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“Run-swim-bike. Trevor’s loading up bikes for us. I might run back. We’ll see.”
“Sounds like you’ll be out there for hours.” I have a pretty stringent routine myself. As a woman, I need to be fit to be adept at hand-to-hand combat. But Trevor, Ryan, my dad, and even Fisher…these former military guys…there’s a love there that transcends a need for physical fitness. It’s like they get a high from pushing their bodies to the max. All of them are triathletes.
Trevor rinses out the blender while I sip my coffee, watching him.
“Any updates from CalTan?” I assume he would’ve checked while getting his protein drink together.
“Not this early on a Saturday. Trevor and I will check in after the swim.”
“Sounds good.” He sets the blender on the drying rack. “I keep playing my run-in with Lauren over in my mind. If Gemma’s aware at all…” At the very least, that run-in would’ve made her suspicious.
“We play it day by day. You handled it well. That’s all we can do.”
I follow him to the door, where he bends and ties on his running shoes. He stands, hesitates, then presses his lips to my forehead as his palm cups the side of my face. The warmth of his skin lingers, and my fingers cover the expanse of skin he heated.
There’s a brisk coolness in the air. Shrill birds sound off in the nearby trees. I grip my mug with both hands, sipping on the brew, as I watch Fisher jog down the steep decline until he’s out of sight.
Back in the house, I return to my office and unplug my phone. There’s a text from an unknown number. It came through late last night.
Unknown number:
Are you around tomorrow? This is Gemma. ;-)
I shoot off an email to the team with the new phone number for Gemma Toro. It’s early, so I expect everyone isn’t on task quite yet. If anything, a lot of the team is out getting their workouts in. Which is something I also need to do. Although I plan to do yoga and strength training today.
Me to Unknown Number:
Sorry. Went to bed early last night. Yes, I’m around. Want to hang out?
I set the phone down and stare at the text. This is good. This means that she’s not suspecting anything. But I never touched base with Lauren. And she’s got to be wondering what the hell is going on. I dig out my personal phone from the safe and turn it on.
As expected, two missed calls and several texts await.
Lauren:
What’s going on?
Call me when you can. I think I understand things more clearly now. But I won’t put anything in writing.
Are you still in SB? I’m here until tomorrow. Breakfast?
God. I really am such a bad friend. It’s early, but I dial Lauren anyway. She answers on the first ring.
“Hey,” I say as she says, “What the hell is going on?”
I curl my knees up against my chest. “I can’t really say, but thank god you were perceptive yesterday.”
“So, obviously you’re still working for the FBI. And you’re undercover or something. Although it’s not like red hair makes you unidentifiable.”
I’m not authorized to tell Lauren anything, so I just sip my coffee.
“I guess it’s good that you finally got into the field. I knew it was just a matter of time. But do they have you working nonstop? Is that why you had to wait until now to call me? Are people listening in on your calls?”
“Lauren, people could always be listening.”
There’s a pause. “You’re getting paranoid.”
I’m not quite sure how she came to that conclusion, but… “Lauren, I can’t say much. You understand that, right?”
