Chapter 3 #2
“Not that hard.”
Lincoln tipped back his head, resting it atop the chair back. “Spoken like a true frat boy.”
“I wasn’t.”
Lincoln righted his head so fast Carter wouldn’t be surprised if the professor were dizzy.
As it were, Carter liked that look of surprise.
He wasn’t sure of the ranking yet—blush, surprise, anger—but all of them looked good on Lincoln Monroe.
He aimed to see more of them while also collaring a killer or two.
“I’m a good field agent,” he said. “I saw an opportunity and I jumped on it. With a few texts, Susanne had most of the town’s major players here. I’ve got a lay of the land, a general idea of who’s who, and if Dr. Fear—or the copycat—is here in Apex, they know we are too now.”
“You really think this is the best strategy? If the copycat holds to Dr. Fear’s schedule, we’ve only got thirty-four hours left to rescue Ruby and Chase.
We can’t sacrifice them for the sake of playing house.
Is this the best—and fastest—way to get the info we need?
” His voice was earnest; he wasn’t asking sarcastically.
He was asking Carter’s opinion as a more experienced field agent.
“I do,” Carter answered. “But we both have to be able to sell this cover. I’ve got no problem doing that. Do you?”
“Fuck, you’re cocky.”
Carter grinned. “About what I’m good at, yeah.”
“Fine.” He sighed dramatically, prickly and put-upon, but Carter guessed it was mostly an act. Lincoln was also a good agent. Maybe not as experienced in the field as him but experienced enough to realize this was a decent plan. “We’ll do this your way for now.”
He started to stand and Carter grasped his forearm, halting his ascent.
“Wait, please, we need to discuss something else first, related to the cover.” He withdrew his hand, giving Lincoln distance for what he was about to ask, sensing he might need that too.
“Where’s the line, as far as our cover? I overstepped earlier tonight in the foyer, and I’m sorry for that.
I don’t want to do that again. I won’t do more than you say is okay. ”
Lincoln lowered himself back into the chair. “Thank you for that,” he said softly, genuinely, before the needles reappeared. “Just don’t lay one on me, and we’ll be fine.”
Carter needled him right back. “Only if you ask me to.”
Lincoln ignored the invitation and kept talking. “And don’t call me Linc. Lincoln or L are fine, just not Linc.”
Must be a story there; Carter would have to get it later. He sensed he’d pushed Lincoln far enough tonight. “No ‘Linc,’ got it.”
Lincoln shot him a side-eye glare, as if judging the likelihood of his compliance.
“I swear!”
The suspect glare melted on a laugh that was sadly cut short by Lincoln’s ringing phone. He drew it out of his pocket, and Carter recognized the number as originating from Quantico.
“Agent Monroe,” Lincoln answered.
“Monroe, this is Director Beverley.”
Speaker, Carter mouthed, and Lincoln clicked it on, setting the phone on the table between them.
“You made it to Apex?” Beverley continued.
“Barely, but yes,” Lincoln answered. “I’m here with Agent Warren. Any developments there?”
“Nothing new.”
Lincoln propped his elbows on the table and scrubbed his hands over his face, clearly tired and upset by the lack of momentum there.
Giving him time to gather himself, Carter spoke of the progress they’d made here.
“We’ve established cover,” he said. “We’ll head into town tomorrow.
Check in at the university and police station to firmly establish cover and assess our resources. We’ll keep you posted.”
“Regular reports expected.”
“Yes, sir.”
He moved to end the call, but paused, finger over the red button, when Lincoln asked, “How’s Ollie?”
Ollie? Oliver?
“Senator Kirk remains on alert,” Beverley answered. “He asked me to thank you again for doing this.”
“Of course,” Lincoln snapped, seemingly offended at the gratitude. This was obviously more than just business for him.
Sensing his partner’s nose-diving mood, Carter wrapped up the call, promising a check-in after their morning meetings. He pushed the silent device to Lincoln, who pocketed it and stood.
“Maybe I should head over to the library. Get started on those archives.”
Carter caught his wrist and stopped him from turning away.
Lincoln flinched, his pulse hammering under Carter’s thumb.
“Easy,” Carter coaxed. He glided his thumb over the inside of Lincoln’s wrist, aiming to soothe the professor and himself.
He’d shaken Lincoln’s hand before, eight years ago on the first and last days of class, and touched him more than a few times tonight.
Stood by his side, his hand on Lincoln’s lower back.
Grasped his forearm just a moment ago. But electricity hadn’t zipped down his spine any of those times like it did now.
Another swipe of his thumb, over the pressure point he’d been after, and Lincoln’s shoulders relaxed, as did his chin, lowering to his chest. “Sorry, gotta get used to it still.”
“We both do.” Carter gave the pressure point another massage and more of the tension faded.
Lincoln sank back into the chair. Another five minutes and he’d melt into a puddle on the floor.
Carter was after a little more information first. “One, we don’t have after-hours access to the library yet.
And two, you’re exhausted and upset. You’re tight with Kirk? ”
Carter didn’t resist when Lincoln withdrew his hand. “He was my mentor.”
“Figured as much, since he was the last one to hunt Dr. Fear.”
“I interviewed him when I was working on my thesis, then was his assistant the last time Dr. Fear was active. But it’s not just the work connection.
” He ran a hand through his hair, then, elbow on the table, rested his head in it.
“My parents are back in California, and we’re not close.
My ex-wife’s family is in Puerto Rico. Ollie became our family in DC, took us into his.
Ruby is like a niece to me, and she’s terrified of water.
We used to go to the beach with them, a week every summer, and the screened-in back porch was as close as she would get to the ocean.
The thought of someone drowning her . . .
” He turned his face into his hand. “Every hour she’s gone . . .”
“Is another hour she and Chase likely won’t come home.” Carter knew the statistics too. He laid his hand on Lincoln’s back. No flinch this time, a good sign. “Go get some sleep and be ready to put your game face on in the morning. We’ve got breakfast with Susanne and company at Flour Power.”
Lincoln rotated his face, a single eye and cocked brow visible. Oh, if there was an I’m-judging-you emoji, that face was it. “Flour Power?”
“According to Susanne, the town hippie opened a café.”
“Would’ve never guessed,” Lincoln said, standing.
Carter followed, remaining close, but still some distance between them.
Not much, though. Lincoln needed to get used to Carter in his space, and Carter selfishly wanted to steal one more moment of the other man’s heat in case Lincoln woke up tomorrow and decided this was all a terrible idea.
“I moved your stuff into the primary down here. I’m in one of the bedrooms upstairs. ”
The last bit of tension in Lincoln’s body floated away on a quiet “Thank you.”
Carter gave his wrist a light, parting squeeze, then turned for the stairs. “Holler if you need anything,” he said, voice raised.
“Which of the accents is real?”
Hand on the banister, Carter grinned over his shoulder. And wiped the Georgia accent away in favor of New Jersey. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”