by Geri Krotow
“Jena.” He spoke quietly, unable to resist.
She jumped and whirled around, the rickety table shaking from her sudden movements.
“Jeb. Geez, you’re like a cat.” She smoothed her hair, her attempt at composure. He knew. Whenever Jena was nervous, she had to keep her fingers occupied. Fiddling with her hair, a beverage glass, or silverware were her prime choices.
“Sorry—didn’t mean to startle you.” Yet he had meant to give her zero warning that he was close. As if he stalked her.
“I thought everyone had left.” She looked around the room, anywhere but at him. It should relieve him to not have to look into those eyes, but, like any craving, it wasn’t an easy urge to break.
“They have. I took out a bunch of the trash.” He’d loaded the bins in the back and still needed to pull them out to the curb for the pre-dawn pickup. “You shouldn’t hang around here so late.”
She smirked. “What do you think I’ll do when we open the doors for good?”
“Delegate.” He didn’t like how she always took on full responsibility for everything—but he adored her for it, too. Had adored her. Christ, he had to get a grip on his own demands. They were done, and she was his past.
She shrugged before gathering up her papers and heading toward the big room behind the stairs, the planned kitchen. Jena stopped at the railing and looked at him. Her eyes caught the soft glow of the sunset, visible through one of only a few original windows. Standing a foot from him in the historical space, it was easy to trick himself and think that they still could be friends. That he’d learn to trust her again, forget how foolish he’d felt when he fully realized the extent of her undercover work. The risks.
“Eventually, we’ll have to hire more social workers. Until then, it’s my job to close up shop each day…and night. Besides, we’re not in a rough part of town. I’ve never felt threatened after dark.”
“Once word gets around about how spiffy this place is, you can’t be certain a thug wouldn’t cause trouble.” His gut tightened at the thought of any harm coming to her. “Of course, you’re trained to take down threats.”
He saw her wince, and a part of him—the old part that died in Paraguay—would have believed she regretted not telling him what she really did for a living.
“I’ve got to work late tonight, because work on the kitchen starts tomorrow.”
He nodded. “The experts are descending.”
She flashed him a quick grin. “You’re great at what you’ve helped with, like painting. But it’s the law—we have to employ certified utilities contractors.”
“Why do you have to work late, though?”
She sighed. “I haven’t picked out the colors for the flooring or walls yet. And I have to figure out what’s worth spending the big bucks on—a commercial stovetop, sure. But do we need a single or double refrigerator? Will it fit? Things like that.”
“Let me help.” His offer hung between them. He shifted, leaned his hip against the stair railing.
“Jeb—”
“No strings attached. We know how to do that part.”
Her pupils dilated, and he couldn’t help remembering other times he’d watch her body react to his touch.
She shook her head. “You and me working on anything more than what you agreed to…it’s too hard.”
“I’m not asking you to go to bed with me, Jena. There isn’t even a bed in this place yet.” He didn’t mention the times they’d had sex in places without a bed, like her kitchen counter or his shower, but from the flush on her face, he didn’t need to.
“Fine.” She turned and walked out of sight. It was fire play, for sure. He should turn, pick up his briefcase and tool belt, and go home. But the thought of his empty apartment and a night of crunching numbers or streaming his favorite show until his mind went numb didn’t appeal to him as much as the prospect of working with Jena on something other than keeping their sex life secret.
And planning a kitchen was way better than chasing her to Asunción.
* * * *
“It’s big enough for a commercial fridge, width-wise. But I don’t know about the depth.” Jena stood in the small space meant for the refrigerator. She’d more than half expected Jeb to have headed home by now, but he’d patiently taken measurements of every inch of the kitchen, offering his ideas freely.
And he hadn’t made a pass at her. Not even a flick of his eyes roaming over her figure like he usually did. Or had done, before finding her in Paraguay.
“Here, let’s re-measure.” Jeb used a carpenter’s tape measure like another man might play a guitar. His long fingers had calluses she didn’t remember, no doubt from the hours of construction work and painting. The shackles of paint on his clothes weren’t anything she’d consider sexy, but on Jeb…
“It’s going to be a super tight fit, but I think it might work. If you consider the number of beds you’ll have, and the extra room for temporary cots during weather events, you won’t regret going as big as possible with the appliances.”
“True.”
“And you have the funding. That’s a given.”
His words rankled her. “That’s the point, though. Like you said earlier, The Refuge needs to be completely self-supporting. Brandon’s generosity is great, and I admire what he’s wanting to do. But any good NPO or charity operation works from sound financial principals, which means we don’t touch the original endowment, ever. We get an expert to help us with investments and we get busy with grants.”
“You’re a grant writer, aren’t you?”
She was touched he’d remembered. “Yes.”
“Why the sidelong look, Jena?”
“I didn’t think you knew a whole lot about what I do.” Too late, she wished she would have used her filter. Damn it. They’d been getting along well, too—no tongues or longing body parts involved. A first.
“We never talked a whole lot, did we? After college, I mean.” He didn’t pick up on her comment, and relief and gratitude relaxed her shoulders.
