Page 99 of Jonesing for a Spy

The gray cloud that follows me through my Monday morning and into the afternoon is oppressive. Its weight presses down on me until it’s almost unbearable.

I thought it was the lies, but it’s really losing Mirren that does it. Or even the idea of losing her.

There was no conversation last night. I made no attempt this morning.

I’m pissed that she lied.

I’m angry I was betrayed.

I’m livid she wove a scheme that sucked me in while her web ensnared me.

More so, though, I miss her down to my bones with an emptiness that only true loss causes. That hollowness wrestles inside me with anger until I realize I want her more than I hate the lies.

She’s been agonizing over how to keep her job and keep you.

She has these conversations with her father.

Mirri would be fired—or worse—if she told you.

June’s words tumble around causing hope to rise up—hope that wars with reality and resentment.

She’s been problem solving something she values and how that impacts me. She’s talking to her parents about how to make us work. She couldn’t tell me without fear of retribution.

A gentle reminder hits me. We’re new. So, so new. I know she’s the one for me. But even knowing she’s the one for me doesn’t mean I know her likes and dislikes, or whether she wants to keep this job long term, or even her favorite color. Though somehow sunshine yellow surrounds her in my mind.

Not that any of this is an excuse to lie. Having me believe she’s a landlord while doing spy shit was a choice, but if she couldn’t tell me, and she knew lies would end us… Was our split inevitable?

I can’t believe that. She wouldn’t play me for fun. She’s too direct. Too open. She lives out loud.

Then she either never planned to tell me at all, or she didn’t plan this as a career.

Or, I wasn’t in the plan, and there’s been no time to adjust.

That would be the most reasonable if I pull emotion out of it. Remove the hope, the anger, the lust, the frustration, and it makes logical sense.

I’m no expert on relationships. Mirren’s a novice, too, if I take her word on it, which I do. Come to think of it, I believe her when she’s in my arms. I believe her words and her actions. She shows me I can trust her.

Hell, she not only told me she missed a period, but that she was afraid I would choose her because of it. That’s raw. That’s real.

So, what are the chances that this could work despite the lies?

Reaching up, I scratch my throat. At least I can take worrying about Price O’Neill out of the ever-growing box of shit that’s trying to suffocate me. But what case was he working on? June used the word “evidence.” How is beyond me because I know my business, my books, and my search history.

That level of malevolence takes character that I don’t have, and an edge I’ve never possessed. But there was—or there is—a case. An actual case. Which means there’s data to be found. It just requires digging in the right places.

Grabbing my phone, I scroll to hit up Liam, this time with more information. I start typing out a text only to realize that my messages are probably being monitored. Do phone calls have legal protections? Did someone jump through hoops to do a wiretap? Do they tap cell lines?

The fact that I don’t know any of this should tell them I’m not the problem they think I am. Still, I’m smarter than to get Mirren in trouble at work, especially when her job is with an agency that trains its employees how to kill with their bare hands.

I rub my neck again. I should be thankful Price didn’t finish the job.

Liam and his sister-in-law need to be looking in the right places, and I need answers to questions that texts and phone calls won’t fix. The state and their order to stay put be damned. I’m heading to Alabama.

How many flights can I book in one month? Seriously, it’s not glamorous. Those jet-setters who act like this is fun are full of shit.

The rideshare drops me off in Mirren’s driveway, and, for the first time in a week, my soul settles. The Illinois Bureau of Investigation can kiss my ass. They were either brought in on behalf of or as a decoy so Mirren’s bosses can dig into my business even deeper.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I knock on Freckles door, surprised the lights are off. No answer. I try the big house getting nothing, and no one stirs there either.