Page 86 of The Pretenders of Copper County
I laughed, but it came out sounding strained.
She tilted her head and studied me. “Tell you what we’ll do. I’m gonna go put on the teakettle. You can come over, and we’ll finish our charcuterie board shopping. Okay? And Bob can stay in the bedroom watching his television.”
I shook my head. “I should really stay here. When Reed comes back?—”
A gust of wind blew a tree branch against the wall of the cabin, and I yelped.
“When Reed comes back, he’ll find you eating tequila lime cupcakes with me and Bob,” she said firmly. “Not splattered on the ceiling ’cause you’re so jumpy. Trust me.”
I smiled. “You’re a very motherly sort of person, you know that?”
She hooted. “Tell that to my stepson.” Her expression soured. “On second thought, don’t. Come on, kiddo.”
She was right. I wasn’t doing anyone any good here. Being around other people would help.
Reluctantly, I nodded. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Just let me grab a jacket and leave Reed a note.”
After Dolores left, I found a pen in the silverware drawer and scrawled a note on a paper towel telling Reed exactly where I’d be. Then I grabbed his thickest jacket from the closet and pulled it on, rolling up the sleeves. I closed the cabin door and locked it behind me, then set off down the path through the woods.
Which was exactly where Nicky found me.
CHAPTER 16
REED
Givenhow often I’d been in dangerous situations over the years, I was pretty nonchalant about things that scared most people. When a fight was imminent, when guns were drawn, when my protectee’s safety was at risk, I didn’t panic. I still got a heart-racing, gut-churning, vision-narrowing surge of adrenaline, of course, but through training and experience, I’d learned how to channel it to make me a lethal fighter, a fast thinker, an impenetrable shield.
Put three tiny words on the tip of my tongue, though, and apparently I flailed like a fucking Muppet.
I’d been trying to make Chris smile this morning—my new obsession, since learning the truth about his uncle had understandably brought him low—and when the words“…one of the things I love about you”had nearly slipped out, I’d choked. Almost literally.
But it wasn’t the fact that I’d nearlytoldChris I loved him that sent me fleeing from the peaceful little caretaker cabin. It was that, when I’d caught myself in the act and given myself a hard mental shake for nearly sayingsomething off-the-cuff that Chris might have thought was sincerely meant… I found that Ididmean it. Sincerely as fuck.
I wasn’t almost falling for him, I’d fallen. I fell.
I wasn’t pretending to be in a relationship, I was in one.
And that…thatwas fucking terrifying.
“Sunday? Sunday!” Janissey’s sharp voice through my phone brought me back to reality—to the unoccupied, scarcely-furnished apartment above the O’Leary Bar and Grill, which Parker had graciously let me use after finding me scowling at the locked door of the library earlier, and to this Zoom meeting from hell, now entering its fourth fucking hour, which I should’ve been paying attention to. “Thoughts on the assessment Neiman just gave us of your upcoming assignment?” my boss demanded.
I cracked my neck from side to side, eyes on the phone I’d propped on an old Formica kitchen table.
I’d barely heard a word Agent Neiman had said, and I was pretty sure Janissey suspected it.
The upcoming assignment, protecting a prominent scientist named Elena Perez who’d be appearing at an international tribunal in January to testify about a toxic waste dump she’d uncovered. The protectee herself, a 53-year old environmentalist who refused to leave her wife, her dog, or her parakeet behind, sounded like a genuinely good person—which wasn’t necessary for me to do my job, but didn’t hurt. It was exactly the sort of plum assignment that career agents like me lived for.
And it would require me to relocate to Antwerp for three months. Possibly longer.
“I think Agent Neiman’s done a thorough job and given us a lot to think about,” I said. “Thank you.” The agent in question nodded, clearly pleased by the praise but tooprofessional to show it. “I’ll review the notes once we’re off the call—it’s a little tricky managing this all from my phone—and I’ll let you know if I have any questions.”
Janissey nodded impatiently, face stony beneath his graying dark hair. “Neiman, Burley, thanks for your time. We’ll be in touch.”
The two agents nodded and their windows blinked out so that only Janissey and I were left on the call. He immediately sighed. “What the fuck, Sunday? Where was your head during that meeting?”
At home. With Chris. Wondering which cabin he’s working on, and what song he’s humming to himself. Wanting to watch the gap of exposed skin at his waistband grow as his borrowed sweatpants sink down his hips, and then trace every fresh millimeter with my fingertips and tongue. Missing his stories about his old next door neighbor’s brush with a Russian mystic—who “honest to gosh, Reed, predicted the future, ‘cause she said I’d ‘stumble into misfortune’ and how else could she have known I’d get distracted trying to sniff snapdragons and trip into that hornet’s nest?”—nearly as much as I missed his genuinely insightful views on politics and social issues. Needing to be near him make sure that no one—not Dante’s enemies, not vengeful hornets, not Chris’s own sweet and impetuous nature—hurt a single hair on his head.
“Do you need respite?” Janissey peered at me through the screen. “Be honest with me. You’ve been there for nearly two weeks now, and mental fatigue can be?—”
