by Scott, Kylie
“So you can’t say anything beyond telling me you’re not allowed to say anything or doom will befall us all?”
“Got it in one. We never had this conversation and we will never refer back to it again. Do you understand me?” If it hadn’t been for Thom searching the room for bugs and producing a thingy that blocked anyone else attempting to listen in, Jen and I wouldn’t have even been able to discuss even this much. “The official story is, I was in a coma and accidentally admitted to the hospital under the wrong name, meaning no one could find me.”
Jen snorts. “Like I didn’t go to every damn hospital looking for your sorry ass. I would never have believed that nonsense.”
“I know. That’s why I’m telling you what I’m telling you. Which I’m not even supposed to be telling you.”
“Which is still nothing.”
“Sorry. But it’s all I can give you. Please understand, I’m not joking when I say, these people…they’re dangerous. We have to keep their secrets. There’s no other choice.”
“And Thom is one of them?”
“No.” The more I think about his retirement, the more I like it. “Thom is safe. But like I said, we’re never going to discuss this again. And you definitely cannot discuss it with him.”
She plonks her ass on a chair, giving me tired eyes. It’s going to take some serious amounts of pedicures and ice cream to make this up to her. “Are you going to tell me about that huge rock on your finger?”
“We’re in love and getting married. For real this time.”
Jen blinks once, twice, three times. “You were just playing when you dumped him?”
“No! Absolutely not. You know me better than that,” I say, my arms now crossed too. Only it hurts my ribs and I don’t want to be defensive around my best friend. This is just seriously fucking awkward. Misleading or outright lying to her just wouldn’t work. Not only do I not want to do it, but what with having known each other for pretty much ever, the woman can read me like a book. No way would she believe their crap cover-up story. Getting Mom and Dad to swallow it had already required some acting on my part. “I was serious about breaking up with the man. Since then, however, we’ve had many and varied discussions. There was also some ass kicking delivered to him by my fine self, and now we’ve decided to give it another go.”
“Curiouser and curiouser. What then, you love him now?”
“It kind of happened within a short period of time, but yes, a stupid amount. It’s the truth.”
“And he loves you?”
“He says he does, and I, for one, believe him.”
“Okey-dokey,” she says.
“You’re letting it go that easy?”
She shrugs. “What the hell else can I say? This whole situation is beyond confusing. But on the plus side, you’re alive, happy, not blown up, and mostly in one piece. As for your return to engaged status, so long as I still get to choose my own bridesmaid’s dress, it’s fine with me. I always liked the guy, anyway. A little on the quiet side, but you can’t have everything.”
“He’s not actually as quiet and boring as we thought he was. We may have been just a tiny bit off on that count.”
“But let me guess…” Jen raises a brow. “You can’t tell me about it.”
I give her a grim smile. “Got it in one.”
Thom knocks gently on the door before slipping inside. “Time’s up. We’re about to have company.”
“Who?”
His lips skew slightly. “Bear’s bringing you more flowers, the suck-up.”
“You know he only does it to annoy you.”
My fiancé says nothing.
“What have you dragged her into?” asks Jen, voice hard again. “Don’t bother telling me you can’t tell me. I already heard the whole secret-government-whatever spiel. And don’t worry, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
“Dude,” I say, ever so slightly panicking. “You said you wouldn’t say anything to him.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Jen,” I sigh.
But she’s too busy giving my man the stink eye to hear me. Also, she apparently hasn’t finished her speech yet, accompanied by much finger pointing. “Just know this, Thom. You better look after her or else. I don’t have the required social skills to go find a new best friend. Nor do I have the time or energy. So she is not to get blown up or shot at or anything else ever again. Do we understand one another?”
Thom doesn’t even blink. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Just as well.”
Friends…what can you do?
In the end, I don’t get to pick out which of Thom’s safe houses we move into. The decision is made for me due to the building’s various safety features. Given that the cool, modern, concrete boxlike building is located in Venice Beach, however, I sure as hell do not complain.
“It’s got a high fence, sensors, and cameras throughout the garden and interior of the house,” says Thom, ushering me through from the garage into the connected open-plan kitchen/living space. “Exterior doors are made out of steel and the walls are good and thick. Should be able to withstand any number of blasts. Security system is the best available. I’ll show you how to operate it later.”
I shuffle along carefully since moving is still a bit of a delicate process. Ribs generally take around six weeks to heal. By then, the deep bruising on my back should be gone and the wound on my arm fully healed too. “Nice furniture. I love all of the pale wood and the exposed beams. The kitchen is like a chef’s wet dream.”
“Safety room is installed behind the pantry. Main weapons cache is stored there too.”
“Whoever decorated the place did an amazing job,” I gush. “Not that I don’t want to add a few touches of my own, you know. A few cushions and throw rugs to add some splashes of color, maybe.”
“Windows are all Lexan, so bulletproof.”
“Oh my God, Thom, we have a fireplace and a deck! I see lots of good times ahead. Lots of socializing with Ethan. You’ll enjoy that, won’t you?”
A grunt.
“You said there were three bedrooms upstairs?”
“That’s right. Gun safes are in each of them, along with panic buttons.”
