Page 24 of PSYCHOlogical

“Mine.”

“Give me an example.”

“Ellen.”

“Ellen’s in a relationship, and the world knows it,” she argued.

“I’m just saying. One of these days, Val’s going to come out of the closet. Now, be quiet. I want to watch Tom Cruise kick these five guys’ asses.”

I looked at Jordan and rolled my eyes.

Jack started the movie. In a minute and a half, Tom Cruise whipped all five of the drunken idiots that challenged him. The police promptly showed up and arrested him. Jack paused the movie and set the remote aside.

He rose from his position on the couch with a groan and turned toward the bathroom. “Duty calls. I’ll be right back.”

My thoughts drifted to Vincent’s mission. I wondered if one day an overzealous police officer might shoot him, or if one of his targets might get the upper hand. Vincent’s nervous nature about his weekend assignment had me troubled.

Jordan finished her wine and stood. After a moment, her looming presence caused me to look up.

A concerned look washed over her. “What’s wrong?”

I gulped wine and stood. “Nothing.”

“Something’s bothering you,” she argued.

She was right. Nevertheless, explaining that I was concerned with the welfare of one of my clients—who just so happened to be a government hit man—was impossible. Even if I could talk about it she wouldn’t understand, nor would I expect her to.

I sighed. “Just work.”

“Can you talk about it?”

“Not really.”

The concern in Vincent’s eyes when he realized Shephard wasn’t going to be able to assist him on the assignment was etched in my mind. If he was worried about it, I knew I should be, too.

The thought of something happening to him made me feel ill.

I swiped my thumb across my phone’s screen. No missed calls. No text messages. I pushed my phone into the pocket of my jeans. The next eight hours were going to be excruciating.

“Grab another bottle of wine,” I said. “I think this is going to be one of those nights.”