Page 52 of Wrecked With You

The bottom line is that I withheld stuff from Tony. The SOC’s interest in The Serpent. My interest in Tony’s father.

I didn’t tell him any of that because I’ve never trusted anyone except Eliza.

I guess Tony doesn’t really trust either. God knows he didn’t trust me. And our mutual lack of trust is hardly the basis of a relationship. Hell, I’m not sure it’s a basis for anything.

The thought depresses me more than it should. Especially since it’s better this way. Even though this way means that he’s undoubtedly out of my life forever.

Thoughts of Tony and the island—the good, the very good, and the bad—spin in my mind in time with the cadence of my pedals, and it’s a relief when I finally get home. I store my bike in my tiny garage, then head straight for the shower. I’m just toweling off when the doorbell rings. I reach automatically for my phone to check the camera feed, then remember I tossed it on the kitchen table when I entered.

I tell myself it couldn’t possibly be Tony, though I really hope it is. Since I don’t want to admit to that hope—not even to myself—I pull on a pair of grungy sweatpants and an ancient Dave Matthews Band concert Tee. The print is almost unreadable and the collar is ripped. If this outfit doesn’t convey that I’m completely blasé about who is at my door, nothing will.

I call out that I’m coming as I hurry in that direction, still in bare feet. Most important of all, I’m refusing to acknowledge the tingle of anticipation. It’s not like me, and as far as I’m concerned, it’s an inconvenient and unremarkable anomaly.

I reach the door, check the small, eye-level monitor, and feel my entire body sag with disappointment.

I take a second to regroup, then plaster on a smile as I open the door to Winston, who’s standing casually on my door step in jeans and a button-down he’s tucked in over a white T-shirt.

“Get in here,” I hiss, then follow that up with, “Are you insane,” once he’s inside and the door is closed behind him. “What if someone saw you?”

“Let them look. You’re SSA now, remember? And I’m here on official business.”

I relax, then drag my fingers through my hair as I head back to the kitchen. “Right. Sorry. Today’s been a bitch, and yesterday was worse. Whiskey?” I ask as he takes a seat at one of the stools that surround the kitchen island.

“Got any beer?”

“I have the real deal,” I tell him, then pull out a Guinness. “Not that watered down piss that you drink.”

“Whiskey,” he amends. “Neat.”

I pour one for each of us, then lean against the counter by the sink. “So what’s going on? Did Ryan pair us for a mission?” I could handle that. Winston’s low key and perpetually cool—until he’s not. He’s the kind of guy no one sees coming. Like Liam Neeson in Taken. All slow and easy at the beginning—maybe even a little nerdy and unsure—and then a total bad ass when it counts.

“Yeah, that was a bit of bullshit. I’m not here about anything to do with the SSA. But,” he adds, holding up a finger before I can ream him a new one, “you are new, and it makes sense I’d come welcome you. We can pretend I brought this whiskey.” He takes another sip. “I’ve got damn good taste.”

“Come on, man. Whatever this is, can we do it later. I had a shit day. I want to go to bed and wake up in another decade.”

“Seagrave told me what happened.”

I cross my arms over my chest and frown. “And you’re here why? I’ve already been debriefed. Time to move on.” I’d gone straight from the airport to the SOC and told my former boss everything. Well, everything relevant. Seagrave wasn’t thrilled that The Serpent was dead, but under the circumstances, he had to concede that I’d done the right thing.

“Give it up, Emma. You don’t have to constantly play the bad ass. I’ve known you too long.”

“I am a bad ass. It’s not a role. And I just mean that it’s over. It’s done. Moving on might require an official debrief but it doesn’t need two hours on a couch for psychoanalysis. Not with the department shrink and not even with a well-meaning friend.”

“At least you acknowledge I’m well-meaning.” He finishes off his whiskey, then pulls a pack of gum out and pops a stick in his mouth. He told me once that he’d never smoked until he had to start for an undercover job. He ended up addicted to the stuff. Now, when he feels the urge, he chews spearmint gum.

I guess my less than sunshiny personality is triggering a craving. Probably not my finest hour.

“I’m just making sure you’re okay. And since we’re now both gainfully employed by the same entity, I can do that. We can let our love run free. Cue the violins. No more hiding in the closet.”

I have to fight a smile as I say, “Don’t be funny. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Seriously, he told me about the mission. The girl. Tony.”

I stiffen. “What did he tell you about Tony?”

“Just that The Serpent made you out to look dirty.” He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have bolted. From what Quince and Liam say, Antonio Sanchez isn’t the kind of guy that would believe that. Not after he spent time working with you.”

“You didn’t see his face.”