He gestured to the police checkpoints and officers scattered all over the nearby corner, as if to emphasize his point. “I want to know who’s here.”
“You mean besides us?” I asked. I didn’t often play the bimbo, but occasionally I found it necessary. It tended to put guys like this off guard.
The man rolled his eyes, clearly exasperated, but his apparent anger seemed to have ebbed. Chalking up his small change to my acting skills, I turned up the wattage on my smile and ran my hands through my hair, brushing it back off my shoulders.
“Yeah, besides us. This whole mess is seriously screwing with my commute. You and your checkpoints and road closures. I work my ass off. My taxes pay your salary! I have a right to know what you’re doing here.”
I wanted to laugh aloud but was careful not to. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that take on my chosen career. The notion never failed to amuse me. “Well, I pay taxes, too, so does that make me self-employed?”
The man frowned, but before the discussion could go even further south, I made a show of looking around and motioned him closer. He leaned in toward my window, forcing Anna to take another step back in order to maintain a safe distance between them.
“Have you ever heard of the Marshall Islands?” I asked him.
He blinked and eyed me almost suspiciously. I merely continued to smile up at him. Finally, he shook his head. “No, I haven’t.”
I spread my hands out in front of me and shrugged, allowing my smile to grow.
“Lot of pomp and circumstance for nothing,” the man muttered to himself as he abruptly turned his back on me and stalked away.
“Why did you tell him that?” Anna wanted to know.
“Tell him what?”
“That we were working the Marshall Islands.”
“I didn’t actually tell him anything. I asked him a question. It’s not my fault he assumed it was the answer he was looking for.”
“Okay, so why’d you ask him that?”
“Why not?”
“It’s none of his business who we’re protecting. You shouldn’t have to answer him at all.”
“No, of course it isn’t his business. But he was looking for some sort of answer, and I didn’t think he’d go away until he got one. I merely killed two birds with one stone. I preserved OpSec by not actually telling him who was here, and I got him to leave, which was my ultimate goal.”
Anna’s expression turned thoughtful. “Is the Marshall Islands a real place?”
“Yeah, it’s a chain of islands in the Pacific between Hawaii and Australia. They were my first lead when I got out of the academy.”
“What if you’re actually guarding the Marshall Islands? What will you say then?”
I paused in my reply to pay attention to the radio traffic, which was announcing that the delegation was moving to the elevators. “I’ll pick another country I don’t think anyone has ever heard of. Mauritius or something.”
Anna waved good-bye as she hustled back toward the Waldorf. I hopped out of the car and stretched a little. Slowly, I ambled to the corner of four-nine, gazing around, checking out the foot traffic on the street. I’d made the executive decision to wait for the delegation right there, smack in the middle of the walking route. The president had his entire shift with him. I didn’t need to jump into the middle of all that chaos. I’d serve the detail better by remaining where I was and warning them if anything nefarious cropped up.
A minute or two later, Kyle Taggert, the lead advance agent for the visit, popped out of the Waldorf and started heading toward the corner of 49th and Lex where I was lingering. He was scowling darkly and shook his head when he saw me.
“Rough day, Kyle?” I asked softly as he neared. The rest of the delegation was about fifteen steps behind him. I did a quick check up and down the block, looking for trouble. People gawked a little—they always did when we went anywhere with anyone, as we aren’t exactly a discreet bunch—but no one seemed particularly interested in approaching the gaggle, which made me happy. One of the many perks of working in New York.
“Dude, this sucks,” Kyle muttered as he strode past.
I covered my mouth with my hand to hide my grin and turned slightly so I was facing north looking up Lexington Avenue and had my back to the procession and my eyes on the opposite side of the street. Keeping my eyes off the front door to The W was a Herculean feat, and I’m afraid I didn’t manage it as well as I’d have liked. But after a long moment, the din of activity and motion behind me subsided, and a glance over my shoulder confirmed what I suspected; everyone was inside. Now the waiting game began anew until departure.
