Page 125 of Jonesing for a Spy

“The flight was from Minneapolis, according to reliable data,” I say looking up from my device. “One of the trio I’m meeting for this op is from the greater Minneapolis area. I think we need to double down on comms, safety, and back-ups for our backups.”

Young looks to his friend and employer, a lean man, shorter than Young by a handful of inches but one whose physical strength may only be outshined by his mental acuity. The Army-to-FBI pipeline isn’t for the lazy or the unintelligent, and Exton Ranger is neither. Lucky for me, he is also kind and welcoming. “Any friend of Fitz is a friend of mine,” he said before kissing my cheek when we met. “And a Ranger who earned her tab is worthy regardless.”

“Can we get the manifests for the Minneapolis to Austin leg and the one for Austin to Phoenix? It would be great to know if we have run-of-the-mill insurgents or psychotic terrorists.” I may have underestimated the depravity of the people I’m targeting.

“With your handiwork, they could say the same, you know?” Exton holds up an iPad with the “evidence” of the Four Corners power generation station explosion.

“Go big or go home…” I shrug. “But mine was fake.”

He juts his chin out toward the front door. “But they don’t know that, so meet them at their level of crazy, and thwart this attack. My wife and kids have no clue that anything is going on, much less in our back yard, and I’d like it to stay that way. For my family, for my siblings’ families, for my community.” He looks pointedly at Young. “Let’s make sure we prevent this and wrap up the case with all the evidence needed to make sure these guys go down for life. No loose ends.”

“No loose ends,” Young repeats, collecting papers on the desk, and turning to me. “I’ll take you back. Need anything on the way?”

“Will you kill me if I ask to stop for barbecue takeout?”

“Only if you ask for some inferior national chain. I’ll take you to a real place on the way to the hotel. Then, at least, I know you’ll get the real stuff.”

Exton extends a hand. “We’ll have your back. Even if you don’t see us. And, Jones… you won’t see us. I owe you for this.”

Shaking his extended palm, I correct, “No, you don’t. It’s what we do.”

He jerks a quick nod as Young holds the door open for me and we exit the house.

Once on the road, he asks what I’d like to know about him, and what I’d prefer he doesn’t know about me. “Why’d you leave?”

Rubbing the outside of my right knee, I blow out a breath. “Blew out my knee. Medical discharge. Total mindfuck.”

“I bet. I’m not in the one-up game, so I won’t, but just to say it also sucks to become the old man on the team and be too geriatric to make the cut.”

The man is ripped in a way that makes Jamie look like a slouch. Thick, solid, all muscle, and, weirdly, has the same defeat written all over him the way I do.

Kindred spirits.

“So, our bodies betray us either way.”

He nods. “And we’re left wondering how we could’ve outsmarted them.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m twenty-seven so I wasn’t far from being the eldest on my team either.”

“It doesn’t.” He turns onto the main highway, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Make me feel better that is.”

I laugh, and we share stories until he turns into a parking spot in the most unexpected place. “Stay here,” he says, getting out of the truck. “I’ll be right back.”

For twenty minutes, I sit there, waiting. And eventually, stewing. What the hell is he doing?

Turns out, he’s getting me the best damn meal of my life. Apologies to Queenie, but for real.

I know this because Mom and I devour it in our adjoining hotel rooms in the rundown seedy area by the airport.

Maintaining cover sucks, but the food is superb.

Strider

Some might call it a bachelor party.

To be frank, it feels more like hazing. Not the kind where you die… but the night’s still young.

“Cheers.” Mikey clinks his beer bottle to mine. For his part, he’s being cool, which is good, because I need an ally in this sea of Jones men. Harry abstained, which is a bummer, since he seems cool with me too.