Chapter 14
If anyone ever knew what I did, my clearance might get docked.
I could lose my job.
I might be sent away by the Agency to some post in Timbuktu—yeah, no.
That wasn’t happening. I’d just quit and go work somewhere else.
Still, I’m uncomfortable with what I’ve done to the point I’m shifting in my Saville Row suit outside what looks like the entrance to a dive bar, all so I could “run into” Bethany.
But what has me doing the fire ant dance in my pants is how I got the intel to be here.
I couldn’t convince Libby or Cal to tell me anything about her beyond confirming what I heard yelled at their home a few nights ago.
Bethany McCallister led the construction team behind Deja Vu’s build out of Hudson Investigation’s new office in DC.
It wasn’t her father, Linc, a man I’ve actually met.
It is the blond sprite who has been living in my dreams since that kiss on the balcony in Mexico. I never thought our lives would intersect again, which is why I never looked before.
I did today. I did the unethical. Something I’ll have to report on my next clearance re-up.
I used my Agency credentials to track Bethany to where she is right now—just beyond the doors inside Spare Tavern.
According to her cell pings, she comes here at least once a week for several hours, so I brace myself before going in.
I hadn't planned on coming to her weekly bowling match. In fact, bowling wasn’t my thing.
But the moment I heard from one of my analysts that this was where she went every Friday night with her crew, I couldn’t shake the idea.
Call me persistent, but I wasn’t going to let our reconnection—as awkward as that meeting was at that party—be the end of whatever this could be between us.
If it even is anything. At this point, I’m not even sure where this may go, but I know I want to find out.
My shoulders droop imperceptibly as I make my way to the door.
She doesn’t owe me a damn thing, but I hope she’ll hear me out.
When I realized Bethany has a clearance of her own—a clearance level definitely lower than mine but not too shabby—I realized I could let her in on why I had no choice but to leave.
Why I can make the choice now to stay—if she’s amenable to spending time with me. To seeing where these—god, are these emotions? No wonder people fuck up all the time over them, I think, disgusted. I yank open the door, anxious to get a drink in my hand so I can numb them slightly.
But the moment I cross over into Spare Tavern, my mind blanks except for one single thought. They must have superior soundproofing.
The cottage-esque exterior is a superior camouflage for what lies in the heart of Spare Tavern. Over and over, as I absorb the trap I just walked into, lightning cracks over and over. In reality, it’s the sound of resin striking wood in the lanes just below the upper landing I’m standing on.
The sound hit me first—the loud crack of bowling balls smashing into pins, the hum of laughter, and the occasional groan of defeat—whether that’s because they missed a critical ball or guttered it entirely.
I’m frozen in place temporarily, shock over the wall-to-wall people embracing a tried and true American tradition.
All those years I spent fighting in hell holes around the world, and I never realized until right now, I did it for this—for the first date, I clocked at twelve o’clock.
For the family birthday party over in lane six.
For the league of at least semi-pro players in matching attire, and, though I didn’t spot her right away, a group that I instantly knew were her people.
Construction workers. Big, loud, covered in tattoos and paint splatters, probably as comfortable in steel-toed boots as I was in a tailored suit.
Then I see her amid the burly men in lane eight, and the world fades away.
Leaning casually against the scorer’s table, holding a beer, her blond hair in a messy ponytail and a worn baseball cap pulled low over her brow, she looks like she belongs here, with those rough and tumble workers, like she’d never felt out of place a day in her life whereas I’m using deep breathing exercises to propel myself toward the stairs toward her.
That’s when a voice shouts near my ear above the din. “Hey, mister?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you planning on going down below?”
Not losing Bethany in my sights, my chest aches. She leaps in the air after a particularly impressive roll of the ball. Having never been bowling, I know back slaps and the military. But this? I’m completely out of my league.
I give an imperceptible tip of my head, whereupon the kid says, “Then we need to get you shoes.”