My BlackBerry vibrated on my belt, and I gritted my teeth. I almost never got good news on that thing. I doubted that now, smack-dab in the middle of the Iran visit, the trend would suddenly change. It was much more likely that whoever was on the other end was about to throw my world into bedlam, and I wasn’t in the mood for the complete destruction of my already crumbling world.
“O’Connor.”
“Hey,” a low voice murmured in my ear, sending shivers up my spine.
My heart raced, and my stomach flailed around like a cartoon character walking across hot pavement. I eyed the motorcade cars as they rolled slowly by, so they could position for the departure. “Hey.”
“Are you working right now?” Allison wanted to know.
“Yeah, but the delegation just went into a meeting, so I have a few minutes.” I hesitated as I cast around for something to say, my eyes drawn back to The W completely against my will. “How are you?”
“I’m good. You?”
“Good.”
“Good.”
I was alternating between hot and cold and was light-headed. She’d called. I couldn’t believe she’d actually called. I was thrilled. I was terrified. I also had no idea what I wanted to tell her.
“So,” Allison said after a long pause. “Are you still mad at me?”
“What? I was never mad at you.” I shifted my attention back to the cars. There’d been ample room for the limo in front of my car, but the Follow-Up was double-stacked next to me. I sighed and ambled over slowly.
“Really?” She sounded skeptical. “So you never answered my text because you’ve been too busy?”
“You texted me?” I rapped forcefully on the driver’s side window to the Follow-Up. “Hang on a second, Allison.” I rested the phone against my chest to muffle the sounds of my conversation.
Bill Steelman, an agent in our office who I didn’t want to deal with on a good day, looked surprised. He cracked the door a little so he’d be able to hear me. “Yeah?”
“Do you need me to back up so you can stack behind the limo?”
He shook his head. “Nah. We’re okay here.”
“You sure? I don’t mind.”
“No, you’re fine.”
“Okay.” I turned my back on him and returned the phone to my ear. “I’m sorry, Allison. You were saying something about texting me?”
“Yeah. I did. The day I flew back to D.C.”
“I didn’t get a text from you. Oh, shit!” My intestines performed a few spectacular backflips as it finally dawned on me what’d happened. “You texted my personal phone, didn’t you?”
“Of course. I wasn’t going to email you on your work phone.”
I closed my eyes and scrubbed the middle of my forehead with the palm of my hand. “I don’t have my personal phone.”
“Did you lose it?”
“Not exactly. Someone else has it. I’m sorry. I didn’t get your text. I would’ve answered if I had.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, now I feel like an idiot.”
“Don’t. I’ve been spending the past few days wondering if you were upset with me, too.”
“No, Ryan. I’m not upset with you.”
“Good.”
“But I do think we need to talk.”
My heart tried to climb into my lungs. Not that I didn’t agree with her. I did. We had a lot
to work out. But in my experience, those words never preceded anything good. “Okay. Now?”
“No. Not right now. We need to have this talk face-to-face.”
“Ah.” That didn’t make me feel any better.
“Do you think maybe we could try to set something up for when I get back?”
“Sure. Where are you?”
“I’m doing an advance in Hong Kong.”
“Nice. I’ve never been. How is it?”
“It’s okay. Busy.” Allison paused. “I’m ready to come home.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Another beat. “I—I’m here for two weeks.”
“Well, I’m pretty wrapped up with this visit for the next week or so, anyway. So that works out.”
“It does.”
“So…uh…what time is it there?” I closed my eyes and smacked myself on the thigh with the side of my fist. I couldn’t believe I’d just said that. I was such an idiot.
“I think we’re—” Allison broke off, and I heard some sort of commotion on her end of the phone. “Hang on a second.”
“Sure.” I waited as she covered the receiver so she could talk to someone. I could hear muffled bits of conversation but not enough to make out what they were discussing.
