Page 107 of Jonesing for a Spy

I lift a hand and cut him off. “Let me stop you right there, Jamie. I don’t need another Jones lecturing me or threatening to kill me, though there are points for creativity. Mikey’s in the lead.”

His head jerks back a fraction.

“I wouldn’t uproot my life, shutter my business or whatever will have to happen, and move across the country for some chick. I know Mirren is special. She is more than special—she’s precious. And I will treat her that way. You can dislike me. You can threaten me. You can want me gone. But as long as she wants me by her side, that’s where I will be. I am Team Mirren. I’m the founder, the captain, the cheerleader, the protector, the bulwark for her. For the woman who is brilliant, funny, shrewd, gentle, and way the fuck out of my league. You can not like it, but I don’t care. I like you. I respect you. But I love her. And she’s the one who matters. Her choice matters. Her decisions matter. Mirren’s. Not yours. If you don’t like it, I don’t give a fuck.”

It’s Mona’s slow-clap that brings me back to the reality of where I am. To the fact I just declared my love for Freckles in her hometown, in front of whoever those two men are who gawk at me, in front of Mona, and the handful of couples and families scattered in booths around the diner.

Well, I stepped in it. Time to smear it.

“So lard and butter?” I offer to the table, using my fork and knife to point at the plate. “I’ll start looking at recipes. This is so worth it.”

Charlie extends a hand. “Happy you’re here, brother. Don’t make me use the pigs.”

I tilt my head and stare at him but shake his outstretched palm, nonetheless.

“You’re right. You out-kicked your coverage.” Jamie extends a hand, too, and pierces me with his icy stare. “But you’re also right that it’s Mirren’s wishes that matter.”

I nod and take his outstretched hand. When he goes back to his still-bleeding sirloin, he mutters to his plate, “Mikey’s in the lead? What could Zipper have possibly threatened?”

Charlie takes the bait. “Oh, it’s good.” He throws a bite of pancake into his mouth and grins, proceeding to tell Jamie everything.

Neither knows that June’s was actually the scariest. That woman is formidable, cunning, and wouldn’t bat an eye at taking me out. Somehow, I know they’d never find my body.

45

morning-sex people

Mirren

The only thing that keeps me from going way too far above the speed limit is the idea that a ticket would slow me down from getting to Strider. And too far above the speed limit, even Charlie’s connections couldn’t step in to save me from a fine, or a stint in the county jail.

Diane sent me home with cookies and a teary goodbye. That is to say, she drove me to the airport, got out and hugged me at the curb, and said while holding me at arm’s length, “I love you for my Strider. Have a safe flight, Mirren.” With those words, she rounded the hood and waved at me, wiping away tears, as I walked through the sliding glass doors.

Even if I’m not the type, I was misty-eyed. The Andersons are good people. Strider is proof.

Now, it’s after noon, and I’m in the middle of a duel between my lead foot getting me home and my brain trying to save me from a ticket. My foot is winning as I round the corner onto my street. Pulling into my driveway, I leave everything but my purse in the car and bound up the steps.

And into an empty house.

Where are you?

The answer isn’t instant, despite me whirling my hands in a come-on gesture trying to make it go faster. I’m back at the car, ready to grab my suitcase when my phone dings, causing me to smash my head into the door frame. Ouch.

HoneyBun

800 miles deep in a brutal run with your brother. He’s trying to kill me.

Drop a pin. I’ll come to get you.

{Thumbs up emoji} {location sent}

Back in my car, rubbing what will surely be a knot on my skull, I watch the pin crawl along the coast. Hambone is keeping a hefty pace—one he’d never do with me and my short legs, even before my knee injury—one most people wouldn’t be able to maintain. And I know it’s Jamie, because Charlie can run, but he doesn’t do it for fun, much less in the middle of a workday. Johnny’s the same, holding religiously to his business hours like a true zealot. Zipper wouldn’t be that far north, and Rookie would never be caught dead doing that pace. More likely, he’d keel over from trying.

Verifying their location and trajectory, I point my car toward Ham’s house to see if I can intercept them along the way. Strider doesn’t need saving, but I’m going to anyway. It’s selfish. The only Jones I want him near right now is me.

And near isn’t the right word for it.

Strider