I glance down at my Church’s dress loafers and raise a brow. “These shoes are perfectly fine, thank you.”
The kid’s lips split, revealing a wide line of braces. “Not for the alley, mister.”
“Ahh, you have a uniform.”
“Yeah, whatever. What size?”
“A twelve should work.” Then I watch in fascination as the kid plunks a pair of shoes on the counter and sprays them with disinfectant. I blurt out my thoughts before I can hold them back, “You voluntarily do this?” Revulsion drips in every word.
He snorts. “What reason do you think I’d risk inhaling stank feet?”
Fair point. “It’s a paycheck.”
“Got it in one.” He then asks if I need a lane.
I point to Bethany’s, where she and her friends seem to be wrapping up their game.
I mention I’ll be heading that way and, to my pleasure and dismay, am told, “No problem.” I make a mental note to assign guards to Bethany starting next week. She’s too unprotected.
Too vulnerable.
After taking my card, I’m handed my shoes, given a sheet of paper on how to hook up to the WiFi—no fucking way.
I can see some pimple-faced ass hat trying to hack my phone and realizing I’m the mother-fucking associate director of the Agency.
Then I’ll be fending off attacks all night instead of focusing on the woman I can’t seem to stop obsessing about.
Before I know it, I’m behind the hard plastic chairs near to Bethany just as she’s about to bowl again.
I admire her trim physique as she takes three steps forward, swings her arm back, and crouches down, pulling her jeans tight against her ass.
An ass, I remember lasciviously, which fit perfectly in my big hands.
Hands that wanted so fucking badly to explore every inch of her perfect skin.
That was until I was dragged away from her for my damn mission and my patriotic duty.
I swallow, the memory of our conversation at Cal and Libby’s party smashing through my memories of our day together in Playa Del Carmen.
She barely acknowledged me—probably thought I’d forgotten her.
And to be fair, I’d given her that impression.
I’d been pulled into an op that night that kept me out of the country.
Then, after my parents’ funeral, I elected to leave for the better part of eighteen months until I was shot and sidelined.
But she doesn’t know that, the insidious voice inside my head reminds me.
Determined to have a long overdue conversation with her, I promise myself nothing’s dragging me away tonight unless Bethany plans on doing the dragging.
As she’s doing her celebratory dance, she spots me. Happiness seems to dissipate into thin air as Bethany storms up to me. She snaps, “What are you doing here, Thorn?”
I rub the back of my neck. “I guess I wanted a chance to see you again. After all, seeing you for the first time at Cal and Libby’s the other night didn’t go so well.”
Something shifts and moves behind her eyes. I recognize her stifling her curiosity before she says, “How did you know I would be here?”
I step closer, not just so we’re not overheard but so I can determine if our time in Mexico was a fluke. Judging by the way my cock leaps to attention after it presses against the trousers of my suit, I’d say not, I think sardonically. Without thought or repercussion, I answer, “I tracked you.”
Her eyes narrow. “How?”
I open my mouth to answer until I take in how pissed off she is. I decide to make her a bargain. “How about we play a game? If I win, I get to take you out.” I sound a lot more confident than I really am.
“And if I do?” she asks suspiciously.
“Then you can ask me any question.”
“Including how you tracked me?”
“Including that,” I immediately agree.
Her lips twitch into a smile. With a flick of her long hair, she goes over and programs our names into the computer. Thorn. B. “Game on, Thorn.”
“May the best person win, B.”
God, please give me a miracle and let that be me.
Bethany takes her turn, her movements fluid and effortless as she launches the ball down the lane. It crashes into the pins, sending all ten scattering in a perfect strike. Her friends whoop and cheer, and she turns back to me with a cocky grin.
“Top that,” she teases, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Not sure I can.”
Bethany studies me for a second, and I can see the gears turning in her head. “You don’t exactly look like the bowling type, you know that, right?”