A few moments later she was back. “Ryan? I’m really sorry. I have to go.”
I was disappointed, of course, but I understood. “That’s okay. I’ll talk to you soon. Stay safe.”
“You, too.”
Though we’d left things between us up in the air, my smile lingered long after I hung up. This day wasn’t shaping up to be half bad. Speaking to Allison for even two minutes had completely altered my perspective. Wow. Some things never changed. Even our impending talk didn’t dampen my mood. It was extremely likely I wouldn’t like whatever she had to say, but I refused to let that possibility bring me down. I was floating.
An all-too-familiar voice behind me spoke. “Ryan?”
I tensed. My blood ran cold, and my heart suddenly plummeted from its previous Allison-induced heights to land somewhere in the vicinity of my knees. Clearly, I’d spoken too soon. I turned around very slowly.
“Luce.”
Lucia stood a few feet away from me with the strangest expression. I couldn’t read it, and, frankly, I was too tired to even try. She didn’t look happy, though I had no idea what her current mood was.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, surprised to see her.
Lucia’s eyes narrowed, and she studied me with an unnerving intensity. Finally, after a long, uncomfortable moment, she jerked her thumb in the direction of the front of the motorcade where I knew the NYPD intel car sat idling along the curb several cars ahead of mine. “I was asked to fill in.”
“Oh.”
Silence fell thick and heavy between us, and I rubbed my palms against the legs of my pants. My insides twitched, and I bit my lower lip nervously, unsure what to say. This was unbelievably awkward. I wanted to ask her whether she was filling in just for today or if she had to work this detail for the remainder of the visit, but I was as afraid of her reaction to the question as I was of her answer. I just kept quiet.
I’d been incredibly busy with the numerous interviews, typing my PI report, and all the prep work for the visit. Not to mention being tied up in knots over Allison. I’d become completely wrapped up in everything, and while I’d meant to meet Lucia to switch our phones, I’d somehow never gotten around to it.
Of course, some people would speculate I’d purposely put off the meeting because I’d been dreading, well, this…the moment where Lucia and I stood face-to-face and our inevitable strained interaction. I’d had no illusions we could fix what’d happened or we’d ever be able to get back together, but the thought of us having one last, stilted conversation brought the situation into sharp focus. It solidified the end of our relationship, made it seem more final somehow, and I hadn’t been eager to rush that reality check.
But here we were, tongue-tied and avoiding all but the most fleeting traces of eye contact, as we stood motionless on a New York City street corner. This situation resembled a cheesy Hollywood movie, and the notion made me unbelievably sad.
“You look good, Ryan,” Lucia said, eventually. “Happy.”
“Uh…Thanks. So do you. Look good, I mean.” Her mere presence was like a hot poker being thrust into my chest and twisted around. It threw me off balance. I blinked and then fumbled in the backseat of my car where my bag was stowed. After retrieving her cell phone, I handed it to her. “I’m sorry I didn’t return it sooner.”
Lucia glanced at the phone I held before taking it. I noticed she made it a point not to touch me as she did. She put her phone in the pocket of her suit jacket and continued to watch me. Then her eyes flicked down to where the wire for my surveillance kit peeked out between the collar of my shirt and my neck and back up again. She pressed her lips together in a thin line, and her eyes hardened, but I couldn’t have said exactly why. Perhaps this was as difficult for her as it was for me. The idea only intensified the ache inside me.
The moment stretched out forever. I cleared my throat and held out my hand, dismayed that it was trembling. Pinpricks of pain scraped behind my eyes, and a lump welled up in my chest and lodged firmly in my windpipe, making it tough to breathe. All the best and happiest moments of our relationship played in vivid Technicolor in my mind and made me want to cry.
“Do you have my phone?” I asked finally, my voice barely more than a whisper. I don’t think I could’ve spoken any louder than that. It was taking too much effort not to burst into tears.
“I do.” Lucia reached into the cell-phone holster on her belt and withdrew it. She held it aloft but didn’t hand it to me.
