Chapter 8
Chapter 8
A fter Gum Lady disappeared behind her closed door, Jones remained staring at it in shock because, somewhat unbelievably, it was the first time anyone had ever closed a door in his face. He was self-aware enough to realize he could sometimes be a pest, maybe to the point of annoyance. But he also knew he was lovable enough to make up for it, that most people considered him the little brother they never had, even people who were younger. He was unassuming, charming, cheerful. Non-threatening to anyone who wasn’t an enemy of the state. But Gum Lady, unlikeable, unfriendly, closed off Gum Lady was the first to almost nip his nose in her retreating door slam.
Oh, no she didn’t. That seemed to be all he could think as he remained staring at her door, slack-jawed with offense. Who exactly did she think she was? Did she think she was better than him because she was in the high and mighty CIA? He could have gone that route, he’d had plenty of offers. He was in the private sector by choice. By choice! And it made him no less valuable or competent than she was.
He whipped out his phone and began a furious email to Ridge but halfway through ran out of steam. Not that his anger was spent. He had a ways to go before that would happen. It was merely that he suddenly saw himself from his former Lieutenant’s viewpoint.
The positive thing about Jones was that he was a team player. He could always be counted on to get along and ease any tension. He enjoyed peace, cohesion, happiness.
The negative thing about Jones was that he was a team player. He didn’t like standing on his own and making the hard calls. It was why he’d never pursued Officer Candidate School. He’d enjoyed kicking back and being a subordinate, as much as any SEAL can kick back. He’d thrived in the high stress world, mostly because he wasn’t the one in charge. But he wasn’t a SEAL anymore. He was in hotel management now, the head of security. It was time to fight his battles on his own, without Ridge, without The Colonel. And if he couldn’t handle one cranky spook, what good was he?
So he made a fist and rapped on the door, so hard his knuckles stung as if he’d taken a swing at it. He made up his mind to pound all night, if he had to, so it came as something of a disappointment when the door was readily yanked open. Gum Lady stood in front of him, her regular pinched and annoyed expression gleaming at him.
And now they were going to lunch together and Jones had never been able to stomach silence for long.
“So. Lunch.”
Gum Lady darted him a look, one that ratcheted his annoyance. Why was she so judgy? He could feel her censure. She must share the belief that spies were supposed to be severe. Jones didn’t agree. It wasn’t about temperament, or at least it shouldn’t be. It should be about ability, and Jones was able. More than able. He’d been a SEAL, had proved himself in all the ways that mattered. His teammates, men whose lives he’d saved, understood his worth. But on first look he didn’t fit the stoic soldier mold. Commandoes weren’t cheerful. Jones was.
Gum Lady was not. He wondered if she’d ever cried after a kill. Jones had. Plenty.
“I don’t hold out much hope for lunch,” Gum Lady muttered, tone longsuffering.
“Why not?” Jones asked.
“Prior experience.”
“What has lunch ever done to you? And how could food ever be bad? Food is one of our highest joys in life.”
“That’s where we agree,” she declared.
He grinned. “You’re a foodie?”
She gave him the look again, the one that said she had grave doubts about his intelligence. “Obviously.”
“Why obviously?” he said, tipping his head to study her. Was she one of those women with a poor self-image who wrongly believed she was fat? She was possibly a little fuller than some, but not unpleasantly so. As far as Jones could tell, all her padding was in the right places.
“Do you want me to lie down so you can make a chalk outline?” she asked, and he realized he’d been caught checking her out. Strangely he felt no shame. Maybe because he found her so unlikeable that he also felt no need to impress her. Whatever the reason, he gave a helpless little shrug.
“If you say ‘boys will be boys’, I will throw up,” she warned him.
“Women do it, too,” he said instead. “It’s human nature. We look at each other. Nothing wrong with that.”
“I don’t do it,” she said.
“Shocking,” he muttered. “Also, you’re lying.”
“I am not. And why is it shocking? Because I don’t view the world as a soulless meat market?”
“Because you consider yourself above it all.”
“Above what all?”
“Everything pertaining to us mortals,” he said.
Her scowl deepened and so did his smile. He was getting to her. Good. It was his turn.
“Wrong. You are so wrong, I can’t even begin to list how wrong you are. You could get a doctorate in wrongness right now. You don’t know me. At all, not even a little.”
“Oh, but I do. You think you’re so superior. You find the flaw in everything.”
She blinked, stunned. “That’s what I’m paid to do. It’s my job.”
“But it’s not only a job. If you can’t find a way to turn it off, you might reconsider your choices.”
She bit her lip and glanced away, crossing her arms over her chest. Protectively? Jones decided to make amends. He pointed across the cafeteria. “Sushi. You seem like the type to enjoy it.”
“You don’t know me,” she reminded him with a scowl.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he commanded.
“I…shut up.” She pushed past him and headed for the sushi.
B y the time Jones loaded his plate and found Gum Lady at her table, she had re-upped her ire.
“Riddle me this, Rent A Cop. If you’re so Zen and personally divested from your job, why does my presence here bother you?”
He opened his mouth to answer and found he had none to give. Her presence was an annoyance to him, and not merely because of her unlikable demeanor. He had willingly left his former job, had walked away from danger and toward a cake position at a luxury resort. But being confronted with a spook on his home turf was a reminder of all he’d left behind. He wasn’t a member of the club anymore, was no longer part of the elite few. Sure, he still had friends and contacts in that world, but it wasn’t his world anymore. The reality of that was lonelier and more insecure than he’d expected.
“Because,” he said at last.
