Page 43 of Mensa's Match

Unlike me, he smirked outright. “I’ll take your word for it, but thisalmostbrings us back to my original question: how long were you with the Bureau?”

“Just shy of five years.”

He nodded. “You resigned without another job lined up?”

“Essentially,” I muttered. Then, I added, “I need to decide if I’m really going to take over Hard Pressed. But I should have—”

“Stop,” he demanded.

“Stop what?”

He shook his head. “Your next words were going to be where you blame yourself.”

“You don’t know that.”

The pointed look he gave me could have pierced my skin. “Don’t I though? Between my mom and Riley, I don’t know who’s worse. They both blame themselves for my uncle’s behavior. They constantly say they ‘should have’ done something differently. Isn’t that what you were about to do? Say you should have done something differently?”

I opened my mouth and closed it.

He was right, dammit.

“You might be the most annoying man I’ve ever met.”

He raised his brows in question. “Anything else?”

I leaned forward and smirked. “Are you fishing for a compliment?”

He returned my lean and the smirk. “More like the truth, Blume.”

“I need more data.”

He laughed, but sobered fast. “So, you got screwed out of your job?”

“The signs were there for me—”

“Whitney—”

“No, Mensa. I’m serious. Ben said things to the review panel, raising questions about my judgment. Every six months, I had to go back to Virginia for a stress test and mental health eval. My results on the psych test weren’t favorable. Signs were there before. Undercover work is difficult.”

“So?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“It’s difficult. So what? Lots of shit in life is difficult. I’m pretty sure there’s something else here. And can’t you take another test, or is there a program the government offers to help you get back on track?”

After a sip of my iced tea, I said, “There are programs, but it doesn’t change the fact that it seemed to be time to hang it up.”

“Seemed to be?” he pushed.

I twisted my hands up. “Aunt Nadia’s offer seems like a sign, too.”

He shoved a chunk of chicken into his mouth and stared at the Gulf.

“I’m surprised you’re so concerned.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, then he turned to me. “I hate the idea that your fellow agent said shit to superiors that led to you feeling compelled to resign.”

I shook my head. “I should have passed that test. It wasn’t just what Ben told our superiors.”

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