“Dinner. Seven o’clock. My place, though,” she agreed.
“I’ll bring takeout.” He smiled, lowering his hand from the wall, a look of victory in his eyes and in the crook of his lips. “Unless you learned to cook since we were married?”
“No, I’m still a lousy chef.”
He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she’d almost swear he was going to lean in and lay one on her cheek.
“Can I ask you something?” She couldn’t help herself. “Why didn’t you tell me your move to Budapest was temporary?”
He inched back a step, releasing his hold of her. “Would it have made a difference? Would you have come with me? Or tried long-distance while I was there?”
“I don’t think so,” she admitted. “Our marriage was over before the move.” A bit of honesty could go a long way.
He didn’t say anything, so she shifted the weight of her stance from right to left, left to right.
There’d never been any heat between them. No passion. Not on her side, at least. A cold fish for a fiery redhead, Kyle had said one night. His op had failed, and he’d returned home drunk, wanting sex, and she hadn’t been in the mood.
But if she were truly a cold fish, dead on the inside, bland and boring, lacking sexuality, then why’d she slip her hand beneath the covers to get herself off after meeting A.J. back in Charlotte? Why’d she pretend that hand belonged to the sexy Southerner?
And why had she replayed his drunk voicemail over and over again since Saturday night? Why was she so afraid that if Adriana told A.J. Ana was in town, and they became friends, she’d—
“Ana?” Kyle sought her attention. She was trapped between a wish of what might be and the reality of what was.
“Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?” She dragged her focus up Kyle’s lean torso and to his eyes.
An awkward throat clear from behind Kyle had her peeking around his large frame to spot Halle, who was probably attempting to get to the bathroom.
“Excuse me,” Halle said, and Kyle brought his back flat to the wall to allow Halle access to the ladies’ room.
“I have to go. Talk tonight.” Ana followed Halle into the bathroom before Kyle was able to object.
“Wow.” Halle folded her arms and leaned against the vanity in the restroom.
Ana unleashed a deep breath and looked in the mirror alongside Halle and played with her bun, ensuring no strands managed to escape.
“You feel like talking about it?”
“No.” Maybe that was rude? “Sorry, I just—”
Halle held a palm up. “No worries. I get it. I made the mistake of falling for someone at the Bureau, and I walk on eggshells every time we’re in the same room together.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not the kind of person to ask who at the department you fell for.” Of course, Ana already guessed with whom she’d been involved. She was trained to read people. Situations. And she’d felt the breakup between Griff and Halle vibrate through the building after it had happened.
“And that’s what I like about you.” Halle spun around to peer in the mirror as well. She fixed her short hair, teasing up the ends a bit.
“I’m thinking he may want to get back together.” Why did I just admit that? She was normally a steel trap. Nothing in. Nothing out. And honestly, she was worried about a lot more than her ex right now, but she couldn’t talk about it.
Maybe she was only doing her job, but keeping secrets from the team made her feel dirty. Like she was the one betraying them. And after what they found out in the SCIF today, Ana knew all fingers would soon point to her. Thank God she had Porter on her side.
“And I’m guessing you don’t?” Halle set her palms to the counter.
She shook her head no.
“Is this gonna be weird working with him?”
“It’ll be fine.” As long as Kyle didn’t try and stand in her way of completing her mission it would be. That’d been another obstacle in their marriage. He knew firsthand the dangers of their job, and he’d made her well-being and safety his business, taking every opportunity to keep her out of the line of fire—pushing her superiors to put her on a desk. His lack of trust in her competence, as well as his blatant disrespect for her wishes, had been infuriating.
Regardless, Ana was determined to unravel the truth and leave her past behind for good. And once she’d completed that mission, she could truly move on from the day her life changed forever. The day her parents died at the hands of the FBI.
Chapter Seven
“You regret volunteering to surveil her yet?” Chris asked, and A.J. shook his head in disbelief as Chris used chopsticks to shovel the contents of a container of lo mein into his mouth like he hadn’t just scarfed down a burger a few hours ago.
They were sitting in A.J.’s Suburban rental on a stakeout of FBI Special Agent Anastasia Quinn.
Did A.J. want to see Ana again? Yes. For this reason? Hell, no.
A.J. draped an arm over the top of the steering wheel and leaned forward in the driver’s seat where they sat parked outside the FBI Hoover Building. The exterior needed an update. Age had tarnished the structure. Ink stains were beneath the flag poles surrounding the entrance doors. The FBI police car out front didn’t look up for the challenge of a high-speed pursuit and was in need of a good bath.
“I mean, I didn’t actually think you’d opt out of the chance to stalk the woman you’ve been thinking about for basically forever, but still,” Chris went on when A.J. had remained quiet, then placed the now-empty container into a bag by his feet and threw the chopsticks inside as well. And great, now the vehicle would smell like a Chinese restaurant for a week.
It was day two of watching Ana. She’d stayed at her office nearly all day Sunday. Then he and Chris had followed her to work today. Shadowing an FBI agent wasn’t high on the list of things he enjoyed doing, especially when it was a woman he was interested in dating. Who, as it turned out, might be a traitor.
“I’m not stalking her,” A.J. countered.
“Mmmhmm.” Chris lowered his shades to shoot A.J. a you’re full of bullshit look, one he pulled off well, then set his glasses back in place. “So . . . you really think POTUS believes in the existence of that Daybreak Ledger?”
“It’s Daylight, dumbass,” he corrected in his typical, sarcastically polite manner. “It amazes me you didn’t get tossed from BUD/S by calling officers the wrong names.”
“Funny.” But hell, Chris and remembering names paired as well as ice cream and pickles (well, aside from what his mom said about pregnancy). “But annnnyway,” Chris began dramatically, “I don’t think we’d be sitting here right now, spying on a team of people who spy on spies,” he said with a grin, “if the President didn’t think we might get our hands on that ledger.”
“Well, if there are a bunch of names in a record book from years ago, and some of those people are still living amongst us, they deserve to be outed as the traitors they are,” A.J. quickly responded, the very idea infuriating him.
“That might be one reason POTUS wants that ledger. And well, also get ahold of the key that’s supposed to decipher it.” Chris smirked. “And can you imagine if there really is a list of murdering spies and their victims, not to mention Russian double agents in other countries? That’d be a powerful political tool.”