Taking the spot on the couch nearest to Randall, Devlin crossed her legs and lightly bounced the topmost one. “So,” she shot a look at the patio door to see her mate walking away, “did you and Curt hit it off?”
“I think I broke through his defenses. And,” Randall lifted his beer, “he offered me one of these. That’s got to be a good thing, right?”
“Let me see the label.”
He spun the bottle.
“I wouldn’t get ahead of yourself.” She gestured toward the dark-colored glass. “He saves those for people who show up uninvited.”
Randall sulked, took another peek at his beverage, and came back to her. “Really?”
She threw him the same playful look she had given Ashford a moment ago.
“Ooh,” Randall wagged a finger at her, “nice one. You...”
She laughed.
“...you had me going there.”
Her mood changed as she beheld her black shoe. “I...I suppose you heard us arguing in there.”
Taking a drink and setting his beverage on a side table, he held on to the container for a few seconds while downing the liquid in his mouth. “You don’t have to worry about me, Jessica. I get it. I’ll stay away from your sister.”
Devlin was silent.
“I wouldn’t want to harm our relationship.”
She nodded. “I appreciate that.”
Awkward moments passed.
Randall eyed Devlin’s dress. “You look nice.”
“Thanks. It feels good not to have to wear pants.”
The tension still hovering between them, he peeped at her legs and drew upon his humor to try to cut through the uneasiness of the situation. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you without nylons on.” He dipped his forehead toward her bare skin. “You’d blend right in if you stood next to a ghost, you know that?”
Devlin feigned hurt feelings and lifted her top leg to examine her whiteness. “Yeah...well, it’s a little difficult for us working mothers to find the time to lounge around in the sun or visit tanning salons.”
“Don’t get me wrong.” Randall pointed at her lower limbs. “It’s good to know you have those,” a tick, “you know...in case we ever lose our flashlights when we’re on assignment.”
She swiveled her head a few degrees toward him and arched an eyebrow.
Observing the look on her face, his shoulders dancing up and down, he chuckled. “I can see it now...Raven, raise a pant leg toward that dark corner over there, will you?” He held a flat hand in front of his eyes. “Not that much. You’re blinding me.”
Devlin pressed her lips together to stifle her amusement.
“Tone,” he snickered, “tone it down some.”
No longer able to suppress the urge to smile, she lightly kicked him in the shin. “If I were a member of your SOG unit, I believe this is where I would flip you the bird.”
His laughter increased before subsiding while he rubbed the spot on his leg she had tapped.
“Lucky for you, I’m a lady.” She undid the flap on the envelope. “I went back to the office before dinner and,” she pulled out a stack of papers and handed them to Randall, “picked these up for you.” After peeking into the envelope, she shoved a hand back inside and hauled out a leather bifold. “Your salary’s written halfway down the welcome letter.”
“Whoa.” His brows rocked upward. “This is way more than what I was making at the DEA.”
“It’s also more than—” she leaned forward while swinging an arm his way. “Here’s your cred pack.”
Randall opened the bifold to see his badge, a silver star inside a circle, along with his identification.
“It’s also more than what deputy marshals start out at, but,” she shrugged, “since we’re in uncharted waters, I thought I’d push for more.”
“Thanks Jessica.”
“I hope this tells you how much I want you on this team.”
He smiled, “I’d have come on board for,” before thumping the area on the page where his annual salary was printed, “half this amount.”
Devlin threw up an arm. “Now he tells me.”
Randall sniggered and eyed his new income again. “It looks like I can afford to keep my old place and get a new one here.”
She snapped her fingers. “Speaking of that...” She disappeared into the house, returning a couple minutes later. “Here’s the number of that real estate agent I was talking to you about. He has a really nice place in move-in condition that’s close to the office. Since he knows me—and since it’s already furnished with some essentials—he said you could stay there a couple nights to get a feel for it. Then, if you like it, all you’d have to do is sign the papers.”
He nodded at the business card she had given him. “I’ll check it out before I leave town.”
A deep crease forming on her forehead, Devlin looked away, sighing a few moments later.
Randall lifted his gaze to see her moping. “Okay. If it makes you feel better, I’ll check it out first thing tomorrow?”
Biting her lower lip, she spied him and shook her head.
He placed his paperwork on a table and faced her. “What is it? You have that,” he made a zigzag motion above his brows, “squiggly thing going on. That tells me something’s wrong.”
Devlin smiled inwardly. Curt says the same thing. “Am I really that easy to read?”
“Like a large-print book with a magnifying glass.” Randall curled his fingers back toward himself. “Talk to me.”
