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“Fine, but if the jackwagon from your lab recognizes us then I’m blaming you.”
That caught his interest. What did she meanfrom his lab?
“Wait? What?” Anton sat up in his chair and, to Grace’s horror, he turned and looked at said suspect. He scanned the coffee shop until his eyes landed on a familiar face. “That’s Jones from development.” Anton flicked a finger at the man studying the menu. He was in his mid-30s and rather nondescript.
“Everything about him makes me think of bland oatmeal and unseasoned chicken breasts,” Grace said and wrinkled her nose. “That’s why he’s our guy.”
“How does him reminding you of oatmeal make him our guy?” he asked. He was suddenly unsure if Grace’s little caper idea was so good. He’d gone along with it because she was adorable and very enthusiastic. It was hard to tell that kind of combo no. But if she was going to be tailing every nondescript man from the labs around then it was going to be a problem.
“Listen, I know what you’re thinking. Gracie, you can’t possibly follow around every forgettable looking man within a two city block radius. That’s madness.” Anton nodded, because yes, he was thinking something like that. “But that’s not what I’m doing. I caught oatmeal face over there snooping in Lou’s office this morning.”
Okay, now she was making a little more sense. “What was he doing in there?” he asked, still watching Jones. The man was now getting in line and waiting patiently with the other patrons. He looked utterly benign, but if Anton was going to go along with Grace he guessed that is what a thief would want to look like.
“He said he was,” she held up her fingers in air quotes, “looking for a pen.” Made a big deal of it when Lou has about 40 of them at any time just all over her desk. She’s bad at losing them so I keep a ton in sight. There was no reason for him to be rooting around in Lou’s papers the way he was. I’ve seen enough Cold War spy movies to know a double agent when I’m looking right at him, Anton.”
“I don’t think he has it in him,” Anton said, and Grace threw her arms out.
“What do you mean? Look at him! He’s as oatmeal-y as they come. Of course, it’s him. A pen, Anton. A pen.Really?”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “For trying to keep a low profile, you’re practically squawking over there, Xanadu. Might want to keep your voice down,” he advised and instantly she fell forward, shoulders hunching inward and eyes darting to the side.
“Crap. You’re right.”
“Listen, he doesn’t have it in him.”
Grace gave him a look that told him she didn’t believe him. “Youwouldsay that,” she sighed.
He leaned across the table towards Grace, trying to understand her words.
“Why would I say that? After what happened to me you know I’d want to catch a thief as much as anyone.” Anton wasn’t sure what to expect, and truth be told he would be amazed if the timid little man had it in him to orchestrate and carry out the theft of Lou’s data.
If Jones had stolen from Lou, then reason said he had stolen from him and that…that just didn’t seem right. But weirder things had happened in his life. His gaze strayed from Grace to the trucker hat she had thrust at him.
Did she really expect him to wear this? She was now his girlfriend, so he guessed she did. In Anton’s life the fact that he had a girlfriend who expected things of him was far a stranger occurrence than Jones being a mole. He sighed and grabbed the hat.
“Why the hell do you think Jones is the thief?” Anton asked, slipping the hat on. Only then did Grace deign to answer him.
“Because he’s like oatmeal, and he was snooping,” she said. “As I’ve already said.”
Anton leaned close to her, elbows on the table, knee brushing against hers in a way that made his pulse speed up. This was supposed to be a date, but it was obvious it wasn’t. Not anymore. Didn’t mean that he couldn’t try and turn her little stakeout into something with the possibility of more.
He dropped a hand to her knee, fingers rubbing against her gently and Grace leaned toward him. He flexed his hand on her knee and watched her eyes snap from Jones to him.
Good. He had her attention now at least.
He moved closer and leaned close to her. “Going to need you to elaborate on the breakfast food parallel,” he murmured in her ear.
Grace swallowed hard. It took a beat for her to regain her focus, but she did it anyhow. Damn. he was losing his touch, it seemed, if she could recover that quickly.
“He can vanish like a damn ninja turtle, and even though I’ve been staring at him all day I would probably forget what he looked like in a second.”
He slid his hand up from her knee to her thigh. “How did you know that was him, then?” he asked.
Grace’s eyes dropped to the hand resting on her thigh. She swallowed hard, but soldiered on anyhow.
“I took a photo for reference, duh.” She held up her phone, which displayed a photo of Jones taken at a haphazard angle below his chin. The outline of Grace’s finger could be seen on the corner.
Anton rubbed a circle in her thigh with this thumb. “Where did you get that?” he asked, dropping his voice an octave.
