Page 26 of Troubled Water
“Ever fell prey to a honey trap?”
“No, Thorn. You’re right.”
“Have I? Have I ever fucked some hostile agent? Releasing our national security secrets in pillow talk?”
The agents’ heads are flipping back and forth between us faster than a tennis volley between Maria Sharapova and Serena Williams.
“No. Thorn, you’re right. It’s just?—”
“It’s everything!” I jab a finger in his direction and sneer. “You will call Bethany in and explain what happened.”
He sputters. “I’ll do no such thing.”
“Then my resignation stands.” I move to shove by him, noting the admiration I’m garnering from his team. Whether it’s because I’m refusing to stand for his underhanded bullshit or because of the fact I’m protecting my woman, I couldn’t care less. The fact is, I’m not playing.
Everything to do in my life with Bethany will come first. Now. Always.
Forever.
I’ve reached the mouth of the alley when McConaghie shouts, “Fine! Bring her by the office. I’ll explain.”
Shifting my jaw back and forth, I only pray she’ll forgive me enough to listen to the bastard. There’s only one way to find out.
22
Fox is enthralled. “Did he? Did former Director McConaghie apologize?”
I nod curtly even as I verbalize my response. “Yes.”
“To your wife?”
“Yes.”
“What did she do?”
A satisfied smirk crosses my face. “She didn’t say a single word.”
Fox’s eyes gleam, but she manages to restrain her amusement. “What did that make you feel?”
I don’t even hesitate. “Proud. Bethany is the strongest woman I know.”
“Did it make you love her more?”
“No.”
Fox is surprised. “No?”
“Nothing could make me love her more when she was, is, and always will be everything to me.” With a crooked smile, I say something to Fox, causing her jaw to fall to the floor—and giving myself a reprieve from questions for just a moment. “And that’s what I said to her when I proposed.”
23
TEN YEARS AGO—AGE 25
The sky above my father’s land is rich with shades of pink and orange as the sun dips low over fields of flowers whose heads seem to droop in the setting sun. I point out to Parker as we stand on the edge of the field, “They’re like little soldiers taking a power nap before the sun comes back up to order them to work.”
He buries his head in the crook of my neck, lips smiling against the skin bared there.
Right now, this trip home is the perfect distance we needed between what I found out this week about the photos. I’m still inshock over who sent them—the freaking director of the Agency, for Pete’s sake! More importantly,whythey’d been set.
