Love Hacked (Knitting in the City #3)(66)
Author: Penny Reid

To my surprise, there wasn’t vulnerability behind the guarded wall. There was strength.

When he spoke next, his voice was soothing, coaxing, reasonable. “The only thing I ask, the only thing you need to promise me, is that we don’t grow apart. I don’t want to have to learn how to live without you. I understand that there might be times when you need to stand on my shoulders, or I need to stand on yours. You don’t seem to realize, I want to carry you. I look forward to making your burdens mine. And when we cross the finish line we might not both be walking, but we’ll still be side-by-side.”

***

Fiona arrived at nine to discuss the plan.

The plan was simple. Alex, Quinn, Dan, Fiona, a million lawyers, and several of Quinn’s contacts in the government would meet with the appropriate agency personnel responsible for Alex’s continued surveillance by the NSA and other agencies.

Fiona and Quinn would broker a deal on behalf of Alex. Alex would have to make some concessions—likely help the NSA in some way—but would make demands of his own in return. The first would be no further threats against me, his wife, and immediate release from parole. The second involved working for Quinn and untraced access to computers, the Internet, the whole rodeo. The third was decreased surveillance by the government.

When it was explained to me, the requests seemed reasonable and logical, and yet I couldn’t comprehend how Quinn was going to convince the super-secret spy police to back off Alex, not with billions of dollars at stake.

Not helping matters was the fact that Alex wouldn’t be able to call me while all of this was afoot. Quinn explained that they couldn’t take the risk of any intercepted conversations derailing discussions.

I recognized that the plan was solid. I trusted Fiona to represent Alex’s best interests. Yet I was plagued with wifely anxiety and worry. I knew worry was worthless. But like an irrational wifely nitwit, I wanted to be the one in Washington, DC with Alex. I wanted to be the one that supported him through this ordeal.

Those were my feelings. I couldn’t help them, stop them, or stem them. In the end, I could only swallow my instinctual absurdity and wear a brave face.

Therefore, I called in to work to let them know I would be late. Wednesdays weren’t typically clinic days; as such, I shifted my important appointments forward to the afternoon and cancelled all non-essential meetings.

Then Quinn arrived at eleven to collect Alex.

I was resigned to the necessity of it. Nevertheless, my brave face wavered and became a sad face after I stepped away from our twelfth, and final, goodbye kiss. However, the sight of Alex wrapped in black cashmere and dressed in one of Quinn’s ridiculously expensive suits was a nice parting gift.

I looked between Quinn and Dan’s backs as the group walked down the hall.

Words burst forth before I could stay them, my heart speaking before my brain was aware of its intent. “Take care of him!”

Quinn glanced over his shoulder, nodded at me once.

Fiona gave me a comforting smile.

Dan turned fully around, walked backwards, and issued me a cheeky grin.smirk, “You should be asking him to take care of us. He’s the genius.”

I stepped into the hall. Alex glanced at Dan’s back as they boarded the elevator, then to me.

“He’s my genius,” I called, “and I want him back!”

Alex’s grin was immense, and it was the last thing I saw before the doors slid shut.

CHAPTER 29

Saturday Horoscope: Just for today, you might want to cut a path through your tangled emotional jungle. Good fortune and happiness are best when shared.

Saturday morning I donned my Lunch with Thomas T-shirt and made my way to the Blake Hotel. It was the first time in three weeks that neither Thomas nor I had cancelled. I was thankful, because I missed my friend and I needed the distraction.

Fiona had flown back on Thursday night, no longer able to be away from her kids. She was able to provide some information about Alex, but not enough to ease my anxieties.

A deal had been reached quickly. She explained that the NSA had been very keen for Alex to help willingly after so many years of being shut out. Quinn, because he was—as Elizabeth called him—a grumpy, hot wizard, had put pressure on the right people and obtained agreement from the security agencies on all of Alex’s demands.

In return, Alex would be called upon—from time to time—to consult with the NSA and other information technology teams on matters of national security. Alex was still in Washington because he was on his first assignment.