Devlin dropped crossed arms onto her belly and studied her shoes for several seconds before rocking her head backward and letting it hang off the back of the couch. “I’m thinking the President screwed up.”
Randall frowned. “Excuse me? What-what are you talking about?”
“About me...I’m talking about me. I’m not sure I have what it takes to do this job.”
“I don’t understand. You were great out there...in the field.”
She righted her head. “I haven’t felt this,” she faltered, “this unsure of myself since I first started with the Marshals Service. As a newbie, I felt like I didn’t know what I was doing back then, and I’m feeling the same way now.”
“Where’s this coming from? You’re one of the most capable agents I know—man or woman.”
Devlin faced him. “I’m not cut out for these secret, clandestine missions where I’m on my own. I’m a marshal. I know who the bad guys are. I know how to track them down. And I have the law on my side.” She shook her head. “But this ‘black ops’ stuff is...it’s a whole other world.”
Randall eyed his partner, his mind taking him back to when he graduated high school.
“Here—in the U.S.—I know my job. And I’m damn good at it, too. But, when we were in Norway, I found myself off balance...not knowing what to do next. And I didn’t like it.”
He smiled to himself. Perfect segue. “You know,” he crossed his legs, looked upward, and eyed the tops of the Thuja trees, “right before I graduated from high school, I went into a funk. I was days away from becoming an adult, and I had no freaking clue what I was going to do with my life.”
“You and millions of other teens.”
“True. But none of them had my Pops...to share with them some of his insight. I remember him...”
Devlin let out a truncated, barely audible groan before she could stop herself.
He pointed at her. “I heard that.”
“I’ve been wondering when you were going to drop another Pops story on me.”
“You pretend you’re annoyed; however, deep down inside, you know you love my stories.”
“I know I would’ve loved your Pops. That’s for sure.” She extended an upturned hand toward Randall. “Please continue, King Solomon.”
Hearing his full call sign, he grinned. “Anyway, Pops must’ve seen me sulking around the house, because he pulled me aside and asked what was troubling me. When I told him, he looked pensively at the floor for the longest time. I could see the wheels of wisdom spinning.”
Devlin leaned forward, her eyes never straying from Randall.
“Then, after nodding his head a couple times, he stood, patted me on the shoulder, and said to me...”
Not having blinked in the last fifteen seconds, Devlin waited for the kernel of truth.
“...‘You’ll figure it out, son.’ Then,” Randall raised his arm, “he walked into the kitchen and grabbed himself a beer from the fridge.”
She recoiled, her head going back a little further. “That’s it? You’ll figure it out? That’s all he said?”
Randall held up a forefinger. “It wasn’t what he said so much as how he said it...matter-of-factly. He doled out that insight as if he were telling me two plus two equals four.” Randall shrugged. “He wasn’t worried about my future. And, if Pops wasn’t worried, then that told me I shouldn’t be either. I’d figure it out.”
“No offense, but,” Devlin rolled a finger at her partner, “your delivery didn’t exactly instill in me the same confidence as Pops’ tone apparently did for you.”
He chuckled. “How’s this then? Do you remember when we were aboard that helicopter and you said to me, ‘What if I hadn’t figured out your crazy plan and didn’t have the chopper in place?’”
“I believe I said crazy ‘A’ double ‘S’ plan. But, yes, I remember. Go on.”
He smiled at her humor. “To which I replied...‘We’d have found another way. We always will, Jessica.’”
Her eyebrows came together.
He put both feet on the deck and listed closer to her, his face turning stoic. “You’re not alone in this. You have me. And the two of us will...figure it out.” He paused. “We always will, Jessica.”
Mulling over his words, Devlin drew her lips into her mouth and stared at the decking. The uncertainty that had been dogging her all day seemed to have faded a bit. She regarded Randall and gave him a thin grin. “Thanks for the pep talk. I think it may have worked...somewhat at least.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“And, at the risk of inflating your ego, your Pops stories—while I wouldn’t go so far as to say I love them—they are...”
Randall’s eyebrows went higher while he tilted his head a half inch. “Yes?”
“They are,” she hesitated, “pretty cool.”
“That’s because my Pops was pretty cool.” He claimed his beer and tipped the opening toward her. “To King and Raven...and all our wild adventures ahead.”
Devlin picked up her husband’s near-empty bottle but stopped short of clanking it against Randall’s. Half-smiling, a gleam in her eye, she amended the toast, “To Raven and King,” before clinking the vessels’ glass necks together and taking a sip.
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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