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“Stop sounding so damn sexy. I’m trying to concentrate,” she hissed at him.
“Maybe I’m trying to make you lose concentration.”
She screwed up her face at that and then gave her cheek a little slap. “Stop it, you sexy, sexy man,” she told him. “Back to the photo. I took it this morning in the labs when I handed out coffee. Pretended to trip, and snapped it when he caught me.”
Anton gave her a look of concern. “Grace…”
“Yes, I know. I was straight up creepin’, but who cares? The bigger issue is that I caught him in Lou’s office this morning, and that’s why we're here. Now back to Jones and his pen looking ways-”
Anton held up a hand. “Wait, a pen?” he asked. That was…interesting. He hadn’t thought too much about it when she first mentioned it, because, yes, Jones was bland and forgettable. But there was something Anton knew about Jones that stood out right now.
She gave an enthusiastic nod. “Yes, a pen.”
“Jones doesn’t use pens,” he said. It was true. A lot of people didn’t use them, but it wasn’t normal on his team. He had a bunch of over confident overachievers. They wouldn’t worry about pens if they were writing it down for him to look at it. They were sure of their numbers.
“What?” she whisper-screamed.
“Avoids them at all costs. Drives the rest of us insane. Graphite and wood kinda man.” Anton shook his head. “Makes a god awful mess, with him being left-handed.”
“So the pen excuse is-”
“Suspect,” he conceded.
“Well, hot damn.” Grace rubbed her hands together, the flower on her beanie bouncing as she hummed in excitement. “I knew it.”
“Just give him some time. No need to jump to conclusions,” Anton tried, but he could tell Grace wasn’t listening to him. Even so, he forced himself to be patient with her as they continued the stake out. They watched as Jones ordered a pumpkin spice latte. Who knew oatmeal-man Jones liked to treat himself? He pulled out a pencil and sketchbook and began to draw. Grace bit her lip and slumped forward in her seat, knitted flower drooping in a mirror of her posture.
“What’s wrong?” Anton chuckled at the forlorn expression on her face. “Isn’t this good?” He thought she would be glad there was nothing suspicious going on. He knew he would be. It would mean his team wasn’t housing a mole.
“He’s not being diabolical.” She rubbed her temples in frustration. “This is so annoying. You should have seen him this morning. He scuttled, Anton. Scuttled like a guilty little crab.”
“Let me see your list.” He extended a hand. “You weren’t wrong about thinking it was odd that he was in Lou’s office looking for one of those god awful cheap plastic things she loves so much. You keep things well-stocked in the labs. He didn’t need to go in there, and he is newer to my team,” he admitted.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that I haven’t gotten to speak to him outside of reports. Mindy selected him for the position, not me.” He tapped the table again. “Now, hand over the list. I know you have one for this whatsit plan you have.”
“Caper,” she supplied, already pulling out a folded piece of paper.
Anton took it, eyes moving down the names before he stiffened and his mouth pressed into a thin line. He looked up at Grace, who watched Jones sketch.
“Everyone on this list is a member of my team,” he said, and it was like he’d been punched in the gut. He hadn’t known what he had expected of the list, but it wasn’t this. This wasn’t a caper. This was starting to feel like a witch hunt, and his team had the target painted on their backs.
“Huh?” She looked away from Jones, who had begun staring into space as he drank his latte.
“I said, everyone on this list is a member of my team. You want to explain that?” he asked, the unease in his stomach rising, growing and taking root into something that felt a whole hell of a lot like the unease and doubt that had dogged him at every step at MIT. No one had believed in him then. They had thought he was the problem. That he did not belong. He’d never felt that way with Grace. Her whole thing was making a space for people to belong, but this…
This was not that.
This smacked of him and his team being held apart. There was no explanation for the list.
“This list is all the New York team. Why?” he asked her, but she didn’t answer. Instead, Grace slid to the side in her seat, and looked like she was trying to take a peek at Jones’s sketchbook. How she was aiming to do that from across the room, Anton didn’t know. But the woman was trying. But for all that trying she wasn’t listening to him.
“Grace.” The sharp tone of Anton’s voice stopped her from her staring. She’d been sliding off her seat when he spoke and froze in that awkward place between sitting and standing that made her look like a hunchbacked troll, and she gave him a confused look.
“What?” she asked, still not moving from her half-squat Nosferatu posture.
Anton tapped a finger against the list. “Why is everyone on this list from my team?”
