Page 11 of Six
“Tomorrow night at seven thirty,” she confirmed. “Good night, Gavin.”
He didn’t respond right away, and she wondered what he was thinking. Then his voice rumbled out low and thick with speculation, and his tone had her body tightening with anticipation.
“Good night, Violetta. Sweet dreams,” he said, and then the line went out.
At the age of thirty-eight, Six was well familiar with her own sexuality, and she fought the urge to fan herself. She could readily admit Gavin was an attractive man and that there was an attraction between them. But it hadn’t been until she’d heard those five words—in that tone of voice—that she acknowledged howattracted tohim she could be. If she let herself.
She glanced up at the ceiling knowing her bedroom was overhead and let out a long breath.
Yes, sweet dreams, indeed.
* * *
Six slept late the next morning. It was one of her days off, and after ending the call with Gavin, she’d hit the gym in her attic hard and hadn’t made it to bed until after midnight. Dragging herself from under the covers, she padded into the bathroom and stopped in front of the sink. Looking in the mirror, she cast a critical eye on her hair before pulling it into a ponytail and deciding to deal with it later. She was turning away when a flicker in her reflection caught her attention. Pausing, she eyed herself. She knew she was a reasonably attractive woman. And she wasn’t blind to the attention men paid her. But forcing herself to stare into her own eyes, it was the darkness she saw there, the demons, that held her attention, not her physical looks.
Placing her hands on the counter and leaning closer to the mirror, Six forced herself not to look away. She wasn’t scarred or damaged, not in the way some might think, given the life she’d led. There wasn’t a single defining moment that had brought about the shadows she now saw. But rather, it was all the little tears in her soul that were staring back at her. The missions that had taken her to dangerous and depraved places, the colleagues in AISE that she’d lost, the lives that she’d witnessed be destroyed. For a field agent, her career had been relatively charmed, in no small part thanks to Franklin’s oversight and intelligence. But twenty years as a spy, and six years of training before that, wasn’t something a person escaped from unscathed.
She pushed away from the mirror before her thoughts turned too maudlin. She was what she was and she—mostly—liked the life she’d built. There was no point in dwelling on the darkness.
After brushing her teeth and rinsing her face, she threw on a pair of yoga pants, pulled on her favorite Harvard Law sweatshirt, and headed downstairs for some coffee and acornetti—the small Italian pastry her personal chef, Sylvia, made for her.
Settling into her office with her drink and food, she answered a couple of texts from the club letting them know that Gavin had confirmed their suspicion and that she was meeting with him that night. When she was done, she opened her personal email to find a message from Heather that included access to the cloud service she and Jeremy used. After jotting off a quick note to let Heather know she planned to start looking that day, she logged into the service and began poking around.
Several hours later, she’d gone through all but ten files and found nothing that would give rise to murder. In line with his previous cases, Jeremy had some suits against a few big corporations, but nothing that was significant enough to damage the reputation—or bank account—of those corporations.
Needing a break, she locked her computer and headed toward the kitchen. Dumping her dishes in the sink, she continued on to the mudroom and pulled on a pair of tennis shoes. The storm from the night before had moved on, leaving behind a warm, slightly humid, clear spring day. Perfect for a short walk.
Stepping out onto her porch, she inhaled the heavy, earthy air, so very different from Rome, where she’d grown up until she’d been shipped off to St. Josue. At this point in her life, she’d lived in the US longer than she’d lived anywhere else. But even so, those memories of her early years still had a firm hold on some of her mental real estate.
It wasn’t that she missed Italy—she wouldn’t move back even if offered the opportunity—but somehow, she still longed for it. Or perhaps she longed for the carefree days of her early childhood, and she confused that with her love of the place.
As if sensing her darkening mood, her phone rang, and Nora’s name appeared on the screen. Six jogged down the steps of her porch, intent on following the path to the back of her house then onto the dock as they talked.
“Nora,” she answered.
“How are you?” Nora responded. Not that Six liked to label her friends, but Nora was the caregiver of the group. She was as badass as the rest of them, yet still managed to stay humane and sympathetic.
“We’re always fine, aren’t we?” Six countered. She’d just put her shoes on, but she opted to kick them off when she stepped off the path and onto her lawn. The grass was still wet from the rain the night before, and the damp blades tickled her toes.
“Of course we’refine, but how are you?”
Six almost smiled at the question. Leave it to Nora to get to the heart of the matter—because in her world, a person could be many things at once, including bothfineandnot fine.
Six took a few steps, enjoying the feel of the earth under her feet while contemplating her answer. “I think I am fine,” she responded. “I’m not entirely sure what to think about the Gavin development, but it will sort itself out. I started looking into Jeremy’s files today, though, and I haven’t found anything. Not yet anyway.”
“You will,” Nora said, making Six smile. Always so much faith.
“I hope so,” Six said. “I don’t like the idea of his murder going unaccounted for. I know none of us do. But it will be an uphill battle given the police still think it was an accident.”
“Someone almost ran you off the road after visiting his apartment. I think it’s safe to say Jeremy’s death wasn’t an accident. Not unless you’ve been making some interesting enemies you haven’t told us about.”
Six snorted as she stepped onto her dock, the worn wood warm under her feet. “If I were making any enemies, you can be damn sure they wouldn’t have caught me off guard last night.”
Nora let out a low laugh. “Of course not. That said, I don’t believe this, but I feel compelled to ask, is thereanychance it could be something, or someone, from your other life? Someone who’s found out who you are and what you do outside of your day job?”
Six had considered this the night before as she worked out. It was a possibility—it always was with the work she and her friends did—but her gut was telling her the events of the night before were about Jeremy. Coming on the heels of her visit to his apartment, she couldn’t see the incident being sparked by anything else. Still, Nora’s question had her rethinking the possibility.
“I don’t think so, but I’ll run it by Franklin. Maybe if I leave a message for him asking that specific question, he might call me back.” True to form, Six still hadn’t heard from him, despite the two additional messages she’d left. She suspected that Gavin had checked in with his people and that his people were talking to her people. Which meant that Franklin would know about their dinner, and coward that he was—though he’d chalk it up to strategy—he wouldn’t call her back until after she and Gavin talked.
