Chapter 9
NINE
LANCE
I wake up in the middle of the night with nervous adrenaline. I give in to the sudden urge to check my phone, thinking it means hope. I feel around in the dark on my nightstand for my device. As soon as I gaze at the screen, it glows in my face.
It’s 11:52 p.m. on Wednesday night.
And still no word from her.
Fuck. Stupid hunch. Wrong as can be.
Almost two whole weeks without hearing from Cricket is all it takes to drive me to the brink of madness. There’s been nothing to do lately except sit around and rot—no jobs, no updates. Normally, I’d appreciate a moment of peace, but Cricket’s still not speaking to me. It’s been eleven days since we brought her back from NYC. The way I feel right now, eleven days might as well be eleven fucking months.
Cricket’s never iced me out like this before. I will admit, I underestimated her reaction. I knew she’d be angry at me for telling Vesper about her plans, but in the end, how can she not see my reasoning? Did she think I’d stand by and let her finish her suicide mission? She would’ve been outnumbered. If Luca didn’t finish her off… Vesper would have.
We drove back to D.C. about a week ago in total silence. Cricket was stoic and silent in the back seat the whole way. We dropped her off at her apartment, and Vesper told her to take a few days to rest. She wouldn’t look at either of us as she climbed out of the car.
I haven’t seen her since. I check her office every single day—nothing. I’ve texted her and called her. Messages aren’t delivered. Calls go straight to voicemail. I’m convinced she threw her phone right off the top of her building. Each day, I take the long way home, driving past Cricket’s building. I would’ve gone upstairs and knocked, but the lights have been off every single night. She’s not there.
She’s hiding from me. I know it.
And I can’t fucking think. I can’t sleep. I have to be in the office in less than five hours for some VIP client Vesper warned us all about. I’m agitated with her. Linc, Callen, and even sweet Eden, too. I know one of them knows where Cricket is. Everyone has been tight-lipped, and I’ve been too nervous to ask.
Cricket’s already fuming at me for blowing her cover with Vesper. If she hasn’t told anyone about us and I spill the beans on that too, I’ll only make it worse. A few days ago, I worked up the nerve to casually ask Linc and Eden in the break room if they’d seen Cricket. Linc didn’t even flinch when he told me he hadn’t. Eden got fidgety and turned bright red. She practically ran from the break room back to her office, saying she forgot a spoon for her yogurt.
It's my favorite thing about Eden—she’s a piss-poor liar. I followed her to her office and told her if she saw Cricket by chance, to deliver a message. Eden agreed, inadvertently confirming she’s aware of where Cricket is. She’s obviously safe. Just still fuming at me. I can live with that for now… As long as she’s okay.
As soon as I shut my eyes again, my phone chimes. I snatch up my phone and see a notification. It’s an unidentified number, but based on the message, my intuition was spot on.
771-555-0901
Open your front door, dipshit.
My heart is knocking hard, and my adrenaline rushing. After a week of anticipation, this is what breaks the ice? But I’ll take it.
Me
New number?
771-555-0901
No need to save it.
Okay…
That’s not promising.
I hoist myself out of bed and make my way to the front door, flicking on the dim lights that hang over my kitchen island. My condo is a quarter of the size of Linc’s house, but I’m almost willing to bet it’s worth more. He gives me endless shit for making myself so vulnerable, living in a luxury building in the heart of D.C. But when I was growing up, I always pictured myself in a place like this. I promised myself I’d work hard—go to med school or law school. I was a smart kid. Had it not been for my complicated home life, maybe I would’ve ended up in this expensive condo for better reasons.
My neighbor across the hall is a trauma surgeon. I watch him go to work every day in his scrubs. He’s friendly, always greeting me in the hall as we pass. I can’t help but wonder who sees more dead bodies in a day.
I take a look around my living room one more time, as if there’s any incriminating evidence I need to hide. But there’s nothing.
Since Cricket started ignoring me, my whole life has felt like nothing.
I rip open the door, and…there’s no one there.
I poke my head out and look up and down the hallway. Nothing but the low-lit hallway. I frantically dial her number, scared I missed the very brief window of opportunity she gave me.
“Hello?”
“I literally came to the door the moment you texted. You can’t have already left,” I explain, phone pressed tightly to my ear.
“Who is this?”
Three more words are all it takes for me to realize it’s not Cricket. Shit. “You texted me.”
“Oooh nooo,” the woman on the other line says in a long drawl. She sounds a little drunk. “I’m sorry. I meant to text oh-nine-one-one. I got a new number, and I didn’t add my ex to my contacts… Too bad I have it memorized. Anyway, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. Have a nice night.”
I end the call and slam my front door. I’ve had enough. I can’t take this anymore. I’m clutching my phone so tight I could break it. After a moment of debating, I loosen my grip and dial the person who owes me answers.
“Lance,” Vesper says.
“Where is she?” I bark into the phone. “I know you know.”
“It’s not a good night to—”
“ No,” I roar. “I was so fucking loyal to you. I came to you to help me keep Cricket, not lose her. Look at this mess. I can’t—” I take a few steadying breaths. “Tell me right now, Vesper. Where is she?”
“She’s hurting, Lance.”
“Have you all forgotten? I’m Cricket’s person. I know her better than any of you. If she’s hurting, then she needs me as much as I need her.”
Vesper’s quiet on the line for a beat. All I hear are her splashing footsteps amidst the rain. Obviously, she’s outside.
“Vesper,” I plead.
“We had drinks at Martinis.”
My jaw tenses. “She’s speaking to you?”
“I had some things I needed to clear up with her.”
The beast of jealousy rages in my chest. Vesper’s off the hook, but I’m still in the doghouse? I’m not the one who put a tracker in her. All I did was try to save Cricket from herself. This is bullshit. She’s supposed to be my wife. She’s mine.
“Are you guys still there?” I ask.
“No, I’m headed to collect our client personally, as a security measure.”
Right. The client Vesper won’t tell us about, but I have to put on a tie for. It’s probably an informant against some militant force or another. It’s the only time Vesper is so secretive like this.
“Is Cricket still at the bar?”
“Yes. I was going to send Callen to pick her up—”
“Don’t,” I interrupt, making my way back to the bedroom to fetch a pair of pants and a shirt. “I’m already on my way.”
“She doesn’t want to see you, Lance. You need to give it more time.”
I grit my teeth, thinking of my past week of misery. The gnawing ache of regret and worry, mixed with bitter resentment at the whole situation. I’m not living like this anymore.
“She’s had enough time. We’re sorting this out, tonight.”