11

Washington, DC
5:15 PM Wednesday, January 14

Sandpaper rubbing against his eyeballs couldn’t hurt worse than hours spent staring at a computer screen. And for what? Either Riad was really good at hiding his true intentions or Brynn’s original assessment was true—he did not fit the profile of a terrorist.

So why was he missing? And where was he?

Jack checked his watch. Quarter past five. A quick glance out the window and he could see the last of the DC traffic dwindling. Most of the city’s employees were back on the road by three to fight the congestion of commuters on their way home.

“Let’s close up shop, and we’ll hit it again tomorrow.”

Brynn’s eyes flew from the laptop screen in front of her to meet his. “What?” She looked at Garcia and Lyla, who were both shutting down their computers and clearing their desks. “You’re done?”

Determination in those fiery blue eyes invited Jack’s heart back to the day at the Farm when another CIA officer dared Brynn in a physical fitness exercise. The man was at least a foot taller and forty pounds heavier by muscle alone, but it was ego that did him in. He didn’t believe a CIA analyst—a paper pusher—could survive the obstacle course field operatives had to successfully maneuver. His first mistake was assuming. His second was underestimating Brynn’s determination.

Not only did Brynn complete the course, she smoked the challenger’s time by a full minute and waited for him to finish, legs swinging on the eight-foot wall she’d climbed back up to revel in her victory.

If he hadn’t fallen for her before that moment, her toying smirk had sparked an attraction that apparently still flickered, given the way his pulse was dancing right now.

“For today, yes.” He stood and stretched his arms and back, feeling the tightness of a long day in every muscle. “We’ve reached the end of what we can work on. Kekoa will continue to work on Riad’s laptop.”

“Don’t worry, sistah”—Kekoa tucked a loose curl behind his ear before giving his laptop bag a pat—“my babies work all night long.”

The look on Brynn’s face said she would worry all night long. “It’s not even six and—” Her brow pinched, and he read the challenge in her eyes. “You’re seriously going to walk out with Riad out there somewhere in trouble or . . . worse?”

Lyla let out a stifled breath, eyes wide with expectation that seemed to say “Are you going to let her get away with that?”

Jack inhaled slowly as Brynn’s question brought up his earlier concern. It was like she couldn’t decide whether she believed Riad was who she thought he was or the growing proof that maybe he wasn’t. It almost felt like her emotions were getting in the way, which was unusual. The Brynn he knew made her decisions with her head, not her emotions. What had changed?

“Unless you know something that’ll lead us to him, we’re done for the day.”

“Ooh,” Lyla cooed. “Gauntlet accepted and—”

“Lyla.”

Garcia’s voice was low, and Lyla scrunched up her face at him.

“You’re no fun.”

Lyla’s flair for the dramatic always reminded Jack of his sisters, which brought back to mind Brynn’s question regarding a relationship between him and Lyla. While Lyla carried many amazing traits—pretty, generous, loyal, weird sense of humor—she wasn’t his type. Amy popped into his head. Was she his type?

His gaze focused on Brynn. At one time he believed she was perfect for him.

Brynn’s attention moved back to him, a ferocity in her eyes likely spurred on by Lyla. “You know everything I do. I just can’t figure out how your agency gets anything accomplished working bankers’ hours.”

From the corner of his eye, Jack saw Lyla’s mouth pop open, and it was all he could do not to become annoyed with her. But it would be misdirected, because it was Brynn who was challenging his leadership—again.

“My team, this agency, accomplishes plenty.” His jaw ached with frustration. “In the last few years, my team and I have logged more hours in this office than in our homes. So when an opportunity arrives where we can step away and remember that life exists outside of this office, you can bet we’re going to take advantage of it. Life’s too short not to live it while we can.”

Brynn’s lips snapped shut, and a flicker of emotion passed through her eyes. Guilt pulled on his shoulders as he realized she of all people knew life was short, considering she’d lost both her parents, but he shrugged it off. All the more reason why she should understand. “See you tomorrow, Ms. Taylor.”

Jack stacked the last box into the back of the U-Haul and pulled the door down, securing it with a lock. Helping Kekoa move out of his rat-infested apartment was exactly the vigorous exertion his body needed after telling Brynn there was nothing more they could do until the following day.

The bewilderment in her question and eyes made him wonder how much of a life Brynn had outside of the CIA. And it only made him feel more guilty about what he’d said to her.

“I used to think camel spiders in Iraq were the creepiest things I’d ever encounter—until I came into this apartment, Kekoa.”

Jack stepped into the mostly vacated apartment to find Garcia with his ball cap on backward, wielding a broom like a weapon.

“I swear these rats aren’t scared of anything.”

“I told you, brah.”

Kekoa stepped around a green couch that looked like it might’ve been in style during the Nixon era. An orange pleather chair and Formica dining table would’ve added to the mod style if they weren’t riddled with stains and cigarette burns.

“If I brought food home, they’d stare at me. I’m pretty sure they were plotting to eat me in my sleep.” Kekoa gestured toward himself. “Look at me, I’m like rib eye to them.”