“Yeah? How about grenades?”
“Flash bangs are behind the pantry, but the others are in a floor safe in the garage, along with some claymores and a stinger or two,” he rattles off.
I give him the look.
“What?” He tips his chin just a little. “You want them all in the safe room?”
“Guess again.”
“You don’t want grenades at all?”
“What I want, my friend, is for you to chill out a little. You’re retired, remember?”
“I remember. But I love you. You’re the first real family I’ve ever had, and I take protecting you seriously. That’s my job now.” Arms slipping around my waist, he gets close enough to touch the tip of my nose with his own. “Without making you feel smothered or restricted, of course. Because that would be bad for various important reasons I can’t recall right now, but which you’ve gone on about numerous times at great length.”
“Hmm. You’re not winning any points here.”
“Yeah, but I can do that thing with my tongue. That always gets me points.”
“Thom…”
“And when you do go back to work, wouldn’t it be fun to have me tag along? I could be like your personal assistant.”
The look sure is getting a workout today.
“Still a hard no on that, huh?”
“I love you too. I’m crazy about you. But I’d prefer we didn’t go crazy, per se.” I give him a gentle smile. “You’re going to need to get a hobby outside of stalking me. This is going to be a huge lifestyle change for you, not dodging bullets all the time. As previously discussed, however, smothering me with your affection and attention would only lead to madness in various shapes and forms on both our parts.”
“It might not,” he says. “You can’t say that for ce
rtain.”
“How many tracking devices do I have on me right now? And be honest.”
A wince. “One or two. Three at the very most. Okay, four. But I almost lost you and it’s a dangerous world out there. Taking some precautions is just being sensible.”
“I’ll agree to a couple of devices. No more.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” He cocks his head. “Wait. Does that include me tracing your cell? Because that’s just pretty standard monitoring procedure, right?”
I look to heaven. “Sweet baby Jesus.”
“Is that a no?”
“Since I understand that it’s not about trust or control issues, if it means you’ll relax a little, then I’ll deal with it,” I say. Because I’m not completely ignorant these days when it comes to danger, but I don’t want to live in bubble wrap either. It’s a fine line, finding the balance. “To a degree. But don’t push it, buddy. Any news about Scorpion?”
His tongue plays behind his cheek. A rare sign of nerves from my man of steel. “Crow lost her trail up in Canada. She’s probably on the other side of the world by now, looking for work, regrouping, whatever.”
“Probably,” I say.
“We’ll find her eventually. She can’t hide forever.”
“Are you sure you’re okay with retiring? I mean, I want you safe. But I also want you happy and this life is all you’ve ever known.”
“I’m sure.”
I frown. “It just seemed such a spur-of-the-moment decision.”
“Babe, listen to me.” He plants a gentle kiss on my lips and smiles. “Never will my job threaten or injure you in any way, shape, or form. That cannot ever happen again. There was a moment in Helene’s cottage where I thought you might have been seriously injured or dead. Nearly fucking killed me.”
“I know. I do. The thought of you being in harm’s way does my head in too.”
“We both agree this is the right choice then.”
I hesitate. I can’t help it. “Guess so.”
“I know so.” Another soft kiss. “I choose you. No doubt in my mind about it.”
“Okay,” I say, trying to rid my mind of any and all anxiety. “So how about instead of planning a war, this time we plan a wedding?”
And there’s something in his beautiful blue gaze. Something I can’t quite read. Only it’s there and gone in an instant, making me wonder if maybe I’m just being paranoid. Even more paranoid than he is, if such a thing is possible. His slow smile, however, makes me forget all about that. “Whatever you want, Elizabeth. A wedding it is.”
“How’s he doing?” I ask, reapplying my lipstick for the hundredth time. Not that it needs it. I’m just nervous. Ridiculously so. Or not so ridiculous, considering it’s my wedding day, et cetera.
Let’s do something small, I said. Let’s keep it simple and low-key. Only it didn’t work out that way. For starters, Thom wouldn’t let me, Mom, or Dad pay for a dime of the occasion. We’d already told everyone he’d come into an inheritance and was living off investments from same. It seemed the most plausible excuse for him suddenly having money.
I’m still working, of course, and totally willing and able to contribute. Only Thom didn’t agree. He wanted to spoil me. I have a sneaking suspicion he’s still trying to make up for lying to me for over a year and then the whole me-getting-shot thing. Because anytime I tried to show even the mildest sort of restraint about today, he avidly encouraged or indeed pushed me on to greater excess. I’m ashamed to say it worked.
Basically the intimate, subdued occasion I envisioned became a backyard wedding fit for a Kardashian. I kid you not.
A fancy white tent stands suspended over the deck in case of bad weather, with a flotilla worth of flowers and candles suspended from the ceiling inside. A chef is on location, along with various kitchen, bartending, and wait staff, to see to all of our eating and drinking needs. Meanwhile, the string quartet is busy providing the entertainment.
A chocolate fountain also seemed like a good idea, because why not? Then there’s the seven-layer cake with each layer a different flavor (there’s no possible excuse for this besides me loving cake).