“Ah, I see. Insightful,” she said. Her glance landed on his plate. “Why didn’t you get the sushi?”
“Because it’s raw fish,” he said.
“So you tried it and don’t like it,” she said.
“I don’t have to try it. It’s raw fish,” he said.
“You insinuated that you’re a foodie, and yet you refuse to try food,” she said, eyebrow held aloft in what he took to be a challenging manner.
“I don’t need to try it. I’ve fished before, lots of times. I’m familiar with raw fish. No need to ingest it to know how it tastes, thanks.”
“Seriously,” she said, shaking her head as she picked up a tiny, disgusting green thing, dipped it in sauce, and held out her chopsticks to him.
Jones stared at the chopsticks, uncomprehending. “What?”
“This is the universal symbol for ‘put this thing I’m holding to your lips into your mouth.’”
“First of all, you don’t seem like the type to share food. Second, no.”
“First of all, you don’t know me. Sharing food is the highlight of my otherwise dreary existence. Second, open.”
He opened his mouth—to protest—and almost gagged when she shoved the piece of sushi inside. Previously he would have said it was impossible to frown and chew at the same time, but somehow he pulled it off.
“Well?” she asked, arching one eyebrow as she awaited his reaction.
“Gag,” he said, a lie that became obvious when his glance strayed to the sushi station. Who knew raw fish could taste so good?
“You are a bad, bad liar. Maybe an all around bad person. Who knows?” She shifted her plate of sushi between them and tapped one of the little bowls. “Careful with this, it’s wasabi.”
“I’ve had wasabi plenty,” he said. “I happen to like hot things.”
“You have never had wasabi,” she said.
Jones took a deep breath, flexing his fist. He would never hit a woman. Probably. But she was testing his limits in all the ways. “I eat wasabi on my wasabi,” he informed her as he speared a piece of sushi and loaded it with wasabi. She watched him, tipping her head in a manner that achieved maximum irritation on his part. I’ll show you, he thought, shoving the entire piece of sushi into his mouth. Then immediately back out again when it burned like all hellfire on his tongue.
“What is that?” he rasped when he was able, after dunking his tongue in sour cream and downing about half his water.
“That is true Japanese wasabi, nearly impossible to get outside of Asia. Highly unlike the green horseradish served in the US and labeled as wasabi. Hence my warning.”
“There is something seriously wrong with you,” he said, using his napkin to wipe his streaming eyes.
“No, I’m ridiculously normal and mild-mannered,” she argued. “And if you find me so objectionable, stop following me around like a lost lamb. I have a job to do.”
“Exactly, and that is why I’m sticking with you. I’m the head of security here. Your job involves me.”
“Really, really no,” she said, shaking her head.
“Totally, totally yes,” he said, nodding.
“In all the years I’ve been doing this job, I have never been flagged by security, never had anyone insist on tagging along,” she said, stabbing her sushi in aggravation, forcing the roll to burst open and spill all over her platter. Then she glared at him as if that were his fault, too.
“I find that hard to believe. If anyone with sense knew what you were up to, he’d want to be involved,” he said.
“No one knows,” she hissed. “That’s kind of the point of my assignment.”
“Well, maybe I’m better than they are.”
“No, that’s definitely not it. It was the gum,” she said, turning glum.
“What does gum have to do with it?”
“I blew my cover because of the gum in my hair. And then designer Barbie drew your attention and everything went haywire. Men. I swear.”
“How did I get thrown under the bus here? You blew your own cover. Don’t blame me.”
“I blew my cover because you and the desk clerk were drooling over Miss France’s divine perfection. Meanwhile there was a massive backup at check-in and the wad of gum in my hair wasn’t getting any less sticky. Hence I blew my cover.”
“You say hence too much,” he said, pointing his fork accusingly at her face.
“Hence,” she said peevishly, resisting the urge to stick out her tongue. How could she have gotten herself in this position? She would have to report on herself, might get dinged, and it was all his fault for not being as stupid as he looked. “This is the worst assignment ever.” Angrily, she jabbed her fork into her plate a few more times.
“Hey, don’t take it out on the cutlery,” he said. He had no idea what made him do it, but he reached for the fork at the exact moment she jabbed it toward her plate, howling in pain when it connected with his hand instead. “What is wrong with you?” he demanded, now staring at the fork as it dangled from his hand.
“Who sticks his hand in front of a moving fork? Are all your instincts backwards?”
“I was trying to disarm you,” he said, using his free hand to yank the tines out of his throbbing hand.
“It’s a fork , not a semiautomatic rifle,” she said. “The only victim here was my plastic plate.”
“You’re clearly violent and deranged,” he said.
“Says the man full of fork holes. If this were a cartoon, you’d leak water after you drink now.”
He pressed the fingers of his free hand to his temple, not certain he’d ever felt such visceral dislike for a person. “I can’t believe you jabbed a fork into my hand and you can’t even apologize like a normal person.”
“I’m sorry…so sorry you reached your hand between a woman and her food like it’s your first day on planet earth,” she returned. She gave her tray a little shove and stood. “I am done with this, done with trying to be nice to you.”
“Stabbing me is your idea of nice?” he said, incredulous.
She jutted a finger at him. “Stop stalking me. Leave me alone so I can do my job.”
“With pleasure. I hope I never see your face again. Or your fork,” he called after her retreating back. Several people turned to look at him. He put up his uninjured hand in a wave, giving them a sheepish smile in return. His wounded hand throbbed and he was angry, angrier than he’d ever been at anyone in his life. No more Mr. Nice Guy, he thought as he stood and made his way to his office. Gum Lady was going down, once and for all.