by Geri Krotow
“When did you know? That she was the one?”
Brandon’s mouth hitched up in the grin of a man truly possessed by a woman—in the best way. “Honestly? The minute I set eyes on her, when I pulled up to Henry’s pier for his and Sonja’s pre-wedding party, for the vows that hadn’t happened. She stood out like a…no kidding, like a goddamn poppy flower. You know, the bright red kind they wear on Veterans Day. The ones you donate a buck for.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“So there she is, like a red flower amongst fucking dandelions. No offense to Henry and Sonja or anyone else. There had to be a couple dozen people at the party, but all I saw was her. At first I thought it was the way she stood—she had this screw-you posture, like she owned the place. But then when I actually met her, saw past the damned sunglasses she was hiding behind, I saw vulnerability. And more than that, because it wasn’t pity that drew me to her. The smoking hot chemistry, sure, that’s a given. We just connected on a very basic but deep level.”
“Jesus, I was only looking for ‘when she kissed me’ or ‘when I found out we like the same music.’”
Brandon jerked his head back, the dreamy look in his eyes cleared, and the man he’d grown up next to cocked a brow at him. “It’s not that neat, bro. It’s a combination of things, so many events adding layers to the basic attraction. What I’m trying to tell you is that it’s not a burning bush kind of thing, at least not for me. It’s more subtle, but once I realized that Poppy was the one, it really was like a sledgehammer splitting my skull open.”
“Your heart, you mean. It broke your heart.” His heart had taken its share of beatings since Paraguay. Since forever, it seemed. Since he’d met Jena, but the last couple of months, for sure.
“No, man, it wasn’t degrading in the least. Or sad. Overwhelming? Yeah. But I always knew, you know? Once I let my defenses down completely, it was crystal clear that Poppy had always been meant for me, and I knew no one else would ever love her like I do.”
“When was that moment?”
“Fuck, bro. It was when it was too late, or close enough.” Brandon drank his beer, then set the glass down on the bar. “I never want to have that feeling again. Figuring it out and at the same time believing I’d missed my chance.”
Turmoil flipped like a river otter in his gut, and it had nothing to do with his favorite beer or the boiled peanuts that he was absolutely not a fan of. Jeb gripped his glass. He’d waited too long. Jena had laid her cards on the table by agreeing to start up The Refuge with him beside her. She’d continued to see him, to allow their relationship to begin again and go to a place it’d never been before.
The hope of a forever place.
Brandon leaned forward, concern stamped on his face. “You look green around the gills, Jeb.”
He swallowed. “I think I’ve messed it up.” He needed to see Jena, now. But she was with Robyn. Part of their new routine was that they left Fridays for their friends, to ensure each of them had more than just each other. It was to avoid what Jena called their previous tendency toward codependency.
“How so?”
“This isn’t something I think I need to be talking about with you, because you’re her brother, man.”
“That’s fair.” Brandon nodded.
“But if we’re speaking in generic terms, women like to know where their guy stands, right?”
“Women do not like to be left hanging, no. No matter what anyone says. Especially an independent, self-sufficient woman like, say, Jena.” Brandon winked.
“Right. So why do they say they’re cool with a more casual relationship? Or with me leaving?” Hell, he may as well lay all his cards out for Brandon.
“Because they’ve been hurt. Or they’re scared. Or we did something to make them mistrust us.”
Fuck. Double—no, triple fuck.
He pulled out a couple of bills and slapped them on the bar. “I gotta go. Leave the change for the tip.” He gave Brandon a quick bro hug. “We’ll talk next week about working together again, if you’re still up for it.”
“Wait.” Brandon placed his hand on Jeb’s shoulder and looked at him. “You mean it?”
“Maybe. Depends. Yes, damn it. Yes.”
* * * *
Jena’s phone buzzed the minute she dropped it on the kitchen counter after her dinner with Robyn. Hoping it was Jeb, she immediately picked it up, and her heart reacted—but not with joy. It sank to her toes as she stared at the all-too-familiar number.
