"Only problem with that is most of this persona has turned into someone I want to be, and I don't like the idea of shaking her." She'd spent the better part of a year being a woman who she liked better than Junie Stratton.
And the worst of it had never been the strangers that came and went who she had to perform for. The people who were new to Calusa Cove or just passing through. The ones she interacted with and made recommendations to and only wanted to know if they were there because they had nefarious intentions against her assignment.
No. Those had been nameless, faceless, forgettable people.
The ones that made her feel like a fake, like a liar had been those she called friends.
And of course, the one that mattered the most—him.
Not that she hadn't liked Junie Stratton. She'd loved the woman who'd been married to Mark. The one who’d shared her life with him. She wouldn’t have wanted to shed that woman. She was smart. Focused. Energetic. Professional. Kind. A slew of other things. But when Mark died, so many pieces of her had been buried with him that finding her again seemed impossible.
However, Calusa Cove, the people in the town, and Sterling, had shown her otherwise.
"That can be a dangerous spot to be in," he said.
"Have you ever been there?" Her pulse jumped. She thought she knew everything about Sterling. The idea she knew very little was both exciting because she had so much to learn and explore, but also terrifying because it meant she might never get the opportunity to find out.
"No," he said. "I mean, there's always a bleed from your real life when you go under cover. For example, I've always been a bit of a mama's boy, so I'd play that up. But I usually tried to make my cover be the polar opposite of my personality. Pick someone I always wished I could be more like."
"I did that too, I suppose." She took a sip of her drink. It was smooth going down. "But I had nothing left in the tank when I got here. I was washed up. Angry over the death of my husband. Resentful over the fact I was about to be fired. This was the only thing between me and the unemployment line." She set the glass on the flat of the armrest. "I wanted so badly to be back in the field that when the robber came in the Crab Shack I thought for a split second, that was my chance. But I took cover with everyone else, watched you and Doyle and realized, I kind of like who I am." And that included being a pub owner.
Gently, he tapped his glass to hers. "I like who you are, too, and you can be both of those women."
"Maybe." Although, she had no idea what that looked like. Or what would happen when Bea, and everyone else, found out she'd broken cover. "Which reminds me, I've still got a job. Half this town has to go on believing I pull beer for a living. Which means I sit on my hands and let other people walk my scene." She shifted her gaze. "I might not want to have bullets flying at my head anymore, but do you have any idea how much I can't stand not being able to at the very least ask the questions worthy of an FBI agent?"
"That's not the problem you think it is." Sterling lowered his chin. "I can run a question down you want. And if it ever comesto needing more, Dawson's sat on covers for federal partners before. Hated every minute, which is exactly what makes him good at it. Chloe used to be FBI, and she'd do the same. My team doesn't talk. You've got to know that."
She counted the bodies. The habit had never come with an off switch. Dawson. Chloe. Buddy, who'd sit on it like a vault and then drive home to Fallon and lie awake hating that he had something he couldn't say. Dove—same when it came to Trent. Cullen, who carried more than enough in his own head most days without her handing him a federal secret to mind.
Five before she'd drawn her next breath. Five ways a name slips out of a room and into the wrong ear.
All made worse because these people were her friends. They weren't assignment-adjacent, like they were supposed to be. That line had been crossed months ago, and there was no walking back from that, even if she'd wanted to.
And she didn't.
Which meant she wouldn’t ask them to lie for her, on purpose, with intent. That could be an issue if and when the FBI came around needing to know when she’d broken cover. That would make them all criminals. It was bad enough she was doing that to Sterling.
And she couldn't say she’d asked them to do that for the sake of the job. That wouldn't fly. She knew that, and she’d bet Sterling would agree.
"That's too many cooks," she said.
"The kitchen has a lock on the door."
She picked up the glass. "I've buried whole operations because one good person told another good person something true, and I'd bet you that very expensive bottle of bourbon, you've done exactly the same thing. And don't tell me you haven't."
"I wouldn't dare." Sterling knocked back his drink and looked out at the water with a narrowed stare.
"What are you thinking?" she asked.
He brought his gaze back to her. "I'm guessing this isn't your first rodeo."
That dragged a laugh out of her. "I've always loved your sarcasm." She tipped her head against the chair.
"You're the smartest person in most rooms. I've always thought that," he said. "Tell me a little about your career in the FBI. I genuinely want to know."
"What does that have to do with this conversation?"
"Everything," he said. "You've told me that you like this version of you, but that doesn't discount the one that carries a badge. I need to get to know her too."
