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To add insult to inconvenience, Miami traffic seemed worse than ever. By the time I jerked the SUV into my assigned spot in the Smith Agency lot, I was almost an hour late.
Through it all, the words on the fucking note played in my head like a broken record.Boy Scout. Thank you. Goodbye.She’d boiled down all our problems into that priceless little ditty. We were different. We hadn’t made any commitments. And we were over.
I tried and failed to block out the memories of Friday night. I’d never had sex like that and probably never would again. It transcended the physical. I thought it had been the beginning of something more. Instead, it was her way of telling me it was over.
I’d been dreaming of tomorrow, thinking her walls were coming down while she’d been saying goodbye. Stupid, wishful thinking.
I rubbed my sternum as I crossed the parking lot, trying and failing to ease the pain that had taken root over the weekend. My shirt stuck to my still sweaty skin. Florida summer was in its death throes, and it was hotter than hell.
A scowl on my face, I reached into my pocket for my security fob. I had mounds of paperwork waiting at my desk. At least there would be air conditioning. My pocket was empty.
Oh, fuck me.
I stabbed the buzzer on the intercom for the front desk. Hopefully Quinn could let me in the building before something else went wrong, like a pigeon shit on my head.
“Hey, Quinn, it’s Derek. Can you buzz me in?” I tried to smile at the security camera above my head. I wasn’t successful.
“No problem. You forget your fob?”
I ground my molars to keep back the angry retort on the tip of my tongue. None of this was Quinn’s fault.
“Yeah, sorry.”
The electronic lock opened, and I stepped inside. I didn’t even think of stopping at my desk to drop off my things. My only goal was another cup of coffee. I marched past the entrances to the gym and indoor shooting range without looking to see who was around. My gaze was fixed on the break room.
I trudged across the bullpen, not stopping to say hello to Steel or Simon. I wasn’t fit company for man or beast. Coffee was my only hope for an improved attitude.
In the break room, I stopped in front of the big silver industrial coffee machine. Empty. I should have expected it. I grabbed the edge of the counter with both hands and dropped my head forward. A frustrated groan bubbled up from deep inside my chest.
Mondays sucked.
I refused to acknowledge the tiny part of me hidden under layers of manly bravado and testosterone that wanted to cry. Curl up in a ball with a pint of strawberry ice cream and sob. Country singers and teenage girls had the right idea. Being unaffected by a breakup was total macho bullshit. I deserved a sick day, a sick week to wallow. I might have been a SEAL, but I was human—I hurt.
“Sawyer, just the man I was looking for.” John Smith rapped his knuckles on the door frame.
“Hey, John.” I didn’t even bother trying to smile.
“Rough weekend?” His eyes ran over my haggard face, not missing the dark circles or unshaven cheeks.
“It’s nothing. I didn’t sleep well.” I waved off his concern and got to work on restarting the coffee pot.
“You’re on the phones this morning. Quinn is wrapping up something on the Leck kidnapping that needs her full attention. I’d take my turn, but I have… a thing.”
That sounded interesting… A thing. I turned and raised a questioning eyebrow. I’d donate my spleen to science to tag along on John’s clandestine meeting. Spy games would almost be as therapeutic as a pint of Häagen-Dazs.
“What kind of thing?”
He shook his head. “Sorry. My contact’s paranoid. One look at you, he’d bolt. The guy isn’t stable. But the message he sent me was urgent.”
“You sure it’s safe?” I was angling for a distraction. John didn’t need me. The man could probably take out half a SEAL team with a tablespoon, given the right motivation.
He smiled, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop by ten degrees. Never mind, he had it under control. Sometimes I forgot John and I were two different kinds of operators. I was a soldier. He was a spy. The differences didn’t mean he was any less capable.
“Keep your schedule clear for tonight. Something’s coming.” As he turned to leave, he let me see a glimpse of what hid under his unbuttoned linen overshirt: a Kevlar vest, two handguns, and the hilt of a large tactical knife.
I vaguely wondered what else he was packing as I finished making coffee and sat down to wait for it to brew.
I texted Quinn that I’d be up to take over the front desk and phone as soon as the coffee finished. We were a small organization and all took turns on the phones. It ensured everyone got their paperwork completed and kept Quinn from losing her mind and blowing us up from boredom. Only John Smith would hire an office manager that was also a demolitions expert.
