Chapter 3 #3
"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. But anyone 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.
"It's not something I go around bragging about," Sterling said. "And most people don’t know. However, a few do because it’s not a bad idea to have the right people around to help protect me."
"And what about Doyle? Are you saying he's here to protect you? And I'm confused. I thought he was a Green Beret, not CIA."
"Doesn't mean he's not CIA now. And when the CIA lets someone like me go," Sterling said, "they want to be sure of two things.
The first is that I'm not going to turn around and sell what's in my head to the highest bidder.
The second is that our enemies aren't going to come and try to take it out of me. "
"Are you suggesting that your friend is here to make sure that's not happening?"
"I think that's one possibility."
"He told me at lunch today he runs private security out of Charleston."
Sterling took a gulp of wine. "That's either a cover he's using because he doesn't know which locals in this town are safe and which aren't. Or I have it wrong, and he really is just a man on vacation."
She set the wineglass down. "Is there another possibility? Because when you say one, it means there could be more."
"You're very astute."
"It comes with being a bartender." She leaned forward. "I'm asking because you look more intense than usual, and that makes me wonder if I should be worried… about you."
He contemplated for about thirty seconds on what to say. Not telling her his thoughts might mean no kiss, and that would be a buzzkill. Telling her might scare her, but at least he'd be telling her the truth. "He could've been sent to warn me."
"Of what?"
"Of chatter regarding someone wanting what's inside my brain." He tapped his temple. "But I'll know more in the morning."
The breeze off the water came in and lifted the hair on the side of her neck then laid it back down. One song had ended and a new one began. A low, warm tune about a man and a Tennessee whiskey.
She picked up her wine. "For the record," she said, "this is the most interesting first date I've been on in a long time."
He laughed. "I'm not sure how to take that."
"Take it that there's going to be a second."
Sterling smiled. "Now I'm a happy man." He should be. For months, he'd been drooling over her like a dumb teenager. And for months, she’d politely shot him down.
But on the night his boss goes on his honeymoon, she agrees to go on a date? And then the next day Doyle shows up?
Those two things added up to one bad thought—Juniper had been watching him. Which also meant the Aegis Network's background check might not have been enough.