Page 238 of Unexpected Hero

Mia leans closer and lowers her voice. “Figures he’d know the song, given his interesting taste in music.” She contorts her face like she’s dry heaving. “Old man shit.”

“I heard that,” Klein retorts in a barely restrained growl. “You only wish you knew what music was.”

Aaany day now.

Tick, tick, tick, boom.

Mia rolls her eyes, then faces her computer. Mostly to herself, she mumbles, “It’s wild how those commercials just implant themselves in our psyche and then pop into your mind at random, even decades later.”

Another old commercial jumps into my head. To further my attempts to avoid thinking about Lettie, I decide to play a game with Mia. Maybe I can stump her in another language.Given that she’s former CIA and I was Special Ops, we speak some common languages — besides binary and English.

Over the next half hour, we work on our tasks while trading advertising slogans back and forth in German, Italian, and Russian. She stumps me with an M&Ms commercial in Dari. But I best her with a Doublemint gum slogan in French.

Klein calls it quits around 1800, probably to check on his mother. Mia bails not too long after.

I access the building security log that monitors who’s scanned in and out of HQ. Only Boss and a handful of others are still in the building. Considering it’s a Friday night and things are fairly quiet, I should leave.

I’d pick up a shift at Bask to pass the time, but it would only make me miss Lettie. What’s the point of going if she’s not there?

Shaking it off, I fall into a few other tasks that have been piling up on me. Two hours later, the restlessness I’ve been fighting all day returns, attempting to smother me.

“Fuck this,” I announce to my empty office.

I grab my cell to call Lettie, breaking her cardinal rule of phone etiquette. It rings five times before rolling to voicemail. I try again, getting the same outcome.

It’s been around eight or nine months since I’ve invaded her privacy. Aside from the GPS trackers, which are just good safety precautions, I haven’t even glanced at her phone history, listened to her calls, or browsed her e-reader history.

Nothing.

She has a safe place to live, a job, and a good friend. Thanks to the VR headset, most of her workouts happen indoors now. I see her almost nightly, so the need to check up on her has all but vanished.

Until now.

Dread surrounds and fills me. From the pits of my stomach to the back of my throat, it’s there.

Only I don’t know if it’s my instincts or paranoia making me this anxious.

If she doesn’t answer me soon, I won’t make it through the night without checking up on her.

Me

Sweetness, can you let me know if you’re okay?

For several agonizing minutes, my eyes ping between my phone screen and the clock at the bottom of my monitor while I gnaw on the inside of my cheek.

It’s too fucking silent in here tonight.

The only sounds are the soft hum of the fan in my computers and my chair’s incessant squeaking since my knee won’t quit bouncing.

When she doesn’t reply after ten minutes, I check her GPS tags. One by damn one, they all ping at her residence. Her car is there. As is Freya’s.

If she’s at home, then why isn’t she replying?

Knowing she’s there should make me feel better, but it’s only making it worse.

I’m about to crawl out of my skin.

Dragging my palms over my face roughly, I remind myself not to cross any lines. I will not check the cameras hooked up to the security system at their place. That’s going too far.

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