Page 142 of Jonesing for a Spy

“Hush, you two,” June cuts in. “You’re not that old.” The woman does some huge stretch and swan dive and doesn’t show any appearance of having gotten rotten sleep.

“Did you sleep?” Jamie grumbles.

“No. Somebody had to work on arrangements for today and be awake in the event Scooter needed us.” She says raising back up and repeating the motion.

“So you haven’t slept at all?” I reiterate.

“Conditioning, Strider. It’s worth it. Hell, it took years to sleep after Skipper and this one”—she gestures to the man next to me—“entered the world. With Zipper”—she makes a pffft sound. “Yeah, I finally slept well again when all of you were out of the house, but by then my body and mind were conditioned to function on just enough.”

Once she’s upright again, she bounces on her toes. “I’m heading for coffee. Who needs some?”

Jamie mumbles, “Me,” in time with my own.

The woman glides down the hall as if she hasn’t been awake for twenty-four hours having watched her daughter function inside a terrorist cell, along with an arrest… if we can call it that. “I’ll never be as badass as her.” I offer, looking at June’s retreating back.

“That makes all of us.” Jamie paces and shakes out his limbs. He looks older in the rough fluorescent lighting, tired, with deeper worry lines around his eyes. “I can’t believe you knew this whole time and didn’t tell me.” He scrubs a hand down his face and scratches his stubbly, unshaven jaw.

“Not much I could say. You already didn’t trust me. My choices either meant you would assume I was lying or I could lose her trust. Besides, I wanted Mirren to tell you, especially these last couple of weeks when she was trying to manage this op. She needs you, and I could be wrong, but I think you need her too.”

“It’s an odd bond—what we have. Wouldn’t trade it for the world. But the idea she’s putting herself in jeopardy…”

“Don’t I know it.” I rub my shoulder finding it sorer than it should be, finally lifting up the sleeve to see an impressive bruise. Well shit.

This complicates everything.

“Dude, that looks terrible. Is that from yesterday?” He circles around me, lifting my shirt from behind. With a long whistle, he drops it. “I think you need to be seen while we’re here. That’s no ordinary bruise.”

No. It’s not.

The exhaustion I assumed was a new environment and running on empty. The fatigue I assumed was due to running with Jamie or the energetic sex with Mirren. The craving for Cheez-its. Yeah, that should’ve clued me in.

I drop my head. Of all the times. Why do I have to be flaring now when she needs me most?

Glancing at my watch, I say, “She went back at a little after three. She should be out by now.”

“Nice deflection, but since you shoot me straight, I’m going to do the same. We’re heading to the emergency room unless you can give me a good reason why not.”

There’s a whole hospital at our disposal. We don’t need to go to the emergency department. I grab my phone and scroll through the hospital map, noting the right department. “I’ll go. But I want to know Mirren’s okay first.”

“She’s okay,” June says out of the blue, rounding the corner. Extending a coffee to Jamie and then me, she adds, “She’s in recovery and will be for at least an hour. Dr. Tam said it was less in-depth than he expected. The seatbelt did its job. They did some cleanup and even removed some scar tissue. She’ll have a recovery period, but not like last time. They stayed in there longer than expected because she got chatty before they could intubate and told them stories of spies and bombs, wearing disguises and almost eating live octopus. He said she had a great imagination and it made the whole operating room laugh, and they didn’t want to stop it.” She rolls her eyes.

“Little do they know,” I put in.

“Little do they know,” June echoes. “And where are you going?”

“To get Strider—” Jamie starts, but I shoot him a look that has him changing his story mid-sentence. “Something to eat. Want anything?”

Her shrewd eyes scan both of us top to toe, like she knows better than to believe it, but she can’t find the lie. “No. I’m good.” But adds, “Conditioning,” under her breath.

60

wildcat

Strider

“What’s the seatbelt?” I ask as we turn the corner down the hall.

“I’ll tell you if you tell me.” The man at my side studies me as we walk.