Page 23 of PSYCHOlogical

He looked at me. “Then why do you keep secrets from me?”

“I have to,” I said. “I’d be fired if I told you anything. Maybe prosecuted, I don’t know.”

“Only if I told someone. If you tell me, and I keep the secret…” He shrugged. “Nobody’d know.”

I sipped my wine. “Nice try.”

With persistence, Jack pressed me for information regarding my employer. He was one of those people who didn’t trust the government, always felt like someone was watching him, and took exception to the government’s desire to keep anything secret.

Despite his three years of prying, I had yet to tell him anything about New Dawn, what I did for a living, or who I worked with.

Jack gestured toward the TV with the remote and paused the movie. The scene, which we’d watched no less than half a dozen times, was when the main character, Jack Reacher, singlehandedly beat five men who had been harassing him in a bar. Prior to administering the ass-kicking, he warns the antagonistic leader of the group, “just remember, you asked for this.”

People like Jack Reacher’s character fascinated me. The bad-ass persona, exaggerated swagger, and confidence that Reacher had—when combined with his cloak and dagger missions—was enough for him to suck me into his fictional life for two hours and wish that was where I resided full-time.

“Do you think there’s really anyone that is capable of shit like this?” he asked.

“I think so,” I responded.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Based on what?”

“Based on my belief of the military’s abilities.”

He arched an eyebrow. “So, you work closely with the military?”

I forced a sigh. “No, but I’m aware of their presence, their training, and their abilities. At least I think I am.”

In my mind, the men in New Dawn’s program were just as able as the movie character. They were Jack Reacher and Jason Bourne, all wrapped up into one. I doubted that was actually the case, but I liked thinking it was.

“You ought to start dating one of those guys,” Jack said.

“One of what guys?”

“One of the guys that can win in a five-on-one fight.”

“If such a man existed, why would I want to date him?”

He took a drink of his beer, looked at Jordan, and then at me. “Several reasons.”

“Like?”

“It’d be cool, for one. Two, if you ever got in a situation where someone needed their ass kicked, he could do it with a nail file and a set of car keys. And, three, you’re single as fuck.”

“Jack!” Jordan hissed. “Leave her alone.”

He shifted his attention from me to Jordan. “We’ve known her for, what? Three years? She comes over here every weekend and drinks wine by herself. She’s cute. She’s intelligent. As far as I know, she’s heterosexual. Wait…” He looked at me. “Sometimes, you have one of your nights, and you stay until two in the morning, and then stumble home.” He stroked his beard while arching an eyebrow. “You’re not hot on my wife, are you?”

I, like Vincent, couldn’t be in a healthy relationship. Having a man in my life on a permanent basis wasn’t going to happen until the program was disbanded, and I didn’t see that happening for a long, long time.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m a lesbian. I want your wife.”

“I knew it,” he said. “The attractive single girls are always lesbian.”

“According to who?” Jordan quipped.

Jack turned to face the TV. “Statistics.”

“Whose statistics?” she asked.