“If you think I’m going to be scared off that easily, you are sadly mistaken. When you change your mind, I’ll be here to listen.”
Jackson knew her well enough to know that pushing the subject any further would only drive her away. He’d circle back to it another time, when she was more receptive. Giving her space, he turned his attention back to the bag. It was amazing how much shit she’d managed to pack in there: mini first-aid kit, ceramic blade, fishing wire, multi-tool, lock pick set, compass, and micro light.
A drab olive button in a small clear plastic bag caught his eye. He held it up for her to see. “What’s this for?”
Essie stared at it for so long he began to wonder if she intended to answer. “It’s a reminder,” she said at last, and then let out a long sigh. “As a rule, spies don’t carry anything that can reveal their true identity. But most of us need something to keep us connected to the real world, a reminder of why we do the things we have to do. Pictures of loved ones are too dangerous to carry, so we substitute them with things that don’t mean anything to anyone but us.”
“Like the button from a military uniform.” A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed hard to force it down. “How long have you kept this?”
“I can’t say for sure. I think I’ve had it since that time we met up in South Korea.” Something softened in the depths of her eyes and let him know she was speaking the truth. “It got me through some rough times.”
That was more than five years ago. He’d mentioned his upcoming layover during an online chat, and when he’d touched down in Seoul two days later, he found her waiting in baggage claim. They never got around to seeing the city, because they spent their entire stay burning up the sheets in their hotel room. “I’m surprised you didn’t throw it out after the divorce.”
Another shrug. “I forgot it was in there.”
He couldn’t stop the smile. “Did you forget, or could you not bring yourself to toss it in the trash?”
Her chin tipped up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh come on, gorgeous. You never forget a damn thing. I bet you even remember what I was wearing when I stepped off that plane.”
“Red shirt, black cargo pants, combat boots.” Her voice got a little husky. “Navy-blue briefs.”
She licked her lips, and anticipation shot through him. He knew exactly how much space separated them. The air crackled with sexual tension. All he had to do was set the bag on the floor, lean toward her, slide his fingers into her silky brown hair, and—
Essie jerked at the sound of the garage door opening. Her posture straightened, and her eyes iced over. She snatched the button from his grip, dropped it back into her bag, and yanked the zipper shut. “Sounds like your roomie is home.”
Talk about lousy timing. He’d meant to talk to Navarre before he got home, but one thing led to another and the next thing he knew, he was sitting on the bed with Essie. Without a doubt, this was going to go over like a fart in an elevator, but he was determined to convince Navarre to let Essie stay.
The garage door rolled back down, a car door slammed, and a few seconds later the door leading into the house swung open.
“Fuckin’ A, what a day,” Navarre said, his voice getting louder as he got closer to the bedroom. “Some asshole thought it would be a good idea to jump…” The rest of the sentence died in his throat at the sight of Essie, and Jackson braced for the coming shitstorm. “What the hell is she still doing here?”
“I told you he wouldn’t be happy,” Essie said.
“Happy about what—oh, hell no.” His roommate looked as if he just drank from the wrong Holy Grail. “You said it was only going to be for one night.”
“That was before Vaughn torched her apartment,” Jackson said. “She needs a place to stay.”
The shock dimmed in Navarre’s eyes, replaced with stony annoyance. “Then I’ll chip in for a hotel room.”
Jackson shook his head. “That’s not happening, man. She’d be a sitting duck in a hotel room by herself.”
Though they didn’t share DNA, or even the same skin color, Jackson considered Navarre a brother in every other sense of the word. They’d slogged through some serious shit together during their time in the Army, where he’d taken a bullet for his friend. Hell, they bought this house together, first with the intention of flipping it for profit and later deciding to keep it and live together as roommates. But they’d never seen eye to eye when it came to Essie. One of these days he’d learn the real reason for his friend’s animosity toward her.
Heavy wrinkles furrowed Navarre’s forehead as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can I talk to you alone?”
“Whatever you’ve got to say, you can say it right here.”
“It’s okay,” Essie said. “I can go for a walk while you hold his hand and talk him off the ledge.”
Navarre’s eyes narrowed. “If you were a guy, I’d so kick your ass.”
“Dude, what the fuck?”
“No, it’s okay. The man’s entitled to his opinion.” On the outside, she seemed calm. Too calm. That alone gave a four-alarm warning that shit was about to get serious. “If I were a guy, we wouldn’t be in this situation. But please, don’t let my gender get in your way of a good time. If you feel the need to give it a go, you’re always welcome to try.”
“This isn’t helping,” Jackson bit out.
