Page 85 of Rush of Jealousy

He must hang up because the earpiece is ripped out and tossed onto the seat cushion beside him. Collins has enough sense not to react. I imagine he has seen a variety of moods from his boss.

Graham grabs his phone from the table and appears to make another call. “You have a watch on him? Yeah, I want it around the clock. I know!” he snarls. “Don’t you think I know what he is trying to do? I let him walk so you could track. Remember that. I get this is not the original endgame plan. But we need to adapt or be discovered. There is too much at stake now.”

I shift my weight and watch as Graham takes a sip of his coffee, looking thoughtfully at the artwork hung on the wall. He is edgy and bothered.

“I give the asshole credit for choosing the Maylord. But if he really thought I wouldn’t have friends who would have seen the two of them eating atFortune, then he really is a freaking idiot. Unless…” Realization crosses Graham’s features, as he turns to Collins.

I swallow hard as Collins receives whatever silent message Graham passed on to him. He jumps from his seat, grabs his phone, and steps into the other room to make a phone call.

Graham grips the back of his neck, while still holding the phone to his ear. “He wanted me to find out. Son of a bitch,” he snaps. “I thought not having eyes on Angie was the setup to leave her vulnerable. But now I think he actually wanted me to find out and make a move. That was all part of the plan. Dammit!”

I watch in silence as he grimaces and paces several yards in front of me.

“It was a setup,” he echoes slowly into the phone. “Inform the team of my theory. See if they can dig and find out anything with the underground. See if there is talk going down.” He sits back on the couch, strumming a few fast fingers on his laptop before resting into the cushions. “No, no one has contacted me with a proposal. It’s been quiet for a while.” He places the cover back on his iPad, groaning into the phone. “Yeah, I want it to stay that way. I’m not going back. I refuse.”

What does he mean by theunderground? Is he involved in illegal business? This would explain his secretive behavior. I wish I had my phone so I could text myself notes so I don’t forget anything.

Graham ends the call, and Collins enters the room again.

“Since that first night, Tanner has been planning this whole time? Dammit,” Graham hisses. “And I could have stopped the whole thing from the start if I wasn’t so—” He slams his hand on the coffee table. “Fuck!”

“Sir, we will shut down the operation. You have my full support on this. Trust me in that I can handle whatever task you throw my way.”

“I do trust you, Collins. But I don’t see a way out right now. I feel suffocated.” He tosses the file beside him and leans back, stretching his torso. “I want Angela protected. I mean it. At all costs. No matter what. Something happens, I will never forgive myself. I’ll plant additional devices, do whatever it takes. I want arrangements made in case something happens to me. I need to know she’ll be taken care of.”

If something happens to him? I rock on my heels as I listen to their exchange, feeling lightheaded.

“Of course, sir. I’ll notify the staff and do any briefings that need to be done. Now that we know his angle, we can be more efficient.”

A phone rings and Graham moves to answer it. “Hoffman,” he greets with one word. He wipes his hands down his face, as if trying to wash off the tension he has in his brows. Something big is going down. And I feel like I—unknowingly—started it. Maybe joining the agency was the spark that started the wildfire. Maybe this whole time, I have been playing with the enemy. Mark Tanner might be the one person capable of destroying Graham, and I could be the weapon to deliver the final blow.

I brace myself for a new reality. Even after I get back home to Portland, I will most definitely have watchdogs. Graham is in full protective mode, and after last night, I may finally be on board. Only problem is, I will have a harder time getting my field research done while I am being followed. I still have a paper to write. I still have an internship to strive for. I still have justice to deliver, to give all these victims a voice.

My movement hits Collins’s attentive hair-trigger senses. His eagle eyes catch mine, and I can no longer pretend that I am not eavesdropping. He rises instantly and greets me. “Good morning, Miss McFee.” He bows his head slightly, gathering up files and closing lids on laptops.

I know that his words serve a double purpose—respect to me and a warning to Graham to filter his phone conversation. Collins does not look at me, and I can’t help but feel weird. I round my shoulders and stare at my feet. My hands pull at the hem of my shirt, stretching it further over my butt. He saw me with just my panties on. He also was probably instructed to take pictures of me while Graham and I fooled around at the dance hall. How will I ever feel the same way around him again?

It is silly; I know this. At no time has this man been disrespectful or off base. But, I can’t shake the nausea of the realization that more men saw me next to naked last night than the entire sum of men who have seen me naked prior. I keep my eyes to the floor as I continue to stretch my clothes, embarrassment plastered all over my stance, my expressions, and my gestures. Collins must have sensed my unease because his body retreats instantly, leaving me alone with the boss.

Graham acknowledges me with a sweet smile, completely contradictory to his continuing verbal tirade. “I said handle it! We are done for now.” He tosses his phone onto a stack of files on the table.

“Hey sweetheart.” His change in voice shocks my insides, rattling my bones.

“Um, hi,” I answer sheepishly, rocking back and forth on my heels.

“Hungry?”

I glance around the room, as if noticing it for the first time. Last night I was too tired to care or even take notice of much as I was escorted to bed. The blinds are open to the view of the lake. It is small enough to see the steep bank on the other side of the water. Small ripples form on the surface from the wind. It is calming. I turn back to Graham as he prompts me with another question.

“Hmm?” I ask. I must still be groggy with sleep. Yet, I feel rested.

“I have waffles and all the toppings ready to go.” His eagerness is similar to that of a little boy ready to show off his model airplane. It scares me that he has the ability to flip a switch on his moods. One minute he is yelling at some person on the phone and the next he is talking sweetly to me.

My stomach growls at just the thought of food, but I can’t bear to eat with my rampant thoughts. My physical reaction is hunger. My emotional reaction is to suffer through the pangs. “I’m not hungry.”

“You lie worth shit. I can hear your stomach.” He gestures toward my belly with his hand, his tone edging with anger. “Come,” he coaxes, strolling toward me and taking me by my elbow to guide me through the house.

I follow him into the kitchen.

---