Page 42 of Hot Pursuit
Not Jo Jo.
But Jo.
Her chest burned. “Thad, who—”
“Just leave it,” he interrupted, turning back to the open field, tearing his gaze away.
“But—”
“Not now, Jo Jo, not here.” He lifted a tanned hand to his face and ran it through his hair, sending his dark brown waves into perfect disarray. “I told you back on the island that there was more going on than you knew, and you could’ve asked me then, but you didn’t. And now it’s done. We can’t talk about it here, on the job. After. I promise, after New York is done, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Okay?”
For the first time, Jo wasn’t sure she believed Thad’s promise.
And the very idea sent her world off-kilter.
She swallowed and forced a slow breath down her throat, trying not to notice how her fingers trembled against her thighs. “Okay.”
“So what’s the deal with Parker?” He practically growled the question, overprotective to the core.
“I’m not sure,” Jo answered slowly. To be honest, she was still trying to work that out herself. Greeting her with coffee and muffins. Removing his comm. Not wearing a wire. Opening up. Playing by her rules. It didn’t follow the Agent Parker she thought she’d come to understand. Yet she liked this new version better. The buttons-undone, hollering-at-the-top-of-his-lungs-in-the-middle-of-a-kiddie-ride Nate. Not Mr. Stiff. Not anymore. “He showed up at my hotel this morning, said he was trying to understand me. He was alone. No mic. No team. I thought spending the morning together might be mutually beneficial.”
Thad pursed his lips. “I see…”
The disapproving tone made her eyes roll of their own accord. “I can handle it.”
“Can you?”
Jo licked her lips and lifted her face, gluing her gaze to the field splayed out before her. A group of men played soccer. A few girls sunbathed on towels. A coed crowd of performers practiced handstands and various acrobatics. A young couple with a stroller sat huddled beneath an umbrella. A larger family rested with a picnic, mother and father looking on as three kids rolled around in the grass.
Normal.
Carefree and normal.
A memory fluttered to the forefront of her thoughts, persistent even as she tried to force it away. Nate staring down at her, his eyes as deep as the ocean, swirling with unspoken dreams, a wave rising and rising. In that split second before the inevitable crash, before he’d lurched his gaze away and broken the contact, Jo had seen something, something that terrified her because of how much she wanted it. The typical life. The normal life. Her own dreams reflected back, crisp and clear. A Victorian house framed by a white picket fence. A freshly mowed lawn edged with colorful tulips. A front porch with two rocking chairs and a little table between them, just big enough for two coffees and a plate of fresh chocolate chip cookies. The smell of butter and brown sugar still wafting from the kitchen. A little girl licking her fingers as she sat on the lawn beside a little boy still in his sweaty baseball uniform. And a voice by her side, sounding suspiciously like Nate’s, droning on and on about the unfair call an umpire made, how rules were rules for a reason, how he was so proud of the way their son had handled himself, like a little man. But there was a secret little smile across her lips, because she may or may not have taken one of the cupcakes she’d brought for the kids from her bakery and smashed it against the hood of the umpire’s car unbeknownst to her husband.
In that split second, Jo had seen all of that.
Just like she was seeing it now.
And then she blinked, and in that broken bit of darkness, she remembered she could never have that dream, that life. Her future was one of constantly looking over her shoulder, always covering her tracks, running and running and never feeling safe because of all the bad things she’d done. Sometimes she wondered if it would be easier to just get caught. Serve her time. And then be free.
But she would never do that to Thad.
To her father.
Not after everything they’d both done for her.
“I can handle it,” she repeated, sliding her eyes toward her partner for a brief moment.
Thad didn’t look convinced. “He’s using you.”
“Obviously,” Jo commented offhandedly, even as a flare of denial ignited beneath her skin. “But to what end?”
Thad folded his hands behind his head and leaned back, returning his eyes to the field. Jo didn’t miss the way his gaze paused on a street artist set up by the other side of the park, canvas half coated in paint. Once upon a time, Thad used to talk to her about his dreams. He’d been studying art history in college with a minor in fine arts, and whenever he was home, he’d go on endless tangents about the people he was studying, the work he was creating, his passion obvious. For a long time, he spoke of owning his own studio and selling his own art, trying to make a career out of it. But when his father passed, he dropped out of college and came home. After that, he didn’t speak about his dreams anymore. Only work. Only the job. And until now, she hadn’t paused to wonder why, hadn’t stopped to question if maybe sometimes, Thad dreamed of freedom too.
He sighed before she could ask and arched his face toward the sun, moistening his lips. “They sent an undercover agent to me once, a few years back. I never told you, wasn’t necessary. But she was beautiful. Five-ten. Blonde. Legs for days. A killer smile. The type that made you want to spill your secrets just to keep her around a little while longer. But I knew exactly who she was and what she was trying to do. And I knew it wasn’t worth it.”
Jo swallowed, clearing her throat and her wayward thoughts, but her voice still came out a little raspier than usual. “Nate’s not undercover. I know exactly who he is.”
