Page 112 of Jonesing for a Spy

“Because that’s what’s happening…?” I offer, tossing the last couple of bites into my mouth.

He slices his eyes to slits and swats my ass on the way out the door.

An hour later, I’m on my way home from Charlie’s, everything I need loaded into the SUV, when two pings come in almost simultaneously. The first is from Strider saying there’s a pulled and paid-for grocery order ready for curbside pickup.

The second is from Brody.

Uncle Alpha

Call me now.

Well, this was bound to happen sooner or later.

I dial and wait for the tongue lashing that’s sure to come… and not the kind I like from my man at home.

“Jones?”

“Hey, Brody.”

“Don’t hey Brody me. You have a suspect in your apartment.”

Oh that. Whew! It would be way worse if he knew what I was planning in Texas. “I told you I had a personal relationship with Strider Anderson.”

“You didn’t exactly mention you were sleeping with him.”

“Because it’s no one’s business who I sleep with, Daxton. That includes my employers.”

“It is when he’s a suspected domestic terrorist.” His voice rises to a painful decibel in my vehicle.

“Even then, it is not.” I emphasize every word. “And he is a terrorist as much as I am.”

“It’s you that put that label on yourself. Remember that!”

Don’t threaten me, Brody. “I earned my tab, Daxton,” I seethe. “Through blood and sweat. Through pain. More than you will ever know. Be careful calling a veteran a terrorist, or you’ll learn the true meaning of the word.”

“Did you just threaten me, Jones?” His voice is cold, lethal.

“No threat. Just truth. Now, as I’m on leave and not in your current employ…” I disconnect the call, swinging into the store parking lot to pick up my groceries.

Strider

Something’s wrong. Despite Mirren’s assertions, things are very, very wrong. Groceries put away and finally dressed, I take her hand, sliding her phone from her white-knuckled palm, and place it on her entry table. I do the same with mine.

“Come for a walk with me.” I tug her toward the front door.

“What—the miles this morning weren’t enough for you? There are better ways to burn off energy, you know?”

“I’ll let you show me, Freckles… later.” I put a finger to my mouth in a shhh gesture and lead us out the door.

Down the stairs, over the driveway, onto the sidewalk, and around the corner we go. When we’re halfway down the side street, I say to the night sky, “We’re out of range—at least I’m assuming—of any recording devices. Right?”

She nods, facing straight ahead, and continues our slow pace.

“Mardi Gras started in Mobile?”

Again, she nods.

“And you don’t want to talk about your job?”