Her handler. She could ignore it, as she had the last five times he’d called over the past week. Carefully, as if he’d know she was deliberately not answering, she placed the phone facedown on the counter and headed for the bathroom. She’d call him back on Monday. Her margarita buzz deserved a nice long shower and her favorite scented lotion.
Sharp raps on the front door stopped her in the short hallway, her hands on either wall. Jeb. Who else would be here on a Friday night?
She went to the door, allowing the shimmer of sexual anticipation to wrap around her, tighten her nipples, make the heat between her legs throb. The shower could wait, if Jeb was here for a booty call. She really needed to have a heart-to-heart with herself. Jeb was days from leaving for Atlanta, and she still was trying to eke out every last minute of their time together.
She peered through the peephole and recognized the one man she’d thought—she’d hoped—she’d never see again. Grim reality dowsed her desire, and she drew a shaky breath in, then out. She opened the door.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Grant?”
“Answer your fucking phone and I won’t have to chase you down to this swampland.” The man who’d been her mentor, guide, and sometimes partner pushed past her into the carriage house.
Jena shut the door behind them and followed him to the kitchen, where he took a seat at the small table. “Sit down, Jena.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” She dropped into a chair and offered him a reluctant grin. “You’re the worst buzzkill, you know that, right?”
Grant’s handsome features revealed no emotion. They rarely did; he was always all business. She had no doubt he was a CIA lifer. Yet he’d never scorned her for leaving. He’d seen plenty of agents come and go. It was a tough business.
“I’m not here to kill anything, Jena. You’ve got to come with me, though. They need you to go to Asunción and testify against Jardin again. The kingpin this time.” “They” meant their supervisors at CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia. Men and women they never referred to by name, only their code names, which changed with each mission.
“I’m done, Grant. They promised me I didn’t have to ever go back, for anything. I gave my statement. It’s a closed hearing, right?”
“Yes, but in order to extradite Jardin’s head honcho the US has agreed to a live witness. It’s part of the process, and it’s over our heads, Jena.”
“This is the absolute worst time for me to do this, Grant. I’m out. I’m not CIA any longer.”
He chuckled, a rare glimpse of his sense of humor—dry, with a twist of dark. “You’re memory’s not that short, Jena. Your needs versus national security. Let’s see…oh, yeah, you lose.”
“Fuck going back to Asunción. The Jardin cartel is contained, they’ve choked all their distribution channels. They don’t need me.” It was the last thing she’d accomplished before being kidnapped: She’d singlehandedly stopped a shipment of pure cocaine from being smuggled onboard an overnight delivery service headed directly for Miami.
“Resist all you want.” He pulled out his phone, tapped on it, and turned the screen for her to read. “You’ve got a boarding pass to leave in four hours.”
Her stomach twisted. She had no choice—and Grant knew it, too. “I’ll be there.”
“Oh, no, Jena. We’ll be there. I’ll wait out here while you pack. You know the drill.” It wa
s to protect her, truthfully, but the standing practice to travel as a team felt more like a measure for a fugitive.
“I’m not going to ignore an official order. I get it, Grant.”
“And I get that you want to call your friend Jeb and tell him where you’re going, how long you’ll be gone. It’s best you don’t tell anyone about this until your return. For your safety in Asunción. You’ll be back in under seventy-two hours.”
“I’ve heard that before. My family will freak out if I vanish.” And so would Jeb, wouldn’t he? Their relationship had finally shifted into a place she’d only dreamed of. She wasn’t willing to risk it all, no matter what Grant said about confidentiality.
“Tell them you’re going to Langley, then. For a last checkout procedure. It’s no longer classified that you worked for us.”
She nodded. “That’s fair.” It would keep everyone free from worry and safe, away from the knowledge of what she really did and where, and it was best for the safety of everyone working the case, from the State Department to FBI, along with the Paraguayan authorities.
