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I shake my head and resume walking. “You need help.”
Chelsea follows along, her long, brown hair swinging in a ponytail—the smile on her face lighting up her blue eyes and pinching her cheeks.
We reach the lobby entrance and enter, separating to get ready for the day’s training. From then on, everyone I run across throughout the morning acts funny. I’m stared at, joked with, and spoken to more than I have the entire eighteen months prior. I assume Chelsea’s to blame and spend the next little while plotting my revenge.
After range training, I pass Aaron “Grim” Hosfeld, the second-most senior operative here after Sadie. He’s a good man and one that doesn’t irritate the shit out of me by talking too much.
Aaron isn’t the type of guy you hang around and gossip with, so I know Chelsea wouldn’t have gotten to him. I switch directions and call out to stop him. “Grim.”
He stops and waits for me to catch up. “What’s up, Laurent?”
“You notice anything unusual today? Everyone here seems to be high or something.”
Aaron snickers. “I hate to say it, but they’re only responding to you.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
He leans a shoulder against the wall and crosses his arms. “I don’t think anyone’s seen you smile once since you came on with us. And suddenly, you’ve been… not grimacing all day.”
“Oh, come on. Not you, too.”
Aaron laughs. “Sorry, man, but it’s the truth. Some advice? Whatever you’re into, keep it up. It must be doing you some good.”
Aaron slaps me on the back and enters the locker room. My feet remain still while my brain processes this information. Training went as it usually does, but with me making a note of a few moves I want to teach Birdie. I scored my high average on the range, so nothing off there. I did wonder if Birdie had any experience shooting a gun and if she’d be open to learning.
At the mission briefing this afternoon, my team was alerted to an upcoming maritime security mission. During which, you wondered if you could find a suitable sub to handle Birdie’s training in your absence.
After a long minute and several deep breaths, I realize the common denominator. Birdie. The woman has been on my mind all day. Even now, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to working with her this evening. Not good, man. Not good.
A look at my watch shows that I’ve got an hour before meeting Birdie in the gym. I think a long, hard run would do me some good. Abandoning the locker room, I turn for the exit and jog to the running trail.
Forty minutes later, sweaty and no more focused than before, I return to the locker room to shower before meeting with Birdie. My hair is still damp when I walk into the gym. Birdie’s not here yet, so I spend a few minutes setting out what we’ll use. Ten minutes after that, I’m still waiting.
Birdie’s job carries a lot of responsibilities, so I decide to give her five more minutes before visiting her office.
At seven minutes, I exit the gym and glance out the windows on my way to the lobby. Her car’s not there. She left. I don’t believe it.
Did she forget? Did she change her mind? Did she leave for an illicit meeting of some sort? Pulling out my phone, I fire a message off to Sadie. Need Birdie’s address. She stood me up for training today.
I pace in front of the same window for the next two minutes, waiting for her reply. You could just call her, you know? Sadie sent.
And have Birdie talk her way out of this? Hell no. Address, please. I send next.
Sadie’s reply is Sigh, followed by the requested address. Having what I need to find Birdie, I jog to my truck and set out.
Birdie
A whispered curse falls from my lips as I approach my house. First, out of jealousy that Southern girls have this kind of view all the time. Hot guy in a white tee, gray sweats, and a ball cap leaning against a massive pickup truck.
The second reason is that it’s Bastien standing next to my mailbox, looking kinda pissed. Well, game on, I sneer to myself.
I steer the car into my driveway and take my time getting out. The door swings open before I’m ready, Bastien having run out of patience. I turn to meet his glare, giving him one of my own. “What are you doing here?”
Give him credit. The man backs down, surprised by the venom in my voice. He softens his tone and says, “You know why.”
I toss my hands up in a silly me gesture before rolling my eyes. “Right. I skipped out on your spy session.”
“You’re angry,” Bastien says, confused.
