Chapter 15
“Pillow talk between you and your wife must be interesting.”
At this, a devious smile twitches for just a second before I assume my serious mien. “Fox, you’re not cleared to hear the pillow talk between me and my wife.”
“So you admit there is some?” She’s surprised. As with most polygraphs, most people deny pillow talk.
I shrug. “Why would I deny it?”
Even Pamola and Deere’s jaws are slack as I—appear—to admit the cardinal sin of anyone with a national security clearance—discussing job specifics with one’s spouse.
The thing is, I’m not admitting to shit.
Not caring two shits about their assumptions, I ask, “Would you like to hear about my wife’s father’s upcoming visit?
Or maybe about how we’re contemplating buying a second home in Texas? ”
Fox’s eyes narrow. “You know full well that’s not the kind of pillow talk we’re talking about.”
My eyebrows skyrocket. “I’m not certain if you’re allowed to ask me those kinds of questions, Fox.”
At that, Pamola and Deere can’t hold back their snickers. Despite getting hit with a glare hot enough to fry an egg, I continue on blithely, “I mean, we might be a decade or so older than you, but we’ve still…”
“Stop!” Fox shouts. “Just answer my question.”
“Which was?”
“Do you discuss your job with your wife?”
“Generally.”
“What about specifically?”
“You do know my wife is cleared at a very high level,” I remind her.
“And do you discuss specifics about missions? Anything that would put American lives at risk?” she persists.
My jaw locks. “My wife runs a successful contracting firm to build facilities that are safe for you to do your job and for me to do mine. There are few times when our jobs intersect. That being said, she’s my wife.
She can damn well ask me if I’m okay, and she knows me well enough, has lived through enough, and is fucking smart enough to know if something is reported on the news, I’ve likely had my hand in it.
But to answer your question explicitly, no.
The only pillow talk we engage in is the kind that hopefully ends with my mouth on hers. ”