Page 56 of Truly Forever
Somewhere in my nearly immobilized brain, I register his distinguished voice doesn’t jive with the disreputable rest of him—but I’m iced to the cushion debating how fast I can run or if a scream would reach John’s ears.
“Alrighty, then. I see him.” The creep nods, clomps across the patio, and lets himself inside.
Some help I am. Bracing, I cover my mouth and watch. John turns, unconcerned, almost as if he were expecting the visitor, and holds up a finger. He talks a few more seconds, taps the screen, and sets the phone down.
The stranger does all the talking while John, resting on his palms on the counter, listens, nodding every so often. Finally, he folds his arms and shakes his head.
My heartbeat returns to normal. Mostly.Thisis the kind of person John deals with? These people know where he lives?
Both men turn. I look away.
Wait. The thug knows my name?
I steal another peek. The two shake hands, and the stranger leaves, out the front this time. John swigs water from the bottle he opened earlier and comes outside. “Sorry about that. You ready to go?”
My fingers tremble the pendant at the base of my throat. “Who was that?”
His mouth curves on one side only. “Quite a sight, isn’t he?”
“You know him?”
“Once upon a time, that right there was the best undercover agent in the field.”
“Wait. You mean he’s…”
“One of the good guys? Yep.” He snorts. “Left me high and dry, though, when he opted for a desk job last year.”
“Surely he doesn’t go into the office looking that way?”
“Well, the tats don’t show through a shirt and tie. Right now, though, he’s doing me a quick favor back in the field.” The planes of his face shift into thoughtful lines. He taps the rim of the sofa. “Ready to head out?” He extends his hand, helping me out of the comfy cushions, his fingers whispering along my arm and coming to rest at my waist.
“So. I was thinking, Hollie. Neither of us had lunch, and it’s getting close to dinnertime…”
∞∞∞
A death glare greets me as I close the front door, the receding hum of John’s luxury SUV backing out of the driveway.
“You’re just now getting home?” Perched near the front window, Jacob, arms crossed into a hard knot, scowls. In his workout garb, shorts and a gray Chandor Athletics t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, he looks tough and angry.
“Yes.”
“Where have you been all day?”
Thrown initially, I’m now collecting myself. I don’t care for my son’s tone. I set my purse in its spot on a table by the door. “I’ve been out.”
“Withhim?”
“You mean Agent Chavez?”
“Whatever. Did you spend the whole day with him?” Anger crackles Jacob’s deep voice.
“The afternoon, yes.”
“Doing what?”
Thewhatis slung out, seasoned with a flavoring that suggests things that are not so. My son was an even-tempered child and has grown into a similar sort of young man. Until recently.
“I don’t care for your tone of voice, young man.”