Page 43 of Jonas

I glanced over at Jonas. That strong jaw of his was working overtime grinding.

“What now?” he asked.

“Now we wait,” Zane told Jonas, then looked at me. “You’ve got a decision to make.”

“What kind of decision?”

“The kind that means either you’re on my team and your loyalty is now to us and only us or you take your chances with Anson Sutton and whatever story the Treasury Department sold, and Myles and Gabe will drop you by the Hemingway before they go pick up Kent Rapport.”

My decision was a no brainer but still I asked, “You think the agency is pulling the strings?”

“Not all of them, but some.”

“Which ones?”

“Are you in or out?”

“In.”

Zane glanced at Layla. Once she nodded, Zane continued.

“For once it’s not the CIA who screwed the dog up the ass.”

“Actually, the phrase is screwed the pooch,” Nebraska corrected with an eye roll. “Not fuck the dog up the ass.”

“Technically,” Kira cut in. “The original saying is ‘fuck the dog and sell the pups.’ In true Zane fashion he added the up the ass part.”

Nebraska shook her head but did it with a wide smile. It was easy to see the two women were good friends. There was a bond, a sisterhood that regardless of the seriousness of the situation we were in, I was envious of. I wanted to ask them if I could put in a real-life friend request or if they were even accepting applications for a third wheel.

But instead of being a weirdo I remained covetously quiet.

“Anyway, sorry for interrupting, back to who fucked the dog up the ass?” Nebraska inquired.

I didn’t understand why Zane looked like a proud poppa when he declared, “The Pentagon.”

“And that makes you happy?” I probed.

Zane shook his head at me while grinning at the women at the table—this included Layla who was sitting across from Nebraska and Kira.

“I don’t particularly give a shit who I get to blame this dumbfuckery on.”

“So…” I began on a long vowel. “What? Is it the talking about dogs or butt stuff that made you grin like that?”

Startling sapphire eyes fixed on me.

Suddenly Zane Lewis no longer looked scary. Not with the humor dancing in those blue orbs and a split-your-face-smile. And…holy spaceballs…dimples.

No, Zane Lewis wasn’t scary, he was bad-boy, bad-ass hot.

I felt Jonas nudge me with his elbow but I ignored the jab in favor of soaking in all that was Zane.

“I think I owe his wife a basket of flowers and an apology,” I whispered to no one in particular.

“Give him five minutes and you’ll change your order from an apology to a sympathy bouquet,” Kira told me.

“She’s not wrong,” Layla piped up.

“I’m offended,” Zane obviously lied.