19. Delayed by International Crime #2
No one approaches the SUV. Not before three. Not before four. At four twenty-seven, Nora tells us to disengage. “A recovery team will take over,” she says. “You’ve been active for twelve hours, and we have enough to identify all three intermediaries.”
I glance at the rental SUV as we pass. The envelope went from Mercer to an emergency room nurse. Nurse to delivery driver. Driver to an empty vehicle waiting for someone else.
Each person knew exactly one step. Nothing before it. Nothing after it.
Ledger watches the SUV disappear behind us. “We know who built the network, and somehow we still can’t get anywhere near him.”
“That’s the point.”
Rooke doesn’t need every person in his operation to trust him. He needs each person to trust exactly one other person. One connection at a time.
I hate how much I understand his system.
My phone is still locked inside the equipment bag at my feet. There likely won’t be a message from Reese during the operation, especially since so much of it has been during the middle of the night. Still, the question waits in my head. Are you ever going to kiss me?
Yes. The answer has become the most certain thing about the night.
We return to the CSA shortly before five thirty as the sky begins to lighten. Emerson is already there. I’m beginning to suspect he sleeps beneath his desk and emerges whenever new data enters the building.
Nora transfers the surveillance records while Ledger and I report what we saw.
Emerson adds three new photographs to the network.
“The woman is an emergency-room nurse,” Emerson says.
“No criminal history. No financial irregularities. The delivery driver has two traffic citations and a small business loan. Neither has any apparent connection to Acer, Rooke Strategic Services, or each other.”
“Someone recruited them,” I say.
Emerson nods. “Or someone recruited the person who recruited them.”
Ledger rubs one hand over his face. “That sentence is why I should’ve become a dentist.”
Evelyn arrives during the final ten minutes of the debrief. She listens, asks three questions, and orders us all home. “Recovery will handle the vehicle,” she says. “You’ll receive an update after you’ve slept.”
I retrieve my phone and see two messages from Reese. The first came at ten eleven.
Reese: I assume the pending task will remain pending until further notice.
The second came at midnight.
Reese: No need to answer. Just checking that my important relationship question hasn’t been lost beneath international crime.
I type while walking toward the elevator.
Miles: Back at the agency. Safe. The question is still at the top of the list.
I don’t expect her to be awake, but her answer arrives before the elevator doors close.
Reese: You’re back?
Miles: Yes. Debriefing is finished.
Reese: It’s almost six a.m.
Miles: I’m aware. When can I see you?
Reese: After you’ve slept enough that you can remember the answer to my question.
Miles: I already remember it.
Reese: Sleep anyway, Agent Lancaster. Don’t worry about me—I’ll just be thinking about you all day long while I’m at the library.
I smile. It’s ridiculous how much one text can do to my pulse. For years, kissing Reese has lived firmly in the category of things I wanted and couldn’t have. Now, it’s only a matter of when.
Miles: Tonight?
Reese: Tonight.
I go home, drink some beet juice to hopefully give me back some of what the day took from me, and sleep.
When I wake, Charlie has sent a brief operational update.
I read the message, then put the phone down.
Rooke’s network will still be there tomorrow.
The question Reese asked has already waited too long.
I shower, shave, and spend several minutes trying to decide on a shirt to wear before recognizing the absurdity. Reese has seen me covered in mud, blood, paint, bee pollen, and once an entire bowl of guacamole. She is unlikely to revoke permission to kiss her because of my choice of shirt.
I choose a gray sweater anyway because she once said it makes my eyes look unfair. Then I drive to Reese’s townhome and park out front. As I’m walking up her stairs, I send her a text.
Miles: When can I see you?
Her answer pops up immediately.
Reese: Right now.
So, I knock on her door.
Reese pulls the door open so quickly that the wind from it moves her hair.
She’s standing there in leggings, an oversized sweater, and socks covered in tiny books.
Her hair is twisted into a loose knot, and she is wearing bee glasses.
She looks cozy, rumpled, and so attractive that my attention catches for a second on the curve of her legs before I force it back to her face.
She looks exactly like herself. Nothing arranged. Nothing staged. No perfect date, sunset cruise, or ghost tour. Only Reese waiting for me with a smile on her face that could bring a man home from anywhere in the world.
For a moment, we just stand there—me beneath the porch light and Reese framed in the doorway. The same place I nearly kissed her Saturday. The same door. The same two people.
Nothing feels the same.
Then she grabs my arm and pulls me inside, reaching around me to push the door closed. The movement leaves barely any space between us.
“How was the mysterious government thing?”
“Long.”
“Dangerous?”
“No.”
“Did you save the world?”
“Not yet.”
“Good. That would be an intimidating achievement to follow.”
I move in closer to Reese and say, “I didn’t see Charlie’s car.”
“She’s stuck at work.”
Reese closes what little distance remains. “I asked you a question yesterday.” Her voice is nothing more than a whisper. A breath I feel against my skin.
“I’ve been thinking about the answer ever since.”
Her eyes search mine. “And?”
“I am going to kiss you now.”
Her lips curve slightly. “That sounds more like an operational declaration than romance.”
“I can phrase it differently.”
“I didn’t say I objected.”
I lift one hand and rest it against her cheek, her skin warm against my palm. The last time I touched her this way, I stopped. Now the space between us contains nothing but intention. Still, I pause, leaving the final inch to her. Reese closes it.
Her mouth touches mine, and for one second, everything is careful and new. Everything beneath it is familiar. The shape of her cheek beneath my hand. The faint citrus scent of her shampoo. The way she leans into me without hesitation, as though she has trusted my arms for years, because she has.
Then her fingers grip the front of my sweater, and careful becomes impossible. I kiss her again, and Reese rises onto her toes, pressing closer.
I have imagined this.
Every imagined version was wrong.
None of them included the small sound she makes when I slide my hand around her waist. None included the way she smiles against my mouth in the middle of the kiss.
None included the overwhelming relief of discovering that kissing Reese doesn’t make her feel like someone new.
She is still the woman who texts me criminal histories for ferns.
Still the person who recognizes me even when I’m in disguise.
Still my best friend. Only now we’re allowed to kiss.
I draw back just enough to breathe.
Reese’s eyes remain closed for a moment before opening. “Well,” she says softly. “That answered the question.”
“Thoroughly?”
She considers.
“Preliminary findings are promising.”
I laugh, and she kisses me again before I finish. This kiss is shorter but somehow more dangerous because she initiates it without hesitation. When she pulls back, her cheeks are flushed.
“I’m a little angry,” she says.
“About what?”
“That we waited so long to do that.”
“I attempted to address the issue in college.”
“You panicked and named another woman.”
“You panicked until I named another woman.”
“We have established that neither of us handled the situation well.”
“Agreed.”
She rests both hands against my chest. “I meant I wished we hadn’t had to wait since yesterday.”
I chuckle softly. “That was the agency’s fault.”
“I’ll file a complaint.”
I brush my thumb across her cheek. “Was it worth the wait?”
Her teasing expression softens. “Yes.” One word. No joke beneath it.
Something in my chest gives way. I lower my forehead to hers.
For years, I believed this moment would alter the shape of everything between us. That one kiss would create a dividing line—friendship on one side, romance on the other—and we would never be able to return if we discovered we had crossed it by mistake.
I was wrong. There is no line. Only more. More honesty. More wanting. More of Reese than I had ever let myself ask for.
She tilts her face toward mine. “Are you thinking about the kiss?”
“Yes.”
“Good thoughts?”
“The very best.”
Her smile returns. “Then I think additional research may be warranted.”
“I agree.” I kiss her again.
The kiss doesn’t cost me what we were. It gives us somewhere new to go.