The pressure in my chest increased exponentially. “Can I have it?”
“Not until you tell me something.” Lucia’s words were brittle, her tone icy. The coldness in her eyes chilled me and seeped into the marrow of my bones.
“What?”
“Was it good?”
I was stumped. “Was what good?”
“Fucking Allison. Was it good?” Her features twisted into something cruel, and her voice was hard as she glared at me.
“What?” She’d completely blindsided me. No way could I have seen that coming.
Something resembling triumph flickered behind her eyes, and she wiggled my phone for emphasis. A mean smile contorted her lips as she said, “Despite how it ended, I really enjoyed last night. You were incredible. Call me when you can.” She was clearly quoting a text message, and I cringed, horrified and embarrassed. “You forgot to tell her not to send any incriminating texts until you got your phone back. Not to mention, you didn’t do a very good job hiding the evidence.” She gestured toward my throat as she snidely said that.
Okay, so she hadn’t been looking at the wire for my surveillance kit. She’d been scouring for telltale traces of my night of passion with Allison. And even though it’d been days, and the mark Allison had left on me had faded considerably, Lucia didn’t miss it. I’d never hated the fact that my fair skin bruised so easily as I did now. And I’d never been so disappointed I’d so poorly judged another human being. Why the hell had she been reading my text messages? What happened to honor and respect for someone else’s privacy?
Lucia and I stared at one another, the atmosphere between us thick with tension. I wasn’t sure what to say. I hadn’t meant for her to find out like that and was sorry she was upset. But I also wanted to lash out. She’d broken up with me—after she’d slept with someone else. It was no longer any of her business what I did or with whom. I could run naked down Seventh Avenue during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, and she should have nothing to say about it.
A click sounded in my left ear, indicating someone was about to transmit radio traffic. “Grayson Follow-Up from lead. Be advised, it looks like we’re breaking up. Stand by for imminent departure.”
As soon as the mic clicked off, the block buzzed with ac
tivity. Agents hurried back and forth to their respective cars or posts. Other agents took up positions surrounding the limo. The uniformed NYPD officers on scene rushed to shut down the street for our next movement. One of the hulking black Suburbans raced off to secure the route with a roar. And I suddenly didn’t have to say anything.
“We’re getting ready to move, Luce.” It was time to work. I couldn’t do this with her now.
A bitter laugh escaped her throat, and she sneered. “So that’s it? I ask you what it was like fucking your new girlfriend, and you run off to play In The Line Of Fire. Nice.”
I barely refrained from shooting back a scathing reply. I wanted to—oh, how I wanted to. But I bit my lip so hard I literally tasted blood. Instead, I reached out to retrieve my cell phone from her hand.
She surprised me again by throwing it down onto the pavement with enough force that it shattered, spewing bits all over the place. Spite glittered in her eyes, hard and poisonous, and she smiled that simpering smile again.
“Oops,” she deadpanned.
I closed my eyes and pressed the tips of my fingers to my temples. I was dying to let her have it. But we were about to leave, and the last thing I needed was the entire detail seeing me get into a knock-down-drag-out shouting match with my ex on a street corner at the arrival-departure area. Talk about an international incident.
I clenched my hands into fists and dug my fingernails into my palms, seized by the urge to hit something. I even gave in and settled for childishly banging the side of my fist into the passenger-side door of my car once. Or twice.
When I opened my eyes, I saw Michael rushing up the block carrying two paper cups of coffee. Perfect timing, because just then someone came over the air and said, “We’re moving to the elevators.” I glanced over Lucia’s shoulder toward the side door to the Intercon.
“Luce, I’m very sorry you’re hurt. But we can’t do this now. You have to get back to your car before he comes out.”
“You know what, Ryan? You can go fuck yourself. Or fuck Allison. I don’t really care.” Her voice grew louder with each word, and by the end of that statement, she was practically shouting.
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