Page 18 of Wrecked With You

Then I wait impatiently until he calls me back.

I answer on the first ring. “I need to see you.”

“You know we can’t break protocol. If anyone figures out we know each other from before…”

“I officially joined your firm this morning. Then I quit. But I think I’m back in now. Honestly, I haven’t got a fucking clue.” We don’t use names over the phone, but he knows well enough the firm is the Stark Security Agency.

There is a long silence, then, “I go away for a short assignment, and everything we agreed to goes to hell.”

“This has nothing to do with that. And our old boss approved it,” I add, referring to Colonel Seagrave at the SOC. “If you and I supposedly meet for the first time through the firm, then everything gets easier.”

Winston Noble, aka Winston Starr, was one of the first recruits to Stark Security based on his stellar track record as a West Texas sheriff and other skills that the good folks in Texas don’t know about. As it stands, Winston and I supposedly have only crossed paths since my sister got in tight with the SSA. But once I join, we can build on that past, creating a new friendship to mask the old one.

Because the truth is, there’s more on his record than what the SSA knows. But I know. For that matter, we both know a lot about each other. And that knowledge ties us to each other. Secrets are their own kind of bond, after all. And they come with their own brand of responsibility.

“Fine,” he says. “Good plan. I’ll see you at the office.”

“Tonight,” I press. “Please. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, but I need to bounce this off someone, and that someone can’t be our old boss. Are you in town?”

“Got back home an hour ago. I planned to work out and then go to sleep.”

“It’s not even ten.”

“Some of us aren’t vampires. And Leah and I have to meet an informant before dawn tomorrow.”

Leah’s his current partner at the SSA. “You can get your beauty rest later. Come on, man. I need to talk.”

“Fine. Forty-five minutes at the drop site. You’re not there on the nose, I’m going home.”

“I’ll be there,” I say, then hang up. That’s barely enough time to change and get there, but I’ll manage.

I change into a tight leather skirt with a slit to my hip that’s there as much for walking as for the fuck-me factor. Then I put on a pink sparkly halter that ties behind my neck and back, leaving most of me visible, but providing a surprising amount of support. I pin my ponytail up and slip on a wig. Long and dark, so that the strands brush my shoulders.

Finally, I put in a pair of hoop earrings, some plastic bangles, and a pair of teetering-tall pumps. I grab my keys, totter to the car, then get my ass to the drop site. I park in one of the overnight spaces a block away, then walk to the battered newspaper machine that’s probably older than I am.

On the dot, I see Winston’s vintage Ford pickup turn the corner. He pauses, and I lean into the already open window.

“Wanna fuck?” I ask, smacking some fruity gum I’d popped into my mouth for show.

“Get in the damn car.”

I do, and he pulls away.

“I swear, if anybody I know sees me supposedly picking up a hooker…”

“Like that’s the worst thing you have to worry about.”

He turns to glare at me, that friendly, man-of-the-people face going cold.

I raise my hands in apology. “Sorry. Gallows humor.”

“You know, Emma. You are actually one of my favorite people. Which just goes to show you how fucked up I am.”

“Funny man.”

We drive in silence while he circles a few blocks, then pulls into a dark corner of the Ralph’s grocery store parking lot. I start to say something about how if he’s concerned about being noticed, maybe driving Old Blue isn’t the best idea, but wisely keep my mouth shut.

“You called this meeting,” he says as he kills the engine. “Talk.”