Page 5 of Brooks

I didn’t dignify his question with a verbal answer. Instead, I pushed the throttle forward and pulled away from the dock, past the other boats, and out of the harbor.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

“I do when I’ve got something to say,” I told him.

The crisp breeze off the Gulf and the pink-tinged horizon made me miss home. It felt like a lifetime ago since I’d been in the U.S. And I hadn’t stepped foot back in San Diego since my divorce. Though I still had a storage unit there packed full of shit I didn’t need and didn’t want. Yet, I couldn’t get myself to junk it. Memories of a past life. The end of what I thought was a dream come true but in reality, it was an epic mistake.

The spray of saltwater reminded me how much I used to love to wade out into the cold Pacific surf. Long morning swims before I headed home to an empty apartment with nothing else to do with my day until James Monroe returned home from base and started his daily bitch-fests. God, I didn’t miss that part. Didn’t miss how unproductive I’d been. After I stupidly quit a job I loved to start a family that would never materialize.

“Tatiana?” Brooks pulled me from wayward thoughts.

“Huh?”

“You daydream a lot.”

“Just thinking about home.” Why the hell had I admitted that? With a shake of my head I continued, “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Where’s home?”

That was a good question. But an even better one was, why the hell was I thinking about San Diego in the first place? I’d long ago shoved that particular regret into a box with a big red label that read, “do not revisit—ever.”

“Here. There. Wherever the UN sends me.”

“Right. So we’re back to the bullshit cover story.”

“We’ve never deviated from it. And it’s not bullshit. I do indeed work for the UN.”

I slowed the boat and prepared to drop anchor. We were about one-hundred yards from the King Fahd Causeway Middle Island.

“The work order detailed transoceanic cabling from Middle Island to Umm an Naasan Island. The area is clear. No one has—”

“I know.”

“You know?” I squinted my eyes, the narrowing of my lids had nothing to do with the fast-rising sun. “What does that mean?”

“I decided to take a dip the first day we got here and check things out. I agree with your assessment; it’s clear.”

“Why the fuck are we out here then, Brooks?”

“Beautiful morning for a boat ride?”

“Are you kidding me?” I seethed.

“Nope.”

He strolled leisurely to the open bow and sat on the vinyl bench seat, spreading his arms before resting them on the railing. Just as smug as he could be.

“You’re unbelievable. But I should’ve expected someone like you to pull this bullshit stunt.”

“There you go again with someone like me. Care to expand on that, Doll?”

“No. And stop calling me doll.”

“Would you prefer ‘sweetheart’?”

He was infuriating.

“Absolutely not. I’d prefer you to not call me anything and stop wasting my time.”