Page 6 of Lone Spy (Starstruck Thrillers #2)
Chapter Six
The sliding glass doors of my kitchen are open. My friend and personal trainer, Synthia Taylor, stands at the island—security knows to always let her in. My Vitamix blender whirls in front of Synthia, a bright green drink whirring up its sides.
My dog, Archie, scrambles across the tiles and out onto the deck. His fluffy body skids into my ankles and he jumps up, paws tapping my bare thighs as he whines with excitement.
I bend over and scoop his squirming body into my arms. Part Dachshund and part mini-poodle, Archie has the long body of his mother and the white curls of his father.
His face is round, and I keep his fur fluffy. He resembles a throw pillow with teeth. The dog has zero protective instincts but is an excellent cuddler and destroyer of accessories.
I would have taken him into the city with me, but Archie couldn't attend the premiere. Leaving him for so long alone in the hotel room would have made him mad enough to eat an untold number of shoes. So Synthia watched him for me, as she often does.
"Hello, you ridiculous creature," I say, holding him up to my face. Cradling him in my left elbow, I scratch his chest with my right hand. "Hello. Hello, my adorable little love. Oh, I love you so much. Yes, I do. Yes, I do."
Archie's eyes roll back from pleasure, and I grin down at his silly little face with its perfect dot of a black nose. His ears are flipped back, and he looks like he's going through a wind tunnel.
Synthia draws my focus with a laugh. Her hands rest on the counter, the blender now silent between them. Synthia's muscled shoulders are dappled with freckles that also bridge her nose. She's grinning at me. You're ridiculous with that dog.
I shrug, smiling as I cross the deck. I'm not ashamed.
The whole front of the house is glass, reflecting the ocean behind me, except where the kitchen doors are open. The tiles—white with indigo flower designs—are cool and smooth under my bare feet.
Pale yellow peonies bloom from a powder pink vase on the round, glossy white kitchen table. The six matching chairs are all pushed in. The cutting board on the alabaster marble counter, littered with green stems and an empty avocado shell, is the only thing out of place.
The kitchen, like the rest of the house, is kept immaculate by Madeline, who manages to be visible in every corner of my home, yet never in my way.
"Hey," Synthia says, the skin crinkling around her brown eyes. You've been through it. The tightness in my chest loosens. Archie's furry body snuggled in my arms and the empathy in Synthia's gaze soothe me. "You okay?"
"Yeah." We can both hear the tears in my voice.
A gust of wind pushes on my back, bringing the scent of Ash with it. This time it's like a mix of sun-warmed wood and lavender. How can it change and yet be so damn consistent? To have a scent burned into my brain yet always be changing?
Ash didn't follow me right away—he was probably waiting to speak with Chris. Or he understood enough to give me space.
The room seems to shrink when Ash enters. My muscles are buzzing with endorphins, and it feels like there is an electric field crackling between us.
"Good afternoon, Synthia," Ash says. His deep timbre sends sparks skittering along the circuits between us, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
"Ash." Synthia nods a greeting.
His focus shifts behind Synthia to the left, which is when I see the giant Samoan, Alesana, in the shadows of the hall that leads to the living room. "You can go," Ash says. Alesana gives me a brief smile before turning away, disappearing down the hall.
Ash moves to follow him. But I'm in his way. He expected me to step aside, to just let him pass.
I don’t move, and his only option is to turn around and circle the other side of the table. I turn my head to meet his gaze. His intense focus almost startles the breath out of me.
Ash wets his lips as if to speak but then turns away instead. Synthia catches my eye. Then she looks to Ash's broad back before returning her attention to me and raising one brow. What was that?
I grit my teeth.
"Should we have our green meanies on the deck?" Synthia suggests with a smile. You are going to talk.
The ocean wind tugs at Synthia's hair, pulling wisps free. They curl around her face as she eyes me over her pint glass of greens, avocado, blueberries and, if you ask me, not nearly enough banana—but apparently sugar isn't good for you no matter what your taste buds claim.
