Me: Can we start over?
When she doesn’t get right back to me, I wonder if she invited fuckwit over for a evening romp about or maybe she went out with the wannabee Ruski.
Not quite sure what to do, I grab a cup of coffee and call Slate. In the background, I hear his wife making brekkie and wonder if I’ll ever find any kind of domestic bliss.
“What’s up?” Slate answers on the first ring.
“Me dick.”
“Want to take care of that and call me back?”
“Nah. I can do both at the same time. Listen, mate, it’s Calliope–”
“I was just about to call you. The FBI called Grayson and said to back off completely. They’ve been tailing Yuri Romanoff and think she’s about to sell out to him.”
Worried, I walk to my surveillance monitors and click until I find her in the kitchen. “But it doesn’t make sense. I overheard her professor say her work is pure shite. He told her to start over.”
“And she believed him?”
“Yeah.”
“Dammit. Stay on her. Every fucking second of every fucking day. And keep Suds with you. There is no way her work can be that far off. If she sells Yuri a load of crap, she’s dead. If she sells him something real, she’s going to jail.”
“I need more intel.”
“Give me a few hours.”
“Make it less. You’ll make sure I get conjugal visits?”
“I’ll personally take care of you.” He snickers.
“Seriously, mate. How much does Grayson know?”
“I checked in with him. He said Mrs. Bradford-Clarke hired us to keep her daughter safe so we’ve got ample legal room but keep out of the FBI’s way. What’s your next move?”
“To start off, I need to apologize.”
He starts laughing his ass off. “Best of luck with that. By the way, the two words generally used are, I’m sorry.”
“Sod off.”
Still chuckling, he hangs up and I pace.
I hate to think she might’ve used me. I hate how my cock crams against my jeans whenever she’s near. I hate more, that she could be in serious trouble.
I text her again.
Me: You still mad at me, luv?
She texts back a poo emoji
Slate’s right. I suck at apologies and it takes about twenty more texts before she agrees to meet me for lunch.
I spend the rest of the morning reading through Slate’s intel, starting with Callie. There’s not much new there. I know she’s some kind of wunderkind, a genius in her field. Apparently, she won a science contest in high school that first drew the government’s interest. Her research is cutting edge and if it works, could change the field into something much more dangerous. Because of her reluctance to weaponize EMF, she refuses to sign anything, claiming civil rights violations. And yet, like many extremely bright people, her people skills are limited.
Dr. Subramanyam is almost too squeaky clean and is the only one in the US capable of understanding her studies. Of much more interest is Gerard Chase who’s worked closely with Callie for years. He has some pretty expensive habits.
And Yuri Romanoff? He’s so dangerous Callie isn’t going within two feet of that bloody bastard. I don’t care what the Feddies say.
