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“Something like that.” At least that was the plan.
“If she asks, I’ll put a pin in it for twenty-four hours, but no longer.”
“Dude, I thought we were friends.”
“I like her better.” He shrugged. “What can I say?”
Bastard. “Forty-eight hours. I need time to make her feel safe again.”
Rory sighed with the dramatic flair a Hollywood actress would envy. “Fine, rookie. Forty-eight. Just don’t come on too heavy and piss her off, okay? I don’t want to lose my new assistant.”
“Not a rookie.” He started walking backward, trying to keep his grin hidden. “I owe you, man. Thanks.”
“Be good to her or I’ll kill you in your sleep.”
Ian saluted him. The man had performed plenty of wet work for the CIA, doing exactly that. “Roger that.”
Nine
The next few days went by quickly, the hours filled with research into child psychology, coming up with a treatment plan for Sloane, and avoiding Ian.
Sessions with Sloane were fun, filled with simple things, like coloring and playing with dolls. She kept them short, and invited Maggie to them as well. The dog was a natural at playing therapist. More than once, all three of them had taken a short nap on the mat.
She almost felt normal, which was one of the reasons she was steering clear of Ian. She’d said her peace, and she meant every word.
When not working on Sloane’s treatments, Rory kept her busy combing databases, finding connections here and there for different “persons of interest” as he called them. Financial records, vacations in exotic places, layers of shell companies—anything that might tie one entity to another. Even whether they used the same cleaning service or real estate guru. He was particularly interested in the terrorist group 12 September, but worked on that himself.
Vivi understood the human brain and how people thought, the relationships it built and protected. The motivations that drove folks. Rory often asked her random questions about such, trying to learn more about those he hunted. He might have given up wet work, but he still thought like a predator.
She’d read over the classified reports on the laptop, filling in most of the blacked out terms and names. For all intents and purposes, it appeared she’d gone of her own accord to Berlin and made some kind of deal with Lawrence. A deal that had labeled her a traitor to her country.
All the sensitive information in her head, all the details of missions that her clients had shared, their very names, ranks, and skill sets, made her a threat should she take any of it public or sell it to the highest bidder. She was a walking, breathing threat to the U.S., and blowing the whistle on any of the alphabet agencies, or offering a trade with a terrorist, was certainly grounds for immediate elimination.
Yet, Lawrence was still walking around a free man, and had done nothing out of the ordinary—there’d been no increased attacks on any American bases, no spies or special op soldiers’ identities revealed, nor anything suggesting the man had received intel from her.
More than ever she was determined to figure it out. Her next step was to research what Ian and his SEAL team had been doing that weekend. Had she known he was supposed to be there? If so, how?
Today, however, she was in her office and staring at the dozens of paint chip cards Sabrina had thrown on her desk.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said, fingering them, and then her ponytail. “I know Connor told me the color you wanted, but all I could remember was that it started with an M, and he’s in a team meeting, so his phone is off. It’s protocol. I figured I’d grab all the ones that fit.” She smiled and tapped a brightly colored card. “Magenta is probably not it, right? I should have left that at the store, but Marigold is pretty. Oh, and how about these… Mardi Gras? Magic Mint? Here’s my favorite—Misty Rose. I mean, obviously I love Maximum Red”—she flipped her ponytail—“but not on walls.”
Her face was so expectant and so…worried, Vivi pretended to study each of her suggestions. “Very pretty, yes. You have a great eye for color. I think I like this one.” She held up May Green. A touch brighter than Ian’s eyes, but perfect for a single wall. The room was too small for too much color, but it definitely needed some.
Sabrina inclined her head. “That’s nice. Spring like. A fresh start. I’ll run back and get a few gallons.” A hand barely grazed her belly. “And some Misty Pink.”
Vivi hated to be waited on, but the thought of going to the home improvement store on her own made her sick to her stomach. “Just a gallon for me. I’m only covering that wall.” She pointed across the way. Forcing herself to smile, she said, “I can come with you, if you want.”
Sabrina glanced at the mat in the corner. “Beatrice said you were too busy to be running errands, and it’s not a problem. I love the home improvement store. Connor and I are fixing up our apartment and I have so many ideas.”
“You don’t live on-site?”
“He did for a while, but we found this cute place, and well, you know. We’re a couple and we needalonetime.” She winked and that hand ghosted over her torso again. “You know, I could get a stencil and we could put a design on your focal wall. Maybe a mirror over here, create a reading nook, a few candles. Warm the place up, you know?”
“I bet you love HGTV, don’t you?”
“Is it that obv?” She looked embarrassed. “Sorry. Decorating, painting, fixing up old furniture…it’s so different than my work in the lab. It’s tactile and” —she rubbed her finger and thumb together— “real. Not numbers and quantities and percentages.”
“Balance. Using both sides of your brain. It’s healthy.”
