Page 18 of Troubled Water
“I’m not trying to hide anything,” I say. “Just…”
That’s when she smiles and beckons me forward, a hint of mischievousness crossing her face. Cupping my ear, she whispers, “This is the kind of conversation we need to have inside one of my SCIFs. Isn’t it Thorn?”
I had no way of knowing then, but her tacit understanding of who I am would seal our fate. Lifting her hand to my lips, I kiss the inside of her wrist. It’s the same spot I did the day we were in Mexico together. Letting my lips linger as I stare into her fathomless blue eyes, I murmur, “Yeah, it is.”
Her breath shudders out, whether due to my ministrations or my words, I’m not certain. “Well, at least this time, I’m going into this with my eyes wide open.”
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 mywife’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 methosekinds 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.”
16
ELEVEN YEARS AGO—AGE 23
When Parker said he wanted to cook for me about three months into our relationship, I’d thought he was joking. He was admittedly as much of a takeout eater as I was considering what he did.
I still can’t believe I’m dating the associate director of the Agency. I mean, not only can he find out what I ate for breakfast—or even if I ate at all—simply by dialing up one of the satellites at his fingertips, he admitted his job isn’t just troubleshooting one day when he stopped by and the Defense Intelligence Agency practically bowed to him as my latest SCIF was being certified.
“I’m an associate director of the Agency,” he admitted when we were inside the vault that was buried in the basement of an otherwise normal office building on the outskirts of Reston, Virginia.
Floored by the knowledge, one thing I knew for certain was I couldn’t inflate his already massive ego. Instead, I clapped my hands together and bounced up and down like a schoolgirl. “Ooh. Do they have you in charge of HR?”
In the short time we’ve been dating, I’ve learned Parker “Thorn” Thornton might have a lot going for him. He takes in the big picture. He doesn’t make any decisions without all the information. He’s loyal, which is fantastic when you’re the one he’s loyal to. One of the things he is not is patient. At all.
Add his ridiculous handsomeness, I can’t help but be a little intimidated by him. It’s nice to have the occasional imperfection to tease him about. And it is teasing. I could never intentionally hurt Parker. With every spare minute we’ve spent together, we’re weaving ourselves more and more into one another’s lives. We’ve spent time with Cal and Libby and their newborn. He’s joined me for more Friday night bowling and I attended an Agency gala with him.
No, I wouldn’t trade this overbearing, over-confident, confident man for anyone else on the planet.
