Hailey squeals, and I grin.
I’m not much of a romantic, but there is something super infectious about the love and excitement bouncing around this apartment. My step is light as air as I head to the stool to be made-up.
—ten—
Scott
Love makes people crazy.
Even though I’m not working for The Horus Group anymore, Cole asked me to do him a solid on his wedding day. He’d followed his future mother-in-law out to Harpers Ferry earlier today, and now, while he gets married, he wants me to keep track of her.
Crazy.
On the other hand, it’s the second time the small town in West Virginia has hit my radar this month. So I can sit on Amelia Dashford Reid for the afternoon, then go poking around an abandoned mine site that was referenced in the documents my brother had me steal for him.
Alison’s not the only one with a crazy family.
I’ve already been inside the restaurant where Mrs. Reid is having a meeting in a private back room. I planted a listening device on the tray the waitress will take into the room. If I get lucky, she’ll leave it in there. If not, I’ve got a heat monitor on the wall. I can see on my phone that the three people that started the meeting are still in there. It’s not ideal, but it’s what I can do with little notice.
While I’m waiting, I slouch lower in my seat and pull out my phone.
S: You heading to the courthouse soon?
A: Just getting made up. In lingerie, want to see?
S: Don’t tempt me.
A: Can’t help it. Seriously, I’ve tried.
S: Just the mental image is enough to wind me up, brat. And I’m working.
f*ck
, I’m so messed up over this girl. I don’t know what I want, other than her, without any of the messy consequences of wanting her. My cake and eat it, too. Greedy bastard, I am.
A: Where are you?
S: On a job out in the country
A: Will you be back tonight?
S: Nah, probably not
A: I’ll save my studying for tomorrow, then
S: No big wedding party?
A: Just a dinner. I’ll be home before it’s too late.
The invitation was a mile wide.
I wasn’t going to take it.
Not tonight. Not after I spent the day stalking her mother, not on the day her sister got married.
S: Another night
A: Promises, promises
S: Oh, ye of little faith
A: I should have some faith?
S: Did I not say I was picturing you in lace and nothing else? Yeah, babe. Have some faith.
She sends a smiley face in response, and then goes radio silent. Her sister is getting married, after all. I can’t hog her attention.
I return my attention to the heat signatures. There’s some movement in the room, and the waitress hasn’t even gone in yet. Crap.
The front door of the run-down building opens, and out walks an older, portly man I’d recognize anywhere. He’d been my covert boss for nearly three years.
If Cole wasn’t getting married right now, I’d be getting his ass on the phone.
What the hell was Alison’s mother doing meeting with the head of PRISM? The international black ops agency funded a lot of different organizations, including—until recently—The Horus Group, but nearly half its mandate was carried out by covert agents, trained by the CIA, and sent into the field completely on their own.
And then hung out to dry if and when their missions fail—an experience I’ve had first hand.
At least I wasn’t assassinated. Something to be said for being relatively small potatoes in the world of international espionage.
I don’t know what Cole’s gotten wind of. I don’t want any part of this, unless I need to be a part of this…f*ck
.
I watch the director get in a car with a driver that I’d spotted when I arrived. It heads back in the direction of Washington. Amelia Dashford Reid comes out next, on the arm of a man I don’t recognize. I snap photos, send them to Wilson, the hacker partner in The Horus Group, and set my truck in gear.
Wherever they go, I’ll follow. And when I finally get home tonight, I’ll have the world’s longest shower and wash off all of this grossness. This isn’t the life I want anymore.
Ali.
Ali is all that I want now.
— —
The next night, I’m the one who texts her.
S: Need a ride home tonight?
A: Always looking for a ride.
S: Bad girl.
A: Exactly.
And so it goes. I’m like a kid with a not-so-secret crush, but we’re dancing around it, and she’s okay with that. Each night we take a step toward actually calling what we’re doing extended foreplay. And each night we stop a little short.
We’ve done this a few times now. Sometimes I find her. Sometimes she tells me she’s out alone. I walk or drive her home, and leave her at her door because she’s still working on wearing down my willpower, and I’m still working on what I want to happen next.
But there’s no question that her texts make my day, every damn time.
And then on an unseasonably warm night in late March, she pushes the envelope a little further.