She had no choice but to go. She did have a choice to let Jeb know, though. As soon as they were at the airport, she’d text him and ask him to fill in her family.
* * * *
Jeb pulled up to the curb in front of Jena’s carriage house. He had to park farther north on the street than usual because a black sedan was in his usual spot. He paused. Maybe Jena’s drinks with Robyn had turned into another girls’ night sleepover.
No matter. What he had to tell her was more important, and it wouldn’t wait. If Robyn was there, he’d say what he had to say to Jena in private, either in her room our outside on the tiny porch. Then he’d set a time for them to meet tomorrow, at her old house. Because the tree had been such a big part of their growing up, it only seemed fitting that he’d propose to her there. And he had another idea that was slowly taking root, another way to prove to her that he was committed.
He took his time walking up the path, forcing himself to breathe, appreciating every second of this moment. He’d thought that when he found the woman for him, he’d be crazy with lust and the need to have her. Jena incited all that, true, but it was only the tip of what made them a couple. Like a Bayou gum tree, the sexual chemistry they’d shared since adolescence was only the outer branches, sticking above the still water. What bound them together was far more complex, permanent. Their connection was as deep as the roots of the oak tree he’d carved a heart into for her. Their hearts were one. It might not pass any scientific scrutiny, but no one and nothing would convince him of less.
Her lights were on, beacons to him as he crossed the long stretch of garden between the main house and small outbuilding. Her choice of home had never mattered to him before; now he wanted to know if she’d picked the carriage house because of its minimalist function or the history that came with it, tying it to the main house that had stood in New Orleans for three centuries. Did Jena want to own a historical NOLA property? Was The Refuge an example of what she preferred—updating a structure that was so much a part of the city landscape that it would leave a gaping hole once demolished, by man or nature?
There was an unfamiliar flutter in his gut as he approached her door and halted his steps. Holy fuck, were those butterflies in his stomach? He was not the nervous type. After fearing the worst—that Jena was going to die in the deepest recess of Asunción—he’d thought nothing could ever scare him so much.
He was wrong. He stood on her porch, on the verge of calling her out on what she’d offered him, even if it turned out that her “offer”—of staying here forever and leaving her agent career behind—weren’t intentional on her part. Because it wasn’t a coincidence. Jena wanted permanent roots as much as he did.
Their roots were so intertwined it was impossible to tell where his ended and hers began, which points were twisted or actually one single strand.
Her door yanked open and she stood in the threshold, the yellow bug light casting a fiery glow over her smooth skin. Her eyes widened in recognition, followed by a smile. Her smile died as quickly as it’d flashed, and her perfectly shaped brows drew together.
“Shit.”
“That’s a fine way to say hello. Look, I’m sorry to come here so late.” As he prepared his explanation, he looked into her eyes, let his gaze roam over her face, her delectable lips. “I know you probably have Robyn over, but I’ll make this short. I have to talk to you. And then tomorrow, I’ll tell you more. Jena, I—” As he looked past her face and saw that she was dressed in the same two-piece athletic suit she’d worn home from Paraguay, he stopped talking. His heart felt like it was going to press out of his rib cage, or stop beating entirely. She wasn’t going away again. She couldn’t be.
“Jeb, I can’t talk right now.”
“I know, trust me, it’ll only take a minute—”
“Jena, we have to go. Now.” A man the same height as Jena stood behind her, his blond hair gleaming, his skin green like a lizard’s. Jeb knew it was the bug light—the dude was obviously tan. And incredibly good-looking. This dude knew Jena, and from the looks of it, he knew her well.
“Who the fuck are you?” The words came from a primal place he rarely visited—except when it came to Jena, and life or death.
“Jeb, this is Grant, my, uh…”
“Colleague.” The man stepped around Jena, moving her back by placing his hands on her shoulders. He stuck his hand out for Jeb to shake. “Grant.”
