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KENSINGTON, TEXAS
Saratoga Springs, N.Y., CEO Leanne Miles has released an official press announcement. She and her husband are expecting their first child.
—Castor News Room
Getting on the plane to leave Fallon was the last thing I wanted to do. I know she was reluctant to leave me at the Charleston airport if the amount of time she spent kissing me at TSA was any indication. But we both needed to return to work today—particularly after Fallon admitted to missing being in the office because her mother was unwell these past few weeks. I make a mental note to send Helen some flowers after I get off the conference call from hell.
Mondays can suck it.
“Whose idea was it to schedule this dumpster fire for first thing in the morning?” I demand.
Sam Aiken snorts with his typical good humor. “Be grateful it wasn’t earlier. Q?za’s normally up as early as Thorn.” Sam casually drops Agency’s director Parker Thornton’s nickname as the two have been friends for over twenty years.
I shudder. “There’s something wrong with the lot of you people.”
The woman in question snarks from behind her privacy screen, “If you were growing a small human who uses your bladder as a timpani drum, you’d say to hell with it and work too, Whiskey.”
Hearing my Agency code name fall from her lips feels unusual. When I remark on that, she retorts sweetly, “Oh, my bad. Was it supposed to be some sort of secret?”
“I mean, who the hell cares about a little thing like the National Security systems that have to be hacked into.”
Cheerfully, Q?za switches to video. She’s obscured in shadow, but my brows draw together as I study her. It was meant to distract me and it’s working. “Tell me about it. When I hacked—” A sharp cough from Sam has her selecting different words. “I mean, when I ‘accessed’ the DoD database to find out more information about my husband, I never would have believed I could be both dead and my clearance still active.”
My jaw’s on the floor, but I manage to push out a rough, “Pardon me? What were you doing looking up your husband?”
She twists to the side and actively ignores my question.
It’s Sam who gives me the answer. “Q?za was involved with a different op where she met her husband.”
Patiently, as if she’s talking to two-year-olds instead of men who deal with the ramifications of cyber hunting every day, she reminds Sam, “I’d met him before.”
“Yes, but he thought you were?—”
Just then, Thorn joins the call. He interrupts smoothly. “Someone else.”
Her husky laugh comes out. Then she kisses her fingers and raises them to the sky in benediction and thanks. She whispers something but at the end I hear, “Right, Lee?”
Lee? Who the hell is Lee?
My identity, which is supposed to be concealed behind my code name and a million safeguards, but I suspect the intrepid Q?za knows good and well who I am. When I say as much, both Sam and Thorn respond with a shrug. Still, I’m irritated I can’t piece together who Q?za is. My voice is petulant when I demand, “Why can’t I be in the cool kids club and know who she is?”
It’s Sam who is the most political. “Information about Q?za is need to know.”
Thorn mutters, “Besides, nobody shares information with Q?za. She ferrets it out all on her own, whether you want her to know or not.”
Q?za simpers. “Oh, Thorn. A compliment. Let me mark the time and date.”
He chuckles. “I should have left you for dead.”
Dead? Wait, that wasn’t a joke?
“Just think of all the fun you and I have had over the years,” she retorts.
“Fun?” Thorn roars before he hisses, “I almost lost my job because of you.”
“Keyword being almost.”
“I had to do paperwork,” Thorn’s voice is nothing less than disgusted.