of job where playing pool is a work event.”
Caroline turns then, slow and unhurried, like she’s just now remembering he exists, but in truth, I can tell she was waiting for this.“I’m sorry?”
“Just saying.”He shrugs nonchalantly.“Some of us are actually working tonight.”
“Mmm.And some of us are capable of doing both.”
“That what you call it?”
Caroline tilts her head slightly.“Your cover still intact?”
“Last I checked.”Brady doesn’t look at her when he says it, scanning the room the way cops do when they’re pretending not to be cops.
“That’s reassuring,” she replies so dryly, the dew point just changed.
His posture shifts, a move that’s barely perceptible.“Why?Worried about me?”
“Not particularly.”She takes a sip of her champagne, her blue eyes sparkling with fight.
“Good.”His voice drops enough that it doesn’t carry.“I’d hate to think you were getting attached.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she scoffs.
“Wouldn’t dream of it because your ego is already taking up too much room.”
Her eyes narrow.“Careful, Brady.Your insecurity is showing.”
“My insecurity.”He lets out a short laugh.“That’s rich coming from someone who has to have the last word in every conversation.”
“I don’t have to,” she says sweetly, batting her eyelashes.“I just always do.”
I bite my tongue because I am a professional and professionals do not laugh at their colleagues.
Brady’s jaw tightens.He straightens his cuffs and turns back toward the room without another word.Not a retreat—Brady doesn’t retreat—but close.
Caroline watches him go with the particular expression of a woman who fully intends on enjoying her small win.She takes a sip of champagne.
“You two are exhausting,” I tell her.
“He started it,” she says serenely and moves away, the line parting slightly around her.Brady watches her go for a fraction of a second before muttering, “She’s a scourge.”
“That so?”
“Pain in my ass.”His eyes focus across the room and then he pastes on a pleasant smile.“Christ,” he says low and with his mouth barely moving.“Boss is waving me over for introductions.I hate this shit.”
“Stay safe, my friend,” I murmur.
He gives me a nod.“You too.”
And just like that, he’s Officer Frost again.Another uniform in a room full of power.Only a handful of us know he’s playing a much longer game.
Another server passes with champagne and I take one since it only seems right.Nights like this are all about the polish and glitz of what we do, and I don’t particularly like it.But I do like working here very much so I’ll suck it up.
Before Jameson, glitz wasn’t exactly a job requirement.Army Special Forces First, which is the kind of work that doesn’t make it into the brochure.After that, smoke jumping—dropping out of planes into wildfires, cutting containment lines, trading one kind of danger for another.
Jameson offered a different opportunity at a time when I needed different.Sure… there was still risk and danger, but it was controlled and calculated.Kynan interviewed me himself when Seattle was still a blueprint and a budget sheet and I have zero regrets about accepting.
