Page 137 of Jonesing for a Spy

“Maybe if you hold me longer, I’ll have a civil case for illegally detaining me.” My reply is saccharine sweet but is said firmly. “The truth doesn’t change.”

Thirty minutes later I’m released on my own recognizance but asked to make myself available for additional questions if need be. I agree and make my way to the lobby to find Mirren with only one pant leg, her other leg bandaged, frantically texting with her thumbs, and June pacing while doing leg lifts or calf raises or some such shit.

They both turn my way when I make it through the door.

Freckles tries to stand, but I make it to her first, scooping her up and taking the seat she’s already warmed. She holds my gaze as if asking me telepathically if I’m okay.

“I’m fine, Freckles. How’s your knee? Are you okay? Did they hurt you? I⁠—”

She interrupts me with a kiss. “We’ll talk after we get out of here.” The words are whispered against my lips.

“Then let’s go.” I’m halfway to standing when June pipes in.

“Not without Jamie.”

58

não seja bobo

Mirren

I’m sitting in Strider’s lap, avoiding thinking about my knee at all costs. Luckily the man holding me is a great distraction. I’m afraid two days’ worth of beard growth and those sexy-as-fuck glasses have unlocked a new kink.

Mom stops her pacing and ballerina moves. Thank goodness. If they didn’t think we were crazy before, they should by now.

Suicide bomb? Check.

What looked to be Men in Black coming to confiscate everything and hush things up? Check.

Double the agency handlers advising that we wouldn’t speak due to some Latin phrase that means I’m above Texas law? Check.

Mom in firelog position with thumb and middle finger pressed together having replaced her ballerina moves? Double check.

She says it’s for patience. We’ll see about that.

Hambone walks through the locked doors and into the waiting area with murder on his face. That look bounces between me and Mom. For her part, she pops up from her meditative pose and stands before her much taller son. “James.”

I haven’t heard his full name since he graduated at Coronado. That’s got to have been fifteen years ago.

Strider glances my way. I can feel his eyes on me, but I can’t take my eyes off the scene before me.

“Well, the cat’s out of the bag now. But the boys don’t need to know, m’kay?” Mom turns, heading for the door.

No one follows, and she stops with her back to the door, as if waiting for her command to be followed.

Jamie bores into me with his gaze. “This whole time? Why didn’t you tell me?”

I subconsciously rub the outside of my knee. “Only after the Army. It hasn’t been that long.”

“But you couldn’t trust me with it?”

“I was protecting you.” I stand to my full height and want to go toe-to-toe with him, but my hopping on one leg really ruins the badass vibe I was going for. “You of all people would be the one to understand. But you don’t need everyone’s secrets.”

He plants his hands on his hips. “But you trusted Mom to have your back instead of me?”

She strides his way, her short bob flying out behind her. “Who do you think she got it from? Who led the way at the agency? Who was the first bad-ass Jones woman? Me?” She plants a thumb in her chest.

Jamie stumbles back two steps. “Wait. When you said the cat’s out of the bag…”