Page 36 of The Agent
They walked around the side of the sprawling, Spanish-style bungalow and stepped into the spacious backyard. The grass was perfectly mowed, colorful flowers popped up around the perimeter, and the array of birdhouses and feeders hanging from the trees made Caleb smile. Evidently one of her father’s hobbies had rubbed off on Marley.
Sam was manning the barbecue, flipping burgers with a spatula. He glanced up at their approach and grinned at his sister. “It’s your turn to set the table, kiddo.”
Marley let go of her dad’s arm and took a step toward the patio door. “I’ll help you,” Caleb offered.
“No, sit down, relax,” she called over her shoulder.
As Marley darted into the house, Caleb awkwardly crossed the stone patio and sank into one of the chairs by the large table. Marley’s dad joined him. The older man settled into his chair, then fixed a frown in Caleb’s direction. “So. Marley mentioned you’re a writer?”
“Yes, sir.” He swallowed, wondering why the lie that had come so easily a week ago now stuck in his throat.
“My wife was a writer,” the older man revealed.
“Really? What did she write?”
“Articles, mainly. She freelanced for some of the top home and garden magazines in the country.” Marley’s father swept his arm in the direction of the garden. “This garden was her showpiece.”
“There was even a feature about it inGood Housekeeping,” Marley chimed in, coming outside in time to hear her father’s remark. She set four plates on the table, along with drinking glasses, utensils and a tray of condiments, then flopped down in the chair next to Caleb’s.
“The garden is really pretty,” Caleb remarked. “Who maintains it?”
“I do,” Sam Sr. answered with a proud smile. “Before Jessie passed, I promised her I would do right by her babies.” He winked. “The kidsandthe flowers.”
“Well, you’re doing a good job,” Caleb said, and meant it.
“Food’s ready,” Sam boomed from across the patio. A moment later, he strode across the pink and gray stones and dropped a platter of burgers on the table.
Despite the fact that he’d eaten breakfast only two hours earlier, Caleb’s mouth watered at the aroma of ground beef and melted cheese. Marley’s brother joined them at the table, and the four of them didn’t say much as they fixed their burgers and settled back to eat.
Caleb’s eyes met Marley’s. He found himself fighting a grin when he noticed a splotch of ketchup at the corner of her mouth.
Her brother noticed, too, and guffawed. “We eat food here, not wear it.”
Shooting her brother a dirty look, Marley reached for a napkin and wiped demurely at her mouth. “Can it, Sammy.”
“Would you like me to get you a bib?” he returned with a smirk.
Caleb choked down a laugh. At the same time, he wanted to hightail it out of here. This was too damn surreal. The bickering siblings. The father looking on in gentle amusement. The homemade burger patties and bright-pink petunias and napkins with little dancing goats on them.
This wasn’t his life. This wasn’tanyone’slife, was it? Lord, it was bad enough that he’d slept with Marley under false pretenses, but hanging out with her family? A wave of discomfort crested in his stomach, especially when Marley offered a snarky comment to her brother, and Sam Sr. grinned at Caleb. Crap. Marley’s dad was warming up to him. Heck, so was her brother. After an initial bout of curt sentences andsuspicious looks, the two men were now beginning to drop their guard.
As lunch progressed, Sam Sr. spoke to Caleb about the east coast, where he’d apparently lived for a few years following college. And the younger Sam spoke at length about their construction business. From the sound of it, the business wasn’t booming, but it paid the mortgage, and both Kincaid men obviously enjoyed the work.
They perked up when Caleb mentioned he’d worked construction in the past, and he found himself enjoying talking to them about it. His fake writing career was a topic he avoided, but since construction was something he’d actually done before the DEA, he felt comfortable discussing it, and Marley’s family seemed to warm up to him even more.
By the time the food was gone and the table was cleared, Caleb’s chest felt as if it were being squeezed in a vise. These people were…nice.They cared about each other. Theyrespectedeach other. It was so unlike most of the families he’d been around growing up. The abusive foster fathers, the alcoholic mothers, the dilapidated houses, soiled sheets and empty refrigerators.
“You okay?” Marley murmured, flashing a tentative smile in his direction.
Next to her, Sam Sr. and his son were still talking about the renovation job they were currently working on.
Caleb lowered his voice. “I’m fine. I just spaced out for a second.” Fortunately, his cell began to vibrate in his pocket before she could press him. “Excuse me for a second,” he said, barely able to hide his relief as he pulled out the phone.
He left the table and walked a few feet away, standing near the barbecue as he checked his phone. Nobody was calling, but a series of text messages were coming through, all from AJ.
* * *
Tech guys at SDPD tracked the email to an IP addy downtown. Beachside Internet Café. Grier used free email account, registered with fake name.
