Page 84 of Jonesing for a Spy

Maybe one day I can commiserate. Until then, enjoy your time.

I sure hope so.

Whether he’s agreeing to the first statement or the latter is unclear.

As bad luck would have it, Peoria has a storm system sitting over it, and we circle the airport for almost half an hour.

Mirren

Safe touchdown.

I miss you.

Why haven’t I heard you’ve landed. That should’ve been a while ago.

I smile. These messages are so her.

We’re in an unending loop of circle-approach-abort. Some kind of weather. It’s a sign I should live in Alabama.

Because we never have storms. No, wait…

But, seriously, are you considering Alabama?

Mirren

Holding my breath, I wait for bubbles or any sign of life from Strider. Seeing none, I pull up the flight app and watch his plane make loops around the area.

I didn’t need to ask though. I know he’s serious.

Boys my age—because are they really men?—tend to think in terms of hook-ups, casual encounters, and low-to-no commitment. This man is pursuing me. He’s intentional. He says what he plans to do and does it. It’s refreshing, albeit a bit terrifying.

Saying what you mean and meaning what you say is an old-fashioned concept, but it’s welcome. I like that it’s plain.

When I’m on the road home, I do what must be done… I’ve put it off too long already. I dial Daxton.

“Jones?”

“Yeah, Brody. Have you got a minute?”

“I answered, didn’t I?”

Oh good… he’s snarky. This should be fun.

“You’re not going to like this. I can’t take the Peoria job.”

“Sure you can. And you will.” A door slams behind him, and wind echoes across his mic.

Might as well rip off the bandage. “I have a personal relationship with Strider Anderson. He’s been a friend of my brother’s for nearly a decade. I cannot maintain my cover inside his business.”

Brody hums, and his shoes crunch something—snow or gravel, maybe—until he says, “This is good actually. He won’t suspect you at all.”

He’s not listening. “I have a personal relationship with Strider,” I reemphasize. “I cannot do this as a job.”

“Are you refusing an assignment, Jones?”

“Daxton. I know the man. He was attacked last week after a fucking Thanksgiving potluck lunch. He’s not plotting shit against this country or our electrical grid.”

“Oh, I know about the attack. Took all kinds of strings to get our agent out of there. Podunk PD on a holiday weekend. The guy’s one phone call was to me at my fucking in-laws. I heard all about it.”