Garcia backed toward Jack and leaned the broom against the wall. “Speaking of dinner, let’s get out of here and grab some food.”

“I’m for that.” Kekoa flipped off the lights, and Jack swore he heard scurrying across the oak flooring. “See ya later, rats. May we never hui hou again.”

The three of them hustled down the steps of the brownstone apartment complex and squeezed into the U-Haul’s cab.

“You know I could’ve driven my truck,” Garcia said, folding his long legs into the tight space.

Jack laughed. “What did you tell those rats back there?”

“That I never want to meet them again.”

“I can assure you there is no rat problem at my place.” Garcia adjusted his elbow so he could give Jack, who was lucky enough to be in the middle, more room. “My abuela was a fanatic about keeping her house clean, and my mom was the same way. So”—he leaned forward so he could see around Jack to Kekoa, who was driving—“that means no eating on the couch, put away your dishes when you’re done, and always hang up your towels.”

“Hey, my berth was always tidy.”

“You wouldn’t know it from your apartment,” Garcia mumbled.

“Against popular belief, freelance hacking doesn’t pay consistently. That place was all I could afford when I left the Navy. DC is expensive, brah.” Kekoa sent them a sideways glance. “Besides, my landlord may not spend a lot of money on keeping the rats out, but he has no problem paying his lawyers. If I broke my lease, I’d end up paying more than that place is worth.”

“Lyla’s working with Walsh to find you a new place.” Jack shifted, his shoulders squeezed between Kekoa and Garcia, making it hard to imagine Kekoa sharing a berth—the size of a closet—with another person. “Affordable. And without rats.”

A few blocks from Garcia’s condo, they found a diamond in the rough—a parking space a few yards away from Burger on the Hill. Inside, they found a table near the back and quickly ordered. Voices echoed off the exposed brick interior and piping that gave the restaurant a trendy urban vibe. When their food arrived, Jack let the double bacon cheeseburger and greasy fries ease the tension in his shoulders.

“So”—Kekoa dredged three fries through ketchup—“you gonna spill the deets about your wahine?”

His wahine? Amy. Jack squeezed his eyes shut, remembering he hadn’t called her back. And declined two of her calls. And missed a third when he was helping Kekoa move, but that was because he hadn’t heard his phone ring.

“Amy and I are mostly just friends.” Jack bit into his burger.

Kekoa smirked around the bite of fries. “Brah . . . I’m talking about Brynn.”

The bite in Jack’s mouth suddenly felt too big. He worked to swallow it and then chase it back with a sip of soda. He looked at Garcia, who shrugged.

“All day I’m catching some sort of vibes between you and Brynn. A history.”

“Well, there’s definitely that.”

Kekoa waited for Jack to continue. “What happened?”

Jack picked a piece of bacon off his plate and ate it, considering how much he wanted to share. Garcia had become like a brother, but the only thing they’d ever shared about their past relationships with women was that they had them and that their careers made them difficult to maintain.

It was why Amy had been sort of perfect. Her career traveling all over made him feel less guilty. Of course, it also made it impossible to know if there was anything there besides a solid friendship. But that was a good start, wasn’t it? And friends didn’t kiss . . .

“I don’t mean to intrude, brah. Just curious.”

Jack could see Kekoa meant it. Garcia gave him a knowing look that said he understood, which Jack appreciated even while it caused him to worry. The last thing he’d want was for Garcia to end up like him.

“I met Brynn when she and I were training to become field operatives at Camp Peary—or the Farm as most know it. It was a mix of new recruits and current CIA officers hoping to transfer to the Directorate of Operations. She was already working as an analyst but wanted to work overseas.”

In an instant Jack was transported back to the day he met her. In the library surrounded by a mountain of files. Brynn had spent so much time studying CIA history and the failure and success of missions, he joked that all that knowledge might make her a target. Brynn faced him, irritation in her eyes for only a second before she dissolved into laughter. She pointed out that she’d rather be targeted for her brain than the smear of chocolate icing clinging to his lip. Jack still couldn’t eat a chocolate donut without thinking of her or that moment. He’d been certain—at least at the time—that the woman who reminded him of the smart girl from the Harry Potter movies his nieces loved so much had won his heart.

Kekoa cleared his throat and Jack shook his head, hoping to send the memory back into its corner.

“There was an exam at the end of training. A mock mission each candidate had to lead. The instructors would judge us on how we operated, the information we gathered, and the success. Brynn passed.” He glanced between Kekoa and Garcia, feeling the warmth of embarrassment color his cheeks. “I did not. We went our separate ways after that.”

“Oh, brah, that bites.” Kekoa finished his second burger. “Just like that, no more?”

“Just like that.”

“Well, you never know—”

“It was a long time ago.” Jack cut Kekoa off, knowing where he was going. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d thought it himself. What if he’d found her? Talked to her? Answered her calls? “You never know” was the possibility Jack allowed to toy with his heart even though his head already had the answer. He did know.

When it came time to make a decision, Brynn always used her brain.

Keeping his expression neutral, Jack raised his soda like he was giving a toast. “The past is best left there.”