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Later, in an effort to get Robby in trouble, I’d report everything but the kissing to Glenn.
And it would backfire.
I’d say, “Robby just showed up here for no reason and inserted himself into the assignment.”
And Glenn would say, “That’s a great idea.”
I’d frown. “What is?”
“Putting Robby on this assignment.”
“No, I—”
“I’m still deciding between the two of you for London, you know,” Glenn would say.
Of course I knew.
“Anyway, he’s the best we’ve got for video surveillance. And you know I never want to miss a chance to torture anyone.”
“Haven’t you tortured me enough?”
A wink from Glenn. “I meant him.”
Was Glenn clueless? A sadist?
Little bit of both, maybe.
Either way, he added Robby to the team—and gave me the credit.
But that night, as Jack fished around in my purse for my keys and then hit the unlock button, I didn’t see any of that coming yet. I didn’t see much, really—other than what was right in front of me: Jack guiding me to the passenger side, opening the door, sitting me down, and leaning across me to buckle me in.
He smelled like cinnamon.
Again: not something I’d normally let a client do.
But so little about this assignment was normal.
When Jack walked around to the driver’s side, got in, and started the car, I didn’t stop him.
As we pulled away from his house, I mustered a weak, “What are you doing?”
“I’m taking you home.”
“But how will you get back?”
“I’ll borrow your car,” he said, “and come back to get you in the morning.”
Jack Stapleton was offering to pick me up in the morning? “That seems like a lot of work.”
“What else do I have to do these days?”
“Your profile says you are a late sleeper. Like noon-to-afternoon late.”
“I can set an alarm.” Then a pause. “Was that guy your boyfriend?”
“Was that guy your boyfriend?”
Ugh. I was too haywire to do it right.