Jeb ignored the outstretched hand. “Buddy, I don’t know who you are, nor do I give a fuck. But if I see you touch Jena like that again, I’m going rip your fucking head off.” He glared at the man, this man named Grant, who’d been inside Jena’s place with her. His mind told him that what she said was true—this was probably another CIA agent she worked with. He’d met a lot of government authorities when he’d gone to Asunción to deliver the ransom, many of who were simply identified as employees of the US Embassy. He hadn’t known yet that she was CIA. Once he did, he was on his way back to the States, after she’d been medically evacuated out of the country.
Grant stepped in front of Jena. His moves were catlike and powerful, hallmarks of an athlete—a trained athlete who might use his skills for other things, like undercover agent work.
Jeb took the man’s stare with equanimity.
“It’s not nice to talk like that in front of a lady.” Grant’s growl raised Jeb’s hackles.
“I don’t take orders from you.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Jena shoved herself between them, elbowing Grant in the gut before facing Jeb. “Grant, go to your car. I’ll be right out.”
Grant backed off, and only then did Jeb see the rolling suitcase that Grant picked up by the handle like a tiny pocketbook. “I’ve got your bag, Jena.”
Jeb couldn’t have stopped glowering at the man if he’d wanted to. Once he was out of sight—he didn’t assume the man was out of earshot; he knew Jena had the hearing of a bat and assumed it was another part of CIA training—Jeb swallowed his frustration and looked at Jena.
He faced the most frightening part of the evening. She wore her emotionally opaque mask, the one that he’d seen two other times: In college, when she broke it off with him because she had to focus on her career options, and after the last time she came to him, the first time he’d seen her after the return from Paraguay and he’d turned her away. As he looked into her eyes, his heart screamed for her to come back to him.
“Where are you going?” He spoke through gritted teeth.
She shook her head. “Langley.” She mumbled the city where CIA headquarters was located and he grasped her chin, made her look at him.
“Bullshit.” His sharp reply drew her out of the shell she’d sunk into and tears spilled from her eyes.
“Stop it, Jeb. I can’t tell you, okay?” He held her gently; she could have twisted aw
ay. He’d never do anything to hurt her. Even if his heart was shattering.
“If you can’t tell me, who can you tell?”
She swiped at her tears. “You’re making too much of this. It’s not a big deal. I’ve suspected it would come down to this since I got back.”
It was like a gunshot hitting his sternum. He dropped his hand and took a step back, fought from sinking to the ground, holding his head.
“You said you wanted to put down roots.”
“I did. I am. I mean it.”
“But you’re taking another mission anyway.” Suddenly his motive for speaking to her, reaching out to her tonight, evaporated. He’d imagined her desire to make a life together, with him. She’d been playing, acting as if she’d be able to put her agent life behind her.
“It’s not a mission, not really. I can’t say a whole lot right now, Jeb. You’re going to have to trust me.”
“Trust you? Like I did for the last two years while you went off on your ‘Navy’ stints? Who the fuck do you peg me for, Jena?”
“Jeb. It’s late, we had a long week at work. I’ll be back by Tuesday, I promise.”
“Keep your promises, Jena.”
“Everything all right here?” Grant had walked up unnoticed, the bastard.
“Have a nice trip.” Jeb spoke to both of them and made his way off the property. The black sedan wasn’t Robyn’s—it was this guy Grant’s. Grant with-no-last-name. If it were another time, and she were another woman, he’d have been certain Grant was her lover. The guy was hot, in that short-dude-in-shape way. But his gut told him that Grant was in the same business Jena had been in. No, goddammit—was still in.
He was done. If Jena could so easily slip out of town, out of his life without telling him, they didn’t have the connection he’d thought. It’d been all in his mind. One heart, strong as an oak tree? More like a fucking willow snapped in two by a strategic lightning strike.
He drove off before they did, unable to watch the love of his life reenter her other life. The one without him.
