Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Juniper dropped into the lounge chair and pulled her feet up under her.
She turned the glass of bourbon in her hands and stared out at the water.
This stretch of the inlet opened into the bay and the darkness of the water seemed to stretch on forever.
The water never hushed. It knocked against the pilings under the deck.
The frogs had loud opinions, but the gators were muted for a change.
That was unusual for the Everglades, but then Juniper recalled Sterling mentioning that alligators rarely ventured this far down the canal—odd as that seemed.
"I shouldn't be, but I'm relieved that you know," she said.
"I keep waiting for a more sensible feeling to show up, but I can't imagine it will.
" That was the ridiculous part. She should be anything but grateful that Sterling knew the truth about her identity.
But she was. The fallout from her secret being revealed, both professionally and personally, could put her in a position worse than when she first arrived.
Losing her job was most likely going to happen. She could live with that, eventually. But not until all the unanswered questions swirling around Calusa Cove and Sterling were answered.
And while Sterling seemed to be taking her confession in stride, it didn't mean he wanted to keep things going romantically, and losing him, even as a friend, might be more than she could bear.
Sterling lowered himself into the chair beside her, close enough that the armrests knocked together, and stretched his legs toward the rail. "Emotions have no measurement of intelligence. They just are." He took a slow pull of his bourbon. "But I've been undercover. I understand that feeling."
"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 comes to 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."
"It's a pretty similar background as anyone else in a job like ours.
" She owed some truth about her past and this she could give him.
"I came up in counterintelligence. Cut my teeth on field ops, surveillance, assets, the whole circus.
Undercover's just counter intel with better lighting and worse hours. "
"You're not wrong about that." His brow furrowed, and he rubbed the back of his neck.
She'd seen him do that a time or two when he was working out a problem at the bar with the team. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"How much of what you did and what Mark did crossed over?"
"There was some, but I moved into national security work right around the time he and I met. Different lane. We compared notes the way married people do, but not the way partners do. Why?"
"I don't know if I would've ever told you this or not. But I see no reason not to now." Sterling set his glass down on the deck beside his chair. "Have you ever heard of the Shrike Collective?"
"Excuse me." The glass slipped from her hand. It hit the deck and came apart, the sharp tones of shattering glass filled the quiet, followed by bourbon fanning darkly across the wood.
Sterling swung his legs to the side. "I'll take that as a yes." Crouching, he picked the big pieces out of the mess. "Hang tight. I'll be right back."
Where the hell was she going to go? She sat there staring out into the dark water.
The channel buoys flashed green and red.
In the distance, a white light lingered in the bay.
A boat, perhaps. She wasn't sure, but it didn't matter.
It was just something to focus her attention on while she allowed the word to settle in her brain.
Twice in less than a week.
It had crossed her mind often over the few years, but she'd never been able to put the puzzle pieces together. Hell, she'd never been able to find the majority of the pieces. None that fit with the few she had, anyway.
Sterling returned with a towel. He handed it to her while he took a small handheld broom and dustpan and finished cleaning up the mess. Seconds later, he disappeared again, only to return with a fresh glass. He poured her a new drink and held it out. "Here."