"She's protective of Tom," he said. "She warned you about yourself."
I stopped mentally raiding my brother's closet. "Wait a minute. When did I become a cautionary tale?"
Will peered at me. "Dude, I don't know your life but you haven't stayed in one place since college. You don't have a permanent address beside Mom and Dad's house and your primary language changes every few months. You don't know where you'll be this time next year, and last I checked you prefer it that way. That's not Tom. He likes his roots. He's big on routines and structures. He's all about constancy and you…are not."
I tickled Abby's ribs because it was better than facing these cool, objective truths. She burst into giggles and flailed in my arms. "Yeah, I've noticed that," I said over her gleeful cries.
Will grinned at his daughter as he paced the room. "Then the question is whether you'll let the warning stop you or you'll take it and proceed."
I liked to believe I didn't run from fights but the truth was, it depended on the nature of the fight. The ones I was tasked with carrying out by government agencies were no problem. Taking on my own fights was a different story. I'd never been able to step up to the plate when I was the one on the line. In the past, I'd dodged every shot that came my way because it was easier than putting myself in a vulnerable position.
I knew this. I could acknowledge it. But I hadn't survived some ham-fisted torture in a secret prison and performed surgery on myself with a pair of pliers to dodge this shot.
That was what I told myself while I showered and dressed and returned to the main house to join Shannon's meeting with Tom.
11
Tom
I'd workedfor Shannon Halsted—formerly Walsh—for almost ten years. In that time, we'd sat for thousands of check-in meetings. Actually thousands. I'd done the math. Anywhere between one and ten meetings per week, nearly every damn week per year, over the course of ten years. Thousands.
We'd met through the worst, the strangest, and the most unproductive circumstances. In the middle of freezing construction sites—or better yet, in freezing alleyways behind those construction sites. A random aisle in the middle of Home Depot because my boss needed to walk and talk. A hair salon while she had her bangs trimmed. I'd even accompanied her to a doctor's appointment so we could touch base in the waiting room.
But I'd never reviewed action items and issues with Shannon while the man I'd promised myself I'd stop lusting over studied me the way a lion studies a gazelle.
He was clothed this time. That was positive. Or not? It could go either way. But that goddamn tongue of his didn't know how to stop painting the seam of his lips.
True to form, Shannon offered nothing more than, "Wes will be joining us today," when I found them seated at her dining room table. She had a perfectly good home office upstairs but preferred big tables like this one where she could spread out her files, notebook, and computer. She liked having a perch from which to preside.
I didn't question Wes's presence or even acknowledge it beyond a tight smile-and-nod move. I nearly strained my neck doing it because every single muscle in my body was pulled taut and even that gesture stretched me in unpleasant ways. It would've twisted into an eternity of awkward if Shannon hadn't jumped right into business and saved me from overthinking Wes's every blink and breath.
But the pace of this meeting wasn't enough to keep me from wondering about his presence. Why was he here? What did he want and what did he hope to gain? I couldn't imagine him going into business with Shannon and her brothers but what did I know about Wes Halsted? What did I really know?
It wasn't much. I'd gathered stray details about the middle Halsted from my colleagues this past week but it was like solving a puzzle with half the pieces missing and the other half turned over, cardboard-side up. He'd started as a Navy SEAL before joining the Central Intelligence Agency. Or National Security Agency. Or some different, more covert agency for which Shannon's youngest brother Riley—the one who traded in truth-based gossip—couldn't remember the name. I'd learned Wes had a talented tongue and that was no euphemism. He spoke multiple languages and seemed to pick up more with ease.
Part of me wished it was a euphemism.
Actually,allof me wished for that.
"I need a favor," Shannon announced as she closed her notebook.
I lifted my shoulders. "Name it."
She pointed her pen toward her brother-in-law. "Take Wes out for lunch. The boy hasn't been off the property in weeks and he needs a field trip."
I shifted to face him, my jaw locked and my eyebrows arched. "Is that what you want?" My words were chilly. I didn't like being manipulated. "You're a big boy, Wes. You don't need Shannon to speak for you."
Wes started to reply, a smirk already carving grooves into his perfect face, but Shannon held up her hand, stopping him. "He didn't ask me to do anything. I think he needs a visit with the outside world and since I trust you on a deep, absurd level, I knew you'd be able to handle it." She paused, waiting for some reaction. I didn't offer her one. "If there's some reason why that's an issue or a problem I don't know about between you two, I'd love to hear an explanation."
"No problems, no issues," Wes said, his gaze locked on me. "I'm up for lunch. What about you, Tom? Would that be okay? We can eat anything you want, even salmon and broccoli."
Shannon watched us staring at each other across the table and I knew she was unaware of my nonexistent relationship with Wes. Shannon was a great many things, but after all these years, I could read her like a book. And that book wanted to know why I sassed off and why Wes knew my go-to meal.
"There's a quaint spot here in Swampscott with excellent sandwiches," Shannon offered, edging her way back into the conversation. She tapped her keyboard, peered at the screen. "Though your afternoon is fairly flexible, Tom. You could show Wes one of our favorite martini lunch spots in Boston."
I swiveled toward her with a dead-eyed glare. "Thanks."
"Is that your employee morale program, Shannon? Martini lunches?" he asked, that smirk pulling at his lips until it formed a smile.
