Page 16 of Code Name: Tank
Admiral looked between us. “I’d like to suggest you divide and conquertogether. You should be able to get in more interviews that way.”
When he and Alice left the room, I anticipated Dragon’s confrontation and struck first.
“Look, it was a figure of speech.”
Her eyes scrunched, and her mouth opened, then closed. “Bullshit. And, Tank, the fact that you’re lying rather than accepting responsibility for your lack of respect for me as a partner makes me question some of the things I thought about you.”
“There’s no need to overreact. I just?—”
“How dare you condescend to me? Whatever this is about ends now. If you can’t be honest and admit you had every intention of going alone, then we need to talk to Admiral about making a change in who leads this investigation.”
“I said we’d go together,” I muttered, annoyed that I felt as though I had to get the last word.
“You didn’t. Admiral did.”
She was right. Again. And I hated it. Part of me—the part that was still thinking about that moment outside our hotel rooms in Fort Worth, about how close I’d come to crossing the lines she’d drawn—thought maybe some distance would be better for both of us.
The interviewsin DC painted a grim picture.
During each, I watched Dragon work with a combination of admiration and growing frustration. She read people like she had X-ray vision into their motivations, and anticipated their responses with uncanny accuracy. The interviews focused on financial forensics, examining how government codes were being misused to authorize unauthorized fund transfers.
“Your CIA background serves you well,” I said during a break.
Dragon squared her shoulders. “Your skill set doesn’t vary much from mine.” She stood and excused herself to the ladies’ room.
When we finally returned to Kane Mountain that evening, there was a moment as we walked from the helipad—a pause where Dragon turned toward me, her hazel eyes catching the last light. For a heartbeat, the distance evaporated.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Tank.”
My mood darkened as I watched her walk toward Whisper Point before heading to my own camp. Once inside, I poured a glass of bourbon and tried to focus on organizing my notes, but concentration proved impossible.
I was falling for a woman who refused to let me know her. Who could read everyone else’s motivations but kept her own locked away behind barriers I couldn’t breach. And I’d done exactly as she said. I decided that I’d go alone without consulting her and then, rather than admit it and apologize, I’d accused her of overreacting. Both stupid moves, and both undid the little progress I’d made in building a rapport with her.
By twenty-one hundred hours,the bourbon hadn’t improved my mood. I’d been stewing over Dragon’s anger and evasiveness for too long, and the combination of attraction and frustrationwas driving me crazy. I had to clear the air, or I’d spend the night tossing and turning with little sleep.
The quiet of my camp made me think of home—of being with my family, where there was always noise, always someone to talk to. My sister would be putting her kids to bed about now, probably reading the same bedtime story she’d been telling them for months. The familiar ache of missing that chaos, that connection, settled in my chest.
I grabbed my jacket and headed out into the cool evening air, following the path toward Dragon’s camp. Light glowed through the blinds, confirming she was still awake.
As I approached the front door, I could hear her speaking through the partially open window. She was on a phone call, her words terse.
“You can’t do this. You’re violating protocols just to?—”
I stopped walking, suddenly aware I was eavesdropping on something private. But Dragon’s words continued, and despite knowing I should leave, I listened.
“I don’t want your help, your information, or your contact.” She sounded ice cold, furious. “Stay out of my life.”
A pause, then Dragon again, softer but no less angry. “You made your choice three years ago. I don’t need your help or protection now.”
Someone from her past. Someone who wanted to “protect” her. The conversation sounded intimate in a way that made my stomach clench.
“That’s not your decision to make,” she continued. “I’ve moved on, I have a new life, and I don’t need or want you inserting yourself back into it.”
Another pause, longer this time.
“I said no. Whatever guilt you’re carrying—that’s your problem, not mine.” With each word, her voice softened as if whoever she was speaking to was wearing her down.
I backed away from the door, my jaw clenched tight. The last thing Dragon needed was me adding to whatever personal drama she was dealing with. And the last thing I needed was a confirmation that there was someone with enough history to complicate what I was feeling.
