"I hope you had the grouper sandwich. It'sourfavorite." Sterling wished he hadn't felt a stab of envy, but he'd seen Doyle pick up women when they'd had down time during ops.
"I did, and it was amazing." Doyle glanced between them. "I'm sorry if I offended you ma'am. If I had known it was Sterling you had a date with, I wouldn't have come on so… strong."
"No need to apologize," Juniper said. "You didn't ask his name and I wouldn't have offered. Besides, you seem to have rebounded nicely with my manager."
Doyle laughed but didn't add any details. Not entirely unlike Doyle. He often kept his exploits to himself around other ladies, but if he and Sterling were alone, Sterling was sure to get an unwanted earful.
"Are you staying in town?" Sterling would ask for more details later. Now, wasn’t the time.
"Harvey's Cabins."
"Dawson Ridge and his wife owns those. Dawson's the police chief," Sterling said. "He's also a retired SEAL. Good man. His wife's a local. Fiery redhead. If you need anything or want to know anything, Audra's your girl."
"Thanks for the tip." Doyle nodded. "I'd love to catch up, but I don't want to keep you from your date any longer."
Sterling was grateful for the lead in. "How about tomorrow for breakfast? Calusa Cove Café around eight?"
"I've got an airboat tour at eleven," Doyle said. "Sounds perfect."
"I'll see you then." Doyle smiled at Juniper. "Thanks for being a good sport about earlier."
"Hope to see you in my pub again," Juniper said.
Doyle crossed the deck to the far end and let Lucia seat him at a high-top meant for two set against the rail near the corner.
Sterling sat down, determined not to let the encounter spoil his evening. Doyle wasn't the worst man in the world. Only he angled his chair a quarter inch. Not enough to be obvious. Enough that he could see Doyle from his periphery without having to turn his head.
"Small world," she said.
"Suspiciously small."
"Why would you say that?"
He turned the wineglass on its base thinking about Doyle and what he knew. What he remembered, which was a lot, but hard to define. Doyle was the kind of man Sterling wanted at his back when a plan fell apart, but the one he couldn't wait to be rid of once was over.
Sterling looked at Juniper across the table. He hadn’t planned to have this conversation tonight—if ever. He’d planned to enjoy a glass of wine with a beautiful woman, order the special, and maybe, if he was lucky, kiss her goodnight and ask for a second date.
"I don't believe Doyle's here on vacation," Sterling said.
"Why not?" Juniper's eyes grew wide.
"When someone like me leaves the CIA, they often send people to check up on you." He shifted his gaze. Doyle had a beer in his hand, and he was chatting up the table next to him.
Typical Doyle.
She tilted her head. "You're making it sound like you did something wrong."
"That's not what I mean." He shouldn't be telling her this. It was fine for the local police to know about him. Or his office. Butanyone else, that put him at risk. "Because of the work I did, I know things that the CIA wants to make sure I never repeat."
"Isn't that true of all their agents?"
"Yes. However, not all of them have an eidetic memory." He turned the glass again. "I could walk you through the floor plan of a building in Caracas I was in nine years ago and tell you where the light switches were."
"Seriously?"
"Some days, it's a curse. Others, it's a tool. It's why they wanted me, and it's part of why they don't entirely love it when men like me leave."
"If that's the case, should you be telling me about it?" She held the wineglass in both hands now and watched him over the rim.
