"That’s kind of weird."
Sterling shrugged. "It was mindless, and it helped ease me out of some really bad missions."
She brought her glass to her lips, sipped, and stared out toward the water. "I memorize my passwords with songs."
"You do what?"
"It's a trick one of my first bosses taught me, and he learned it in high school. You take the password and you put it to a tune you already know, and you sing it in your head until you don't have to think about it anymore. I have a Diana Ross song in my head right now, and I cannot, for the life of me, hear it without wanting to type."
He laughed, loudly. "Sorry." He tried to stop by covering his mouth. "That's one way to remember numbers."
"It can be annoying though because sometimes I have to go through like eight songs to get the newest password."
"What were you working as that you had to remember all the passwords."
"Office manager. I was green, and I constantly locked myself out of the system. My boss, he retired to a houseboat in Key Largo. He sends Christmas cards with too much glitter and a picture of his cat, who he named, of all things, Forgetful."
"After you?" Pangs of jealousy landed in places Sterling didn't want to think about.
"God no. Albert, that was my boss, he was the most forgetful man in the world. He put songs to anything he might forget, even names."
"Sounds like an interesting boss."
"He was one of the good ones."
He let his shoulders ease back against the chair. "What other kinds of jobs have you had?" Sterling asked. "Besides office manager and bar owner."
"That's it," she said. "Not as exciting as a CIA Agent turned Aegis Network Operative."
"That depends on what you call exciting." He rubbed his chest. "I really don't enjoy getting shot at, but I also don't enjoy office work."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lucia with a man following two paces behind.
Sterling's hand tightened on his wine glass. He took a slow sip and watched Doyle Malone stroll across the deck with his hands in his jean pockets, his rubber soled boat shoes scuffing across the wood planks, and a smile that made him stand out and fit in all at the same time.
In Sterling's world, there were no such things as coincidences. None. Doyle hadn't casually driven into Calusa Cove and pulled into the Crab Shack at the precise time Sterling had sat down with Juniper. Maybe things like that happened to other people. But not Sterling.
He made eye contact with Doyle, and Doyle stopped dead in his tracks like he'd been shocked. "Fox?"
"Yup. But these days people call me Sterling."
"You old son of a bitch."
Sterling stood, because what else was he going to do? It wasn't like he and Doyle were enemies, even if they weren't exactly friends.
Doyle covered the last five feet at speed and pulled Sterling into a manly hug as if they were long lost brothers. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I live here," Sterling said.
"Really." Doyle planted his hands on his hips. "You left the agency?"
"About a year ago. Took a job with a private security firm in Jacksonville, and they opened a branch down here about six months ago," Sterling said, figuring Doyle would ask, even if Sterling believed Doyle already knew. "What brings you to Calusa Cove?"
"Vacation," Doyle said. "I'm living in Charleston these days. Private security firm, too." He shifted his gaze.
"Shit. I'm sorry," Sterling said. "This is my friend, Juniper. She owns Juniper's Pub."
"We've met, actually." Juniper raised her drink, but she didn't stand. Her smile was polite, but it wasn't big. "Your friend came in for lunch today."
