"We got to talking one night, me and Toby," she said, her palms smoothing over her skirt. "And you've been traveling so much that—"
"Blowing him in my living room was the next logical step," I interrupted, my focus still on the duffel bag.
There were two possible explanations for this turn of events. One, Jocelyn was telling the truth and she happened to be cheating on me with an actual weasel. Or two, she was a pawn in another one of Renner's games and it was highly likely that he'd been pumping her for information about me and my business. Just another major fucking problem.
"You've been traveling forweeks," she said. "And even when you're home, you're busy."
"So you came here for a reminder?" I asked, shaking my head. Jocelyn hated my apartment (too small, too boring), and she wasn't one to be precious. She didn't cuddle up in my shirts or clutch my pillows. "Yeah. I get it, Joss. Now head on out."
She took a deep breath. "I was here to collect some of my things. I knew you were due back today, and I wrote you a note explaining that I needed to move on," she said. "And you've made it abundantly clear that you're not looking for anything serious."
I shook my head at the duffel bag. I was no relationship expert, but there had to be some ground between 'not looking for anything serious' and 'blowing a dude in your boyfriend's apartment.' Had to be. "Leave, Jocelyn. Now."
She sighed and muttered something under her breath that sounded an awful lot likeIf that's how you're going to beas she pushed off the bed. For a good long second, I thought about following her from the bedroom and beating the piss out of Renner. Just laying him the fuck out and feeding him his teeth.
But that was more effort than I was prepared to offer this situation, and I didn't need to send Renner off with the kind of busted-up face that would give him an opening to tell war stories all over Washington. And, more than that, I didn't make a habit of solving problems with fists. Too much of my work involved real danger and violence, and I didn't want that shit spilling over into my home.
There was a muffled discussion in the living room before the door snicked shut.
Fucking finally.
I released a rough, angry groan as my fingers curled into fists. The bag was out of my hands and flying toward the wall of Capitol Hill-facing windows before the sound fully left my throat, raining black and blue underwear across the room as it sailed.
Then I was panting, my heart pounding and chest heaving with the cumulative aggravation of this week. It was one fucking disaster after another—a large-scale rescue mission in Venezuela gone bad, resignations from five of my best field operatives, a dead-end pitch meeting in Riyadh, and now…this.
I yanked my phone from my pocket, and then whipped off my belt. I kicked my trousers to the corner—my poor cleaning lady was going to have her hands full this week—and stabbed the speakerphone button. Tinny ringing filled the room, mimicking the rush of pain in my leg while I pawed through the drawers in the adjoining bathroom. I flipped on the faucet when the call picked up. A little homespun interference for the digital age.
"Redtop Securities, this is Trish," sang a sweet, Southern voice.
"I need my apartment swept. The Montana protocol," I barked. The tube of prescription-strength numbing cream came into sight, and I slathered it from shin to thigh. "Lock down the servers. Re-encrypt all the comms, and use the heaviest layers we've got ready. Reset all the access codes. Switch out the locks, too."
"On it," she replied. The click of fingernails on the keyboard tinkled through the line.
"And pull the phone records for Jocelyn Gunderson," I said, leaning against the vanity. "Emails, too. Anything interesting, send it."
"You got it, boss," she said. There was a pause, her requisite sip of Diet Coke. In a can, with a straw. Always. "The team will be at your apartment within twenty minutes, and you'll have a data file with the information requested by end of day. Surveillance wants to know if you'd like to keep eyes on her."
"Yeah," I said, the word whooshing out as the ache in my leg eased. "But they should know she's in bed with Renner from Stillhouse."
"What a small, incestuous little world y'all live in," she said. Another slug of Diet Coke. "I can't say I'm disappointed to hear that because it means she's out of your bed. Right? Tell me this isn't some modern day time-share relationship, Jordan. I'll try, but don't think I can support that type of arrangement."
"No, Mom," I said, laughing for the first time in approximately six days. My mother had a way of doing that. She could always turn down the volume on terrible situations, and find new reasons to smile. If for no other reason than that, she was my most valuable employee. "I'm not sharing Jocelyn with Toby Renner. He can have her."
"Well, that's a blessing," she drawled. "How'd things turn out in Riyadh?"
"I don't want to talk about her anymore, and I'm in no mood to talk about Riyadh either," I said. "How are things? Did you hold down the fort?"
Her nails tapped against the keyboard again, and then the soda can. "Nothing new to report," she said. "Will can fill you in on all the finer details. He's been in the weeds with Venezuela, and beating his little black book to death to line up some new staffing. Wait. Do y'all still have little black books?"
I laughed as I considered this. My business partner and mission commander, Captain Will Halsted, probably did keep his contacts in a black book. He was old-fashioned in obscure ways.
"Nevermind," she said before I could respond. "My age is showing. You're still meeting up with Will in the Hamptons, right?"
I pivoted, planting my face in the towels hanging from the back of the bathroom door, and groan-cursed into them. Joining Will and his family in Montauk as scheduled sounded like just the thing I needed, and if I left right now, I could be there before sunset.
But…there was work to be done. Mountains of it, especially after walking into this shitshow. I couldn't stop combing my mind for any bits of business I'd shared with Jocelyn, even the barest details. There wasn't much, but enough for Renner to go hogwild.
"I'd been planning on it, but I should get back to the office," I said.