Fiona had no idea how long it would take, but she did know the gist of the task. Alex would be expected to sweep bitcoins from several criminal organizations—specifically drug trafficking and money laundering groups—and place the funds in an NSA-identified account.

I’d be lying if I said I understood the particulars and the risks. I did know that I hadn’t seen or heard directly from Alex in seven days. He hadn’t even sent a letter with Fiona.

Life was not good. In fact, it was shitzterhozen—hozen full of shitzter. I wanted to heckle life.

Boo-o-o and hiss-s-s!

Therefore, I was looking forward to a nice, quirkily normal, staid Thomas lunch to lift my spirits. I walked into the restaurant and spotted him at our normal table. He was in his chair, reading the paper, and I smiled at the sight of him.

But then I frowned, confused, because next to Thomas was a lovely woman with long black hair. My steps slowed as I approached the table, and then I recognized her. It was Shirra Patel from the restaurant. She was sitting next to Thomas, also reading the paper—the same paper. He was holding it, and they were both reading it.

I loitered a bit, hovered a few steps away. Neither made a sign at my approach, which was usual for Thomas. Now that he’d brought company, I didn’t know what to do.

In the end, I gathered an oh-well-whatever breath and sat down in my normal seat at the table.

As usual, I watched him read the paper—his lips moving, his nostrils flaring, his freaky coffee sipping—and wondered at Shirra next to him. She sat as still as a statue, except her eyes moved from left to right under thick black lashes as she read the words.

The waitress approached and I ordered lunch for myself since I didn’t know the new proper protocol now that Shirra was present. Did I order for him? For both of them? We would need to discuss future logistics.

At length, Shirra cleared her throat, and Thomas glanced away from the paper. He blinked at her. Then he smiled at her, and my heart squeezed a little in my chest.

He looked…young, like actually his age…and happy…and in love…and so did she.

Has it only been three weeks?

She tipped her head toward me, then moved just her eyes to my face, her smile never faltering.

“Hi, Sandra, we’ve met before,” she said, her brown eyes extremely friendly. “It’s good to see you. I hope you don’t mind if I join you and Tom for lunch.”

“Oh, no! So glad you’re here.” I tented my fingers so I wouldn’t rub them together like a maniacal villain. I didn’t try to hide the large grin eating my face as my gaze moved to Thomas. I hoped I looked as self-satisfied as I felt, because I knew it would ruffle Tom’s feathers.

Ha! Tom. I would have to start calling him that every once in a while. Excellent.

Thomas gave me a somewhat flustered glower and folded his paper. “Yes. Well.” He sniffed and sighed. “We already ordered before you came.”

I nodded. “How nice.”

“Excuse me, I’ll be right back. I just have to pop to the ladies’.” Shirra squeezed Thomas’s hand and placed a sweet kiss on his cheek. He leaned into her, and his eyes followed her as she walked away. I could tell he was checking out her backside.

“So, Tom,” I said laconically, drawing out his name, dragging his attention back to me. “Done anything lately?”

He inhaled deeply then released it in a huff. “We met at the restaurant, if you must know. After you left with your young man that night—leaving me quite alone for some time, I might add—Shirra took my order. We were the only two left in the restaurant, so I invited her to share my meal.”

“Re-e-eally?”

He pursed his lips, his cheeks tinted pink. “Yes, really.”

“Well, I’m happy for you, Tom.”

“Stop calling me Tom.”

“Is this why you cancelled lunch for the last two weeks?”

He gave me a curt nod.

“Well… is it serious?”

He paused, swallowed, and tented his fingers in front of him. “Sandra….”

“Yes, Tom.”

He scowled, but continued. “I feel I must tell you that, for some months—well, the last few months in particular—I was quite smitten with you.”

My mouth fell open—like catching-flies open—and I stared at him. When I found my voice, I croaked, “Is this a joke?”

“No. I’m afraid not. I didn’t expect that you’d return the feelings. But, you see, you are so terribly easy to fall in love with. I did think it would be prudent to warn you of this effect you have on people, on men. Possibly on women as well, though I’m unsure if women are as susceptible.”

My breath tumbled out of me and I felt paralyzed. I searched the table for clues on how to continue this conversation.