I look down at myself—down to the shirtsleeves in my suit. Definitely a more relaxed version of my usual office impeccability, but still, “I can adapt,” I say, holding my hands up. “I’m flexible.”
She snorts a laugh, and I take it as a small victory.
“Well, if you’re flexible, then grab a ball, businessman. We’re just about to start another round.”
But the whole time, I know there is one thing I haven’t told her—one thing that might push her away again if she finds out.
My job. My life as a businessman isn’t exactly the typical nine-to-five she probably imagined.
And I am not sure how she’ll take it once she knows the truth about what I do and who I work with.
I’ve learned over the years that people knowing I work at the Agency has the power to make them swoon with the desire to learn the most delicious on dit or scare them to death that their secrets will be exposed. Where will Bethany fall once she finds out? I wonder.
And she will ask since she’s kicking my ass.
As the night winds down and the others start to pack up, Bethany and I end up sitting at a small table near the snack bar, finishing off our drinks. She leans back in her chair, her gaze flicking to me like she is sizing me up again.
“So, how did you find me?” She takes a pull from her bottle.
“I tracked you.” Blunt, open.
Her head turns to the side to avoid spraying my suit. “Are you for real right now?”
I shrug. “Why lie? I wanted to see you again, but Cal and Libs were no help.”
“That’s borderline stalkerish, Thorn.”
“I didn’t use some crazy app, B. I typed your name into a computer and it spit out a whole plethora of data.”
Her brows furrow as her gaze roams my face.
“You’re a mystery, you know that?” she says, her voice low.
I raise an eyebrow. “Am I?”
She nods. “You’re not a businessman, are you?”
“No.”
“Nor are you a politician.”
“Not even close.” My voice catches at the end. I’m not certain with the noise in the alley she’d notice but surprisingly, her hand comes to rest on top of mine.
“I’m truly sorry to have read about your parents, Parker.
” The organ in the center of my chest flips around at her use of my first name for the first time as blood rushes back to it.
Her fingers squeeze mine before she begins to withdraw.
“I know what it feels like to lose one parent. Hell, for five years, I knew what it was like to lose both of them.”
I flip my hand around so I prevent her from pulling away. “I want to get something out between us. Something I need for you to understand.”
“O-okay?”
“I didn’t leave that day because you’re Bethany McCalister,” I inform her bluntly, sizing up her reaction.
It doesn’t take long for her to have one. Her expression closes down, and all empathy washes away by a mask of protection. “Then why did you leave?”
“I received a message. I had to go.”
She scoffs. “Right.”
“B, I’m not lying to you. I had to go.”
“How did you receive the message?”
I lift my wrist and show her my Rolex. “There’s a transmitter inside that emits a pulse. I had to leave then so things didn’t FUBAR.”
“Thorn?”
“Yes?”
“What do you even do, really?”
I hesitate, my heart thudding in my chest. This is it. The moment to be honest. But how much can I say? “I work in…troubleshooting,” I say carefully, which is true enough. “It’s complicated.”
“Troubleshooting?” she repeats, clearly not buying it.
I exhale. “It’s hard to explain, but I’ll tell you more when we’re in the right location.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “Right.”
I can’t blame her for being suspicious. I am asking her to trust me without giving her the full story. But I want to earn that trust, even if it takes time.
“I’m not trying to hide anything,” I say. “Just…”
That’s when she smiles and beckons me forward, a hint of mischievousness crossing her face. Cupping my ear, she whispers, “This is the kind of conversation we need to have inside one of my SCIFs. Isn’t it Thorn?”
I had no way of knowing then, but her tacit understanding of who I am would seal our fate.
Lifting her hand to my lips, I kiss the inside of her wrist. It’s the same spot I did the day we were in Mexico together.
Letting my lips linger as I stare into her fathomless blue eyes, I murmur, “Yeah, it is.”
Her breath shudders out, whether due to my ministrations or my words, I’m not certain. “Well, at least this time, I’m going into this with my eyes wide open.”