“It’s never going to be easy between us, with our history, is it? But we had a childhood friendship.”
“We did. And it seems to me we messed up when we allowed it into other areas.”
“Other areas?” She tried to tease him and immediately regretted it. “Sorry. I hear you.” Loud and clear. He was done with their physical relationship, which meant she was, too.
His eyes were bright in the kitchen’s bare bulb lighting. His dark hair and olive skin took on a golden hue. “We do better as friends, Jena.”
She swallowed and damned the stinging in her eyes. “And now, we’re business partners.”
“Correction—colleagues. You’re my boss.”
“Teammate. The Refuge is a team operation.”
“Whatever you say, Captain.” He smiled, and she found the sense of togetherness in the yet-to-be-built kitchen, both of them fully clothed, to be more intimate than any sex they’d shared over the past two years.
Jeb held her glance for a split second longer than expected, then looked at his watch. “It’s late. I’ll walk you to your car.”
“Sure thing.”
As she drove back to her apartment, she let the tears fall. One more time, she’d grieve the what-could-have-beens, because all she’d ever get from Jeb was what they had returned to tonight: their lifelong friendship.
It might not have been her first choice, but she’d take it.
Chapter 5
The next morning Jena decided the work crew needed beignets to soothe the constant hammering and pounding of construction. Jena picked up the delicious fried dough from Café du Monde. Her apartment wasn’t far from The Refuge House’s location in the Garden District, but morning traffic downtown gave her time to think—and promise herself she’d be grateful for the new friendship forming between her and Jeb. He’d mad
e it clear from day one of the project that his time on their team was temporary. It was time for her to grow up and take things at face value, no matter what her body wanted.
Okay, maybe there was another part of her that wanted Jeb still, too— for far more than sexy times—but where would it lead? To more disappointment and regret?
“Hey, thanks for the treats this morning!” Robyn slid into the seat next to Jena at the plywood table. “We really need to get your furniture in here, at least for your office.”
“As soon as you put up the walls, I will.”
“I’m working on it. Hey, do you want to get lunch?” Robyn regarded her with piercing green eyes offset by dark tortoiseshell glasses. “I imagine it gets old, being around so many guys all day.”
Jena laughed. “Sounds good. We can walk over toward Magazine Street and have our choice.”
Twenty minutes and a hot, muggy walk later, they were in the air-conditioned comfort of a local home-cooking restaurant. Jena had never taken the time to develop close friends, because she couldn’t share her life with them. But ending her undercover work meant it was time to begin a new life, and girlfriends were part of it, she hoped.
Robyn sipped her iced tea. “Have you lived in NOLA your whole life?”
“My whole life. My parents moved to Baton Rouge after Katrina, but I was in college by then and stayed here. How about you?”
“I’m originally from Biloxi, but my dad’s job—he’s an oil engineer—brought us here.”
“Do you have a big family?”
“No, it’s just my dad and I. My mother died back in Mississippi, before we moved. Breast cancer.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”
Robyn’s glance moved around the eclectic décor before she settled back into the conversation. “It was. I was only twelve, and it was the worst time in my life. Ever. But my dad’s been great, and I still have both of my grandmothers. I go back to see them in Biloxi when I can.”
“What made you want to be an architect?”
“Ever since I played with my first set of Legos, I was hooked. It’s kind of in my blood, with my dad being an engineer on the rigs.”
“Is he gone a lot?”
“Not as much as he used to be. He’s mostly on the land side of things now.”
“Do you live with him?”
Robyn giggled. “Oh, no way, girl. I’d drive him nuts. And he’d put a serious crimp in my dating life!”
Jena smiled as the waitress delivered their food. “It’s good to have your own place.”
“Yes.”
They ate in companionable quiet. The hush puppies were the best Jena had tasted in forever, and she realized her appetite hadn’t been the greatest since she’d returned. It was wonderful to enjoy her meals again.
“So Jena, what’s between you and Jeb?”
“What?” Jena answered with a mouthful of hush puppy, hoping she’d heard Robyn wrong.
“You two have an obvious connection.”
“We do?” She wiped her mouth, stalling.
“I’m not blind. You have a silent communication going on.”
“You didn’t let it stop you from flirting with him.”
Robyn laughed. “No, I didn’t. And, as I’m sure you noticed, he wasn’t interested. At. All. Which made me think that maybe you’re more than work or family friends.”
“We are all of the above. Jeb has been a part of my family since we were in elementary school. But he and I are friends, period.”
“Uh-huh.” Robyn took her explanation at face value, and Jena immediately knew she’d found the first friend of her new life. If she and Robyn became close, she could always confide in her later. But for now, it was hard enough reminding herself that she and Jeb were friends. Period.
* * * *
Jena and the architect came back into the office laughing like high schoolers, and Jeb felt a distinct flip of unease in his chest.
He was the one Jena usually laughed with. She’d had friends in school and college, but since they’d reconnected two years ago at her parents’ annual Christmas bash, she’d been more of a loner—which, after learning that she was basically a female James Bond, made sense.
