"It's been six weeks," I muttered. And it wasn't going to blow over. My security clearance had been revoked and my covert status was trashed. They hadn't sent the official word yet but I was as good as done in the intelligence community. They weren't calling me in to run a mission center or advise station chiefs or support any of the National Clandestine Services teams. I wasn't going to the Caymans. They were done with me, I knew it.
"You need to ask yourself whether you want it," he said, slam-dunking a diaper into the pail beside the changing table, "or you want to move the hell on. Kaisall and I could put you to work tomorrow if you're up for it."
I flopped back onto the rug and stared at the clouds painted on the ceiling. "Sorry but my subscription toSoldier of Fortunehas expired."
"Consider it," he said. "We're building some new teams and we could use your expertise."
Working for my brother was a punishment neither of us deserved. I had no interest in his A-Team reboot operation, especially considering those fools didn't even do deep-cover espionage. They did quick gigs where they hoped like hell their Green Beret-turned-mercenary could blend in with the locals long enough to rescue the abducted diplomat or steal the nuclear warhead that'd gone missing the last time our government overthrew a regime. They knew how to pull off small, precise,quickjobs. They didn't do what I did and I couldn't do what they did. Not anymore. Maybe five years ago, but not now, not after all these years in clandestine work.
"The actual last thing in the world I want is to pose as an antiquities-but-also-arms dealer again," I said. "I've run that gag a hundred times too many and I know the borderlands too well."
"That's not the work I have in mind but it doesn't seem like you're in the mood to hear anything," Will said.
He wasn't wrong about that. I wished I could attribute today's sense of despair to my career or my aching body or my father needling me to get help last week. It wasn't any of those things—it was everything. Everything was wrong and I couldn't make any of it right.
And I hadn't seen Tom since last Friday night. Clearly, everything was fucked with that, even though I'd tried so hard to keep it easy and flirty and fun. But when everything was wrong and it didn't matter how hard I tried to make it right. Easy, flirty, and fun didn't exist. Those things formed a thin, crackly layer at the surface and hid the mess beneath. And Tom knew it as well as I did. He knew and he didn't want any part of it.
Abby flung herself on my torso, giggling and shrieking in equal measure. "Jesus Christ, baby koala, you're gonna kill me," I grunted, shifting her away from my wounds. "What kind of MMA are you teaching her?"
"You gotta play with her, man," Will chided. "That's why you're here."
"And if she murders me in the process?" I asked, curling my arm around her body and holding her upside down. Her squeals of laughter forced a smile out of me.
"You'll still get a star on the wall at Langley," he replied. "They'll reevaluate their investment in your training but you'll get that star."
"Is this what Grampa does with you?" I asked Abby, still upside down and giggling. "Or is it just yoga and meditative breathing with him?" She babbled out some nonsense and I set her down on her bottom, thumbing away the happy tears streaking down her cheeks. "You have a wild child on your hands, William."
"She's very spirited," he agreed.
I'd expected Abby to body-slam me again or begin her stuffed animal redistribution work but she laced her arms around my neck and nestled in my lap. "Shhhh," she said, her finger pressed to her lips.
"Okay," I whispered, wrapping my arms around her little body. She squeezed her eyes shut.
"Judy and the Commodore are out of the house until Monday," Will said as he resumed pacing. "Since you haven't left the garage since last week, I wasn't sure whether you heard about that."
"Don't you know how to deliver news without commentary?" I asked. "And yeah, I heard. Dad's made a point of giving me minute-by-minute rundowns of his day for the past week like I need some kind of SITREP."
He shifted Annabelle to his other arm, saying, "Then I'm sure you know Judy usually hangs out with Abby while Shannon meets with Tom."
I glared at him. "Excuse me?"
"Oh, you didn't know Shannon and Tom meet for an hour on Friday mornings? Yeah." Will consulted his watch. "I'm sure he'll be here soon."
Goddamn. I looked like a vagrant. I was wearing the same sweats and t-shirt I'd slept in and I needed a hot shower. And a plan. I really needed a plan. "Why don't you save us some time and tell me which reaction you're expecting from me."
"I noticed he's visited the garage a few times," Will said, as casual as he fucking pleased.
"Don't you have hobbies? Interests? You spend an obscene amount of time surveilling your own house." I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window. Fuck, my beard was a mess. I needed to get myself in order. Knowing Tom, he'd take one look at my scraggly condition and take a giant step backward. "Come on, man. Read a book or something. Start a Netflix series. Have a conversation with your wife. Stop watching CCTV footage of your driveway."
"Not that I need to explain my security methods to you, but the system pings every time a vehicle breaches the perimeter," he said. "I noticed Tom didn't leave until late last Friday night."
"Andthat'swhy you asked me here." I glanced down at Abby, still play-sleeping in my arms. Would she freak out if I moved her? I needed to get my ass in the shower if I intended to catch Tom while he was here but I didn't want to restart the shrieking cycle. "It's not cool to use your kid as a decoy."
"I was serious about the zone defense," he said with a laugh. "If you ask nicely, I'm sure Shannon would let you crash her meeting."
"She warned me about him," I admitted. I didn't have anything good to wear. Nothing I'd want to wear around Tom. My entire wardrobe was a result of my mother's visit to an outdoor megastore after my arrival here last month. I was all stocked up on relaxed-fit jeans, flannel shirts and thick, white socks. That, and a few UC San Diego sweatshirts stolen from my brother.
Now that I thought about it, I could borrow another sweater from him. Something slimmer than the generously cut flannels my mother selected. Based on the past couple of weeks, I knew Will had a fuckload of dark blue and black quarter-zip pullovers that weren't baggy enough to double as a parachute. Black would work. If I wanted Tom's attention, I had to stop being a despondent mess. I had to get my shit together. And find a sweater that did me some favors.
