Page 104 of Jonesing for a Spy

My phone rings.

“Hello?”

“All the way,” he growls. “What can I do for you, Jones?”

I explain what’s gone down, my off-the-books op, admitting plainly that I’m on administrative leave, and how this is critical for national security.

“I need backup. I don’t need a show of force. I need to know that walking in there with only my fake ID and my wits is enough because someone has my six.”

We talk for a handful of minutes. He has a friend, another Army vet whom he trusts, not far from him. He’s a family man with a brilliant mind and has a team in case.

When I land in Austin, we’ll coordinate.

I wonder when the Andersons built this place if they could ever conceive of their son’s girlfriend—though the word is odd in my mind—planning a national security operation with former spec ops guys while sitting on their biochemist daughter’s bed.

I’m going to say no. It’s so far-fetched that even my dad and his author mind wouldn’t daydream this kind of scenario.

Yet here I sit.

One thing has turned in my favor, and for this fact I’m incredibly happy, the terrorist plot to take down the Texas grid has been shoved off by a handful of weeks. I’ve managed to make it into the inner circle enough to be able to “help” coordinate. While it’s more time for Janis’s cover to be blown with the Four Corners substation, it means more time to counter plan.

I like a plan. I love a contingency. I’ll never argue with additional time to be smart on an op with dumb people. Options matter, and I’m taking all the ones I can get.

Strider

I can’t stop the smile that pulls across my lips when my phone rings.

“Hey, Freckles. How was your day?”

“Hmmm. Let’s see. Ate a huge breakfast. Went for a walk with your mom. Ate a huge lunch. Worked a bit. Ate dinner and my weight in cookies, two different kinds I might add, and then thwarted a terrorist attack. You?”

“That’s my girl.” I don’t mean to say it, but it rings true.

“Right? Kicking butt, taking names, eating cookies.” There’s a smile in her voice.

“If you ever open a business, that should be your tagline.”

“That’s brilliant. Mom would never join an agency with a cookie reference. I think you’re on to something. What did you do today?”

I fight to withhold a groan. “Charlie, Jamie, Mikey, and I went hunting.” I hope I put the appropriate amount of emphasis on the last word. “Not that we found anything. Not that we saw anything.”

“But the guys took you out in the woods with rifles and went all Jones big-brother protector on you, didn’t they?”

“That was the intent. But mostly Mikey just riled up Jamie the whole time, so there wasn’t much focus on me.”

“Yeah, Charlie is usually the one who keeps the peace and smooths the ruffled feathers. Zipper doesn’t like tension, except on the pitch—especially in the family. Outside the family, he actually doesn’t think twice.”

“And Jamie?”

“Hambone would do anything to protect his family. And wouldn’t need a gun to do it. SEAL, remember?”

“I can’t forget it. His posture, his bearing, the casual way he carried that gun, like it was an extension of his arm, not outside of him. Everything in him on alert at all times… And they all think you’re the helpless baby sister.”

“Well, helpless-ish. I was a Ranger after all. But baby sister? Oh, yeah. I never plan to correct their misguided notion either. For them to think otherwise not only blows my cover but would be the equivalent of a grenade in a pigpen. Shit would fly, and nothing would escape its path.”

“Am I part of your cover then?” It’s a tentative ask, and I’m not sure I want to know the answer.

“Honey, you would blow the cover every moment of every day.”