We're sitting on the curved deck outside the living room in two of the chaise lounges that face the view. The cushions are an angry red—the color after you've been struck but before the bruise blooms.
The Pacific roars so loudly that Synthia has to almost yell when she says, "What is going on with you and Ash? A Vitamix couldn't get through the tension a few minutes ago."
My laugh is nervous and slightly hysterical. Archie raises his head from my lap. His expression condemns me. I should know better than to disturb him with my body when he's using it as a bed.
"It's nothing." I shake my head, the last wisps of humor fading.
"Didn't look like nothing to me."
A sigh escapes. "It can just feel a little stifling sometimes—to have this much security." My answer is a cousin to the truth and as much as I can tell Synthia.
Her face softens. I'm not Synthia's only client who needs protection. She understands what it's like to be high profile enough that desperate people latch onto you. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but thank god you had them last night."
The memory of Ash carrying me out of the theater comes back so vividly that my breath chokes off and my senses are filled with his smell—it mixes with the ocean, evolving again yet remaining achingly familiar.
Swallowing, I take in a deep breath, forcing myself back to the present.
"Yeah, definitely," I say. "It's just a lot. "
Synthia leans forward and puts her hand on my knee. "You know you can always talk to me. About anything."
I nod, tears burning my eyes, wishing it was true. How much easier would my life be if I could share more with Synthia, if I had anyone in my life I could confide my full truth to? Synthia waits for me to speak, and I need to tell her something. "I slept with Julian last night."
She barks out a laugh. "Well, that's not what I expected you to say, but I can't blame you. I'm not even sure why you two broke up." Synthia leans back in her seat, propping up long tanned legs. She's wearing a pair of white cotton shorts and a casual gray tank top.
"Too much time apart." I recite the lie with ease, but Synthia shakes her head—not that she doesn't believe me, but that she thinks it's a crap reason.
Which it is. But my real reasons are solid, even if I can't share them with anyone but Temperance Johnson or Ash Fraser.
Neither of whom are exactly girlfriend material.
"With your life, Angela, you're never going to have a relationship with someone you share a schedule with unless you start fucking one of your security men."
I choke on a sip of green meanie and sit up, sputtering. Archie, incensed, departs from my lap to curl up at the bottom of the chaise with a flick of his short fluff of a tail and a look of disgust. What kind of a human?
"I don't recommend it," Synthia adds, her voice teasing.
Movement behind her draws my focus. Chris appears at the top of the stairs and crosses the deck toward the kitchen. Synthia glances back, following my attention. "It is kind of like a Chippendale show around here. Do you insist on them all being super hot, or is it just a coincidence?"
I laugh, shaking my head, and Synthia turns back to me grinning.
"Speaking of hotties," I say. "How's yours?"
Synthia's eyes flick away, concern etching itself around her eyes. "He's having a lot of anxiety."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"I feel like everyone is, it's all just so…
uncertain. And scary." Synthia sips her drink and I wait, letting her take her time to figure things out.
"I mean." She shakes her head. "This is a shitty time to be a librarian, especially a trans one.
" She pauses for another moment. "These restrictions are so fucked.
" Her voice is venomous and tear-roughened.
Last year, Congress pushed through a law defining certain types of content—including discussions of same-sex romantic relationships and transgender identity—as obscene and harmful, basically putting books about the LGBTQ+ community in the same category as pornography.
So now "Jimmy Has Two Dads" is considered as dangerous as "Jimmy Takes Two Daddies."
The law also created a centralized list of banned books and words, which was distributed to all public schools and libraries.
Complying with the demand to remove every book that illustrates systemic racism or mentions homosexual relationships has created all manner of moral dilemmas for librarians and teachers around the country.
My stomach clenches thinking about the dangers of our government trying to erase people. Kids reading stories about different kinds of lives is the most basic way to create a society that has compassion and wisdom.
"I'm so sorry," I say.
Synthia gives a soft shake of her head. "Hey, it's better than being a doctor not allowed to save a woman's life." Her smile is wry, dark. Sad. "Can you imagine?"
