“No. Don’t worry about it. I’ll catch an Uber. But thanks.” He left Gil and walked into his own cubicle where his first order of business was to grab a bottle of ibuprofen and pop two tablets in his mouth. After a moment of hesitation, he popped two more. Everything hurt. He could imagine how much worse Zane must be feeling. All he wanted to do was go home, crawl into his bed ... and wake up in a world where no one was killing off his friends or trying to kill him.
He grabbed his phone and tossed his laptop, notepad, and pen into a messenger bag. As he walked back to the conference room, he scrolled through his text messages—four from his mom in the last two hours—and opened the conference room door without looking up from his phone.
“Mom, I’m not going to argue with you about this.”
It wasn’t until he registered the tone of Faith’s voice that he took his eyes off his screen. She had her back to the door, and he doubted she’d heard him enter.
“I can’t.” Faith’s tone was a study in respectful annoyance.
But if she saw him and thought he was listening in, he had no doubt he would experience the “zero respect and completely annoyed” version of Special Agent Faith Malone. He took a step back. Then another.Don’t turn around, Faith.
Faith rolled her head in a slow circle. “Don’t give me that. Hope understands.”
Luke took two more steps. He was back in the hall.
Faith let out a long sigh, then a few “uh-huhs” and “okays.”
He reached for the door and pulled it closed.
“I’ll check in with you later this week. No, I won’t be able to ton—”
Luke knocked on the door, louder than necessary, and pushed the door open for the second time.
Faith turned around and waved him in. “Tomorrow.” Her tone left no room for argument. “Okay. Bye.” A pause. “Love you too.”
She ended the call and slid the phone into her back pocket.
“Sorry about that.”
“No problem.” Should he ask if everything was okay or let it go?
Faith was a thundercloud, and all that remained was to see if she would pour down rain or flash lightning. Either option had terrifying implications. Crying women were scary. Angry women were also scary. Women who were crying because they were angry? That was the stuff of nightmares.
“I’m ready whenever you are.”
“Great.” She gathered all her things.
Gil stuck his head into the conference room. “Powell. Malone. Let’s go. We’re burning daylight.”
“What’syourhurry? All you have tonight is a hot date with a pot roast.” Luke knew the words were a mistake as soon as they left his mouth.
Gil cracked his knuckles. “I didn’t think you’d want to share, Powell.”
“What I want to know,” Faith said, interjecting herself into the conversation with ease, “is what’s so special about this pot roast that you would turn down the mac and cheese from Relish.”
Her words were playful. And if she’d caught Gil’s meaning, she’d done a great job of hiding it.
Gil laughed. “I have a great recipe. I’ll share it with you. It’s foolproof.”
“I think you may be giving me more credit than I deserve.” Faith patted her bag. “I love gadgets and gizmos and time-savingdevices. But I’ve never had much success with anything cooking related. I don’t even own a Crock-Pot.”
Gil stared at Faith in dismay. Luke clapped him on the shoulder. “Not everyone wants to have their own cooking show, man.”
They trooped down the hall. “I would kill on a cooking show.” Gil stated this as fact, with no hint of arrogance. “I can hear the promos now. They’ll play up my Secret Service career. I’ll be a hit.”
Despite the lightness of the conversation, their situational awareness went through the stratosphere as they exited the building. Luke paused by the door and grabbed a telescoping inspection mirror from the security guard station. They all hesitated before going outside, each of them scanning the parking lot and the cars parked there.
“Give me that.” Gil yanked the mirror from Luke’s grasp.
