Page 54 of Jonesing for a Spy

Don’t breathe a word of that to Mom and Dad.

We’ll see.

Taunting my brilliant baby sister is one of my favorite things on the planet. She’s so smart that she misses the obvious. She keeps texting me, but the message that haunts me is the one from Freckles two days ago. Two days.

I need some time to get my head straight.

I hate that comment. I want to know what it means. But I focus on the other. She misses me. She sleeps better with me at her side. She knows me.

My response was simple.

Take whatever time you need. I’ll be here when you’re ready. And holding you was one of my top three favorite things from my extended vacation.

I waited for her to ask what the other two are. I waited for a thumbs-up. I waited for it to say read. That’s the one that claws at my gut. It says delivered but not read. What the hell?

23

miss multiples

Mirren

Day one is in the books.

After a shower, I flop onto the bed and stare at the ceiling. That is, after I take off the glasses and set them in their charging case.

One glance in the mirror earlier and two things hit me at once. One, I went to the bathroom with them on. Gross. And two, Strider looks better in his than I do in mine.

I miss him. I miss him holding me and cooking for me and joking with me. I miss his little touches and the overpowering orgasms he wrings from my body. Miss I-Can’t-Come-More-Than-Once has become Miss Multiples, and that’s ruined me. Ruined me.

I want to slide my fingers between my legs and get some relief from my mental misery, but my body isn’t interested. Not in average. Not in my own hand, my own strokes, or some measly release when there’s been no coil or tightening.

In order to keep my mind off of the thing that looms largest in my life, I sort through today, filing away as many details as possible.

The factory was massive, clean, and state-of-the-art. I doubt the workers are paid what they’re worth, and none made eye contact. It was the programming that was held too close to the vest for my liking. Everything comes down to how the chips are programmed, how they can be back-doored, and where they’re vulnerable.

We discussed costs, which was absolutely lost on me, and for good reason. I don’t want to buy even if Tanzi does. I need to know how to control them, repurpose them, worm into them, whereas she needs them for her business and can’t ask any of that. Or can she?

We had a traditional lunch. Ask me how I shot myself in the foot on this op in a huge way. I told them early that I was a vegetarian. I was concerned about live octopus. That was the wrong thing to be concerned with. Everything looked and smelled so damn good, and I couldn’t very well go for a braised pork belly bun as some heiress vegetarian. I was stuck with the veggie dishes. Not a hardship with how flavorful everything was, but next time… Next time I’m a carnivore.

Lunch was followed by more touring, more inner workings. I changed clothes and went to dinner into the wee hours. Local time is eleven p.m. I don’t remember the last time I slept.

I leave a light on as I have every night since I returned from deployment… well, every night except for the nights I slept in Strider’s arms. The good news is, Strider or no, I should sleep well tonight simply out of sheer exhaustion.

Strider

The days seem to be passing faster than I like.

Charlie has been chattier. The anger on his phone call was misplaced. Seems he thought I was going camping with Mirren. Why is beyond me. I just took more than a week off work. And while he knows we had a date, he’s asked nothing more. For that, I’m exceedingly grateful.

Mikey told him it was sus that I flew out and Mirren left almost immediately after.. I pried as gently as I could without raising suspicions, which was no more than two questions. Mirren went on a trip with Army buddies, he said. A vacation she never even alluded to during our time together.

Her message said nothing to me about the same.

Give me a few days, and I’ll reach out. That could be the reference, but why the cloak-and-dagger?

My mind has spun on it, all the while catching up on all my work crap, plus all the conference bullshit. Serving on the board was a bad decision. It seemed a logical step. They were tapping “young talent”—kill me now—and Dad said it would be good for me and for Electric Peoria.

It was a consideration, and five years ago, it made sense. Now I’m stuck with a glut of people I have less and less in common with, who are comfortable with corporate sponsorship money driving policy decisions, and an overall lack of anything remotely related to thought leadership.