Honest to God, today’s excess is not all my fault. This is the kind of crazy that happens when a wedding planner keeps shoving champagne and cake samples in my direction. Complete bridal mayhem. It’s irresponsible and shouldn’t be allowed. We’ve even got a goddamn rose petal cannon set to go off when we’re declared husband and wife.
Pretty sure Thom just wanted some kind of explosion in the ceremony. And hey, whatever makes him happy.
“He’s got his Terminator face on,” reports Jen from the window.
“No expression at all?”
“Nope.”
“Damn.”
“It’s kind of scary, actually. Like a psycho killer. I’m still not used to seeing him go blank like that.” Jen smooths the black bias-cut silk frock she’s wearing over her hips. Her choice, as agreed. It’s a really nice dress. “Not that I’m calling your soon-to-be husband a psycho killer or anything.”
“Kind of think you are.”
“But not really.”
“Let’s agree to disagree.” I shake my head. “He’s just nervous.”
“Of course he is. Everyone else seems to be kicking back and having a nice time,” she continues. “Though the big blond hairy dude keeps thumping Thom on the back like he’s encouraging him to hack up a hair ball or something. Is this typical soothing, manly behavior?”
“Not sure. But that is actually pretty typical behavior for Bear. He’s probably just annoying the crap out of Thom for fun. It’s how he expresses affection.”
She sips from her glass of wine. “Love the name. Bear. Because he really does sort of look like one. Some parents are so mean yet so accurately descriptive.”
“Yeah.” I give her my best fake smile. “Aren’t they?”
“He is a big dude. Decent-sized head. Maybe it was a hard birth.”
“Ah, maybe.”
“And who’s the handsome, classy-looking dark-skinned guy standing next to them?”
“Hmm?” I move over to the window. “Oh, that’s Cro… Chris. Yeah. Chris. He’s an old friend of Thom’s.” If too many people are named after animals, Jen would definitely get suspicious. And while she knows a little bit, I’m not going to encourage her to get curious about anything else and attract the possible attention of the organization. That would be dangerous.
“The man is supermodel gorgeous.”
“I know, right?”
“Oh, he brought a date.”
“That’s Fiona. Another friend from where Thom used to work.” Mental note to tell Crow and Fox they’ve had a change of identity. Probably pretty normal for them.
Despite numerous lessons from Thom, my lying skills are obviously nowhere near his. Fortunately for all of us, Jen has accepted that any weirdness related to Thom and Co. should be ignored. Though today is the first time it’s been “and Co.” since the hospital. Guess the rest of the zoo have been kept busy working. Or they’re just not the type of people to drop by for Friday night football or a Sunday BBQ. Which is sad. I think Thom misses them and the comraderie more than he thought he would. Not that he would ever admit to such a thing. Why, it would probably be considered a weakness among the hardcore operators. He has me, and I’m all he’ll admit to requiring in life these days.
Thom has been…keeping busy. We now have an entire room dedicated to his whittling. What can I say, the man likes playing with knives. Everyone I know has been gifted at least one wooden squirrel or hummingbird in the last four months.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say retirement is slowly driving him insane, and he’s in complete denial about it. I’m not sure what to do about it just yet. Various articles said newly retired folk can take a year or two to find their stride without work to ground them.
Maybe he needs a new and different job. Something part time, perhaps. Or at least an interest outside of me, workin
g out, sculpting wooden critters and, of course, the maintaining and cleaning of his stockpile of weapons and various safe houses. Just in case. Thom wouldn’t be Thom without a couple dozen different emergency exfil plans, retired or not.
We still both go to a shooting range twice a week to practice. Even my draw has gotten faster. And when at work or anywhere outside of the house, I call or text him regularly to let him know I’m still alive so he doesn’t worry.
We should be in a state of domestic bliss. But something feels off. I don’t know. I worry. I love him and want him to be happy. Just not quite sure the quiet life is right for him, though. Or perhaps it’s the old occasional bullshit anxiety rearing its ugly head, making me wonder if I’m enough.
Ugh. I know he loves me. Like I need that nonsense creeping up on me today of all days.
“More rosé?” asks Jen.
“Yeah. Actually, gimme the bottle.”
“That’s the spirit!” She laughs, handing the booze over. “Skip down the aisle, I say. Or no, rumba.”
“I don’t even know how to rumba. But you know, I just might.” I slip it under my arm and pull out my cell, sending a quick text. “Be back in a minute or two.”
“What? Where are you going?”
“Something important I have to do. Won’t be long. Don’t freak.” I slip out the bedroom door and cross the hallway into the office or den or whatever it’s called. The place where Thom stores his creations. I set the bottle of wine down among a tabletop full of eagles and coyotes. His latest animal fascinations. So many beady little wooden eyes looking back at me. At least he didn’t take up taxidermy or something equally gory and strange. That would have been full-on yikes.
My man slips into the room, closing the door behind him. And the look on his face, it’s very gratifying. “Babe, you’re beyond beautiful. A walking dream. And that is a shit-hot dress worthy of a queen.”
“Thank you.” Nice to know the two hours’ worth of hair and makeup were worth the effort. I swish the full skirt of my silk strapless gown. “It has pockets.”