Page 6 of The Agent
“Areyouokay?” she asked, wrinkling her brow.
“Yeah, I’m, uh, fine.” He began to inch away again. Lord, the way this guy acted, it was as if she was carrying the Ebola virus or something. “I really do have to go. Take care of yourself, uh…?”
“Marley,” she supplied.
“Marley,” he echoed. He lifted his hand, giving a stilted wave and a brisk nod, and then hurried off with long, smooth strides.
She watched as he walked away, shaking her head to herself. He disappeared around the side of the house and a few moments later, she heard the Strathorns’ front door shut.
Okay. Well, that was kind of weird. He was probably telling the truth, and really was renting the house next door, but maybe she ought to call the number Debbie had left for her just to make sure Caleb Ford was who he said he was. He’d been acting a little odd for her liking.
Yeah, she definitely should call, she decided as she bent down to take care of the ladder. She pushed it to the wall, leaning it length-wise against the house, then glanced down at her arm, which was beginning to ooze blood.
With a sigh, she headed into the house, making a mental note to contact Debbie Strathorn as soon as possible. Caleb Ford might be drop-dead gorgeous, but he was still a stranger.
And these days, Marley’s guard went on high alert when it came to sexy men who made her heart skip a beat.
A girl couldn’t be too cautious, after all.
* * *
“SO…WHAT WASTHATABOUT?”
Caleb nearly tripped over his own feet at the sound of AJ’s voice. He’d expected to find the master bedroom empty, but AJ was casually sitting at the desk, sipping from a tall Starbucks cup.
With his military-style buzz cut, tattooed arms and black leather jacket, Adam James Callaghan looked like the type of guy Caleb would be slapping handcuffs on and dragging to jail.
But AJ was a damn good agent, a bit of a legend around the Drug Enforcement Agency. He’d spent three years undercover with a Colombian drug cartel, which was how he’d gotten all the tattoos. Had to prove himself, show he was one of them, AJ had told Caleb. He’d also managed to gather enough evidence to take down the entire organization. But now he was stateside, assigned as Caleb’s new partner.
Caleb walked over to the desk and peered at the monitors, instantly spotting Marley in the kitchen. She was pulling a first-aid kit out of the cupboard under the sink.
“What was what about?” he asked, absently reaching for one of the steaming cups sitting in the cardboard tray on the desk.
AJ shot him a look loaded with disbelief. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. I come back from a coffee run to find—”
“You came in from the back, right?” Caleb cut in.
“Yes, I came in from the back. Same way I’ve been coming in for the past week. And yes, I parked the car two streets over. And no, nobody saw me when I cut through the park on my way here.” AJ frowned. “Now quit interrogating me and tell me what the hell you were thinking, making contact with Kincaid.”
Caleb walked over to the king-size bed and sank down onto the edge. “She fell off a ladder.”
AJ swiveled his chair around to face him. “She fell off a ladder,” he repeated.
“Yes, but she managed to hang on to the roof. She would have fallen off that, too, if I hadn’t gone out to help her.” The defensive note in his voice made him want to cringe, but he knew AJ’s thoughts on the subject of Marley Kincaid. And none of them were too positive.
AJ put down his coffee cup in obvious annoyance. “Just in case you’ve forgotten, we’re on a stakeout, man. The whole point of a stakeout is remaining out of sight, inconspicuous.”
“I know that,” Caleb ground out. “But what did you want me to do, watch her tumble to her death?”
“What I want you to do is focus on the bastard that killed one of our own.” AJ frowned. “I’ve seen the way you look at her, Caleb, and I don’t particularly like it, all right? She might very well be helping Grier and you know it.”
“Yes, and she might not be helping him,” Caleb countered, meeting his partner’s hard gaze with one of his own.
“Then explain the hundred grand that was wired into her bank account after the DEA got the tip that Grier was heading to San Diego.”
“It was a joint account, you know that. Grier could’ve made the deposit as easily as Kincaid.”
“And she has no knowledge of what’s going on in her own bank accounts? If a hundred thousand dollars mysteriously wound up in my account, I’d be talking to the bank, or calling the cops. Unless I know my slime-bag ex put it in there, and I’m planning on helping him get out of the country.”