And it made him more than a little bit sad for her. He cherished his bond with Brandon, and he had several other friends he hung out with on the weekends. It hadn’t occurred to him to push his and Jena’s time together into something more than sex.
And now he’d ended that possibility for both of them.
He waited until she put her bag down before he approached.
“What can I do for you, Jeb?” There was a quiet joy emanating from her that he hadn’t seen in…years. All because of lunch with a colleague?
“It doesn’t have to be now, but I’d like to go over some figures with you. I did a prospectus for the first twelve months, with client goal breakdowns.”
“Client goals?” She paused, then sat in the cheap folding chair. Were her bruises gone? It’d been over a month since Asunción, but her skin had been so battered.
“Yes. I thought it’d be helpful for you to have an idea of the volume we need in order to keep afloat the first year.”
She let out a short laugh. “We’re not selling widgets, Jeb. I can’t place numbers on client load. There’s no telling who we’ll have, and it’s going to vary greatly depending upon season, weather, economic realities.”
“It’s a business, Jena.” The worst thing to say to a social worker. Before she protested, he held up a hand. “Hear me out. This is why you need a full team. You’re the expert care and client need manager. I’m your temporary numbers guy. You take care of people, I take care of the resource management.”
“You’re not hearing me, Jeb. This isn’t a boat factory.” Her voice remained calm, low, but it was like a verbal Molotov cocktail—and it ignited frustration he didn’t know he harbored.
“I know that.” He unclenched his jaw. “More than you realize, I know that. You’re the one who said The Refuge needs to be self-supporting. I’m telling you how to get there.”
“Fine. Figure out another way. I’m not running a social welfare operation around quotas.”
Anger sparked, but it wasn’t a quick reaction to not being heard, or having his words twisted out of context. The embers of his resentment over what she’d kept from him had never gone out.
“We can go over this later. Maybe we’re not hearing each other.” She saw it, too, saw the depth of his fury.
He turned and walked out the door.
* * * *
“While I appreciate the work you’re doing to help Jena out with The Refuge House, we need to make this right between us, Jeb.” Brandon eyed him over a plate of pulled pork and beef brisket. The noisy smokehouse had seemed like the perfect meeting place, since it was in between the docks where Brandon worked and The Refuge House.
Jeb took a swig of his lemonade before he answered. “You’ll never trust me again, Gus.” He slipped into the nickname Brandon used on his business, Boats by Gus. Thank God at least five million had escaped the cartel’s bloodstained hands.
“If you’d stolen the money for any other reason, you’d be right. I’d never trust you again.” Brandon was as bullheaded as Jena. He saw what he wanted, ignored the rest.
“I could have mentioned it to you, before I left.” Even as he slow-pitched Brandon the opportunity to hit it out of the park, Jeb knew he’d had no time to do anything but get on the next flight out of NOLA. He’d barely made the transfer in Miami, and once on the ground in Asunción, his entire focus had been to save Jena.
“Stop fighting me on this, Jeb. We’ve been friends since…”
“Since forever.”
“You’ve never told me how it was, when you got there. Or how it was to find Jena in that hellhole basement.”
&n
bsp; No, he hadn’t. The visits with the State Department at the US Embassy, meetings with both US and Paraguayan law enforcement agencies, were all a blur. And Jena’s condition when they’d let her go—he forced his brain to stop. He couldn’t go down that mental alleyway, or he might never come out of the despair he’d fought through the last month and a half.
“You were there when I got back, with the FBI.” Jeb didn’t like remembering the first week back. He’d been arrested at the NOLA airport and taken to the county jail. Turned out communications between federal and local law enforcement weren’t as immediate as he’d assumed.
“I’m sorry you got locked up, man. If I’d known you’d saved Jena…” Brandon shook his head. “It’s like the whole family was affected by Jena’s work, even if we didn’t know about it.”
“It was. The fact remains that you and I are the only ones who know mostly everything.”
“You think she was working for the CIA?”
Jeb thought before he spoke. Of course he knew she’d been employed by the agency, but she hadn’t told Brandon yet—couldn’t, until her resignation was official, so neither could he. “No idea. All I know is that she was working for the government, on something classified.”
“I have to wonder if she was ever even in the Navy. We never saw her in uniform. She made it seem like she did short-notice missions as needed, for the Reserves.”
That’s what Jeb had believed, too. One day she’d tell Brandon and Henry what her real job had been. Until then, he had no reply.
“As for me being arrested, it wasn’t a picnic, but I survived.” He’d been in the county jail for less than twelve hours. “It’s not your fault the different factions weren’t talking to one another.”
“But it’s on me that you were arrested in the first place. If I’d waited a week longer to file the charges, you’d never have gone to jail.”
Jail was nothing compared to what Jena had been through. “To be honest, I was already so exhausted and jet lagged, it didn’t matter.” A lie. The county jail had only served to remind him of Jena’s ordeal, how close they’d all come to losing her.
