Once she pulls her brown hair into a messy ponytail, she stands by my side and crosses her arms. “Interpol does not run operations. They engage local law enforcement. So, who is it you're working for?”
“No one.” Glancing at her red nails, the unwanted intruder shrugs.
“The CIA? Tell us, dammit.” My spouse, patience frayed, inches her nose closer until it almost touches the other’s.
“I can’t say. You don’t have the clearance.” Her dissing Gwen goes too far, and I’m tired of playing games.
Grabbing my cell, I wield my index finger over the digits. “Well, you can’tnotreport her death, nor can I. I could lose my job. Where'd you find the body, and I'll phone it in.”
“Excuse me?” She stands, opens my fucking refrigerator, and grabs my last beer. “FYI, my handler took care of those details. If you try to call it in, there won’t be any sign of the murder.”
Rubbing my hand across my short beard, I curse under my breath. “What kind of shit show are you running on us?”
She twists off the top, chugs, and wipes her mouth with a flick of her wrist. “Calm down. The FBI wants Ledbetter. I was about to hand him to you on a platter untilsheruined everything.”
Gwen grimaces at the attack and makes coffee. “If you’re undercover, why have a roommate? Was she your partner?”
“No. Her name is… was Joanne Cormack, and she was a nobody.” For the first time, Babcock appears contrite.
I smell a lie. Her story does not ring true. “So, why the hell would someone kill her?”
“She wore my clothes. Whoever murdered her probably thought she was me. We have similar builds and viewed from the back, could be easily confused.”
She’s hiding something.“I don’t want you here.”
“Listen, this is your wife’s fault. I can’t go back to my hotel.” Her eyes hold defiance and a trace of something far more dangerous, but I won’t be intimidated.
“Not my problem, call your handler, and go.” When I open the door, the wind blows in salty air.
Shrugging, she plops down on a kitchen chair. “Sorry, he’s not picking up.”
As I’m about to drop her ass on the wet sidewalk, Gwen touches my arm. “Babe? With me?”
Her chin motions toward the bedroom, and I follow her down the hall.
Once we’re out of the other woman’s earshot, she whispers, “Perhaps weshouldlet her stay.”
“You don’t know her like I do.” My hands cup her cheeks, and as I study her enormous brown eyes, I try to make her understand.
Brows raised, she mimics my moves, holding my face. “Wasn’t it Sun Tzu who said, ‘Keep your friends close and-’”
“‘Your enemies closer’. You would’ve made an excellent FBI agent.” Turning my head, I kiss her hand and envision what my life would be like without her. “Even so, you should not have tailed me this evening.”
“I’m so sorry, wolfman. She was so damn… arrgh. I couldn’t help myself. What if Farid had burst into our home in the middle of the night and insisted that I accompany him? Would you have let me go?”
“Hell no, he’s dead. Which would mean he’s a zombie.” My attempt at humor causes her to harrumph.
“Stop prevaricating. You know what I meant.” She only dips into her vast vocabulary when she’s genuinely pissed.
“Babe, I hear what you’re saying. I’d never have let you out the door.” I’ve not seen her jealous side before and am unsure how to react. Does she want me to get rid of the witch or allow her to stay? “Do you have your RF weapon handy?”
Biting her lower lip, she reaches beside the bedstand and nods. “Now, I do.”
“Stay alert and keep her here, for God's sake. I’m going to make a few calls.” If Babcock is telling the truth, she’ll be a person of interest in her roommate’s murder.
As I find Special Agent Scott Hunter’s contact number, she kisses me. “I love you.”
“Love you, too, sweetheart.” After she leaves, I ring the most trusted member of my team and pace alongside the bed. “Hey, it’s me. Sorry for the late hour, but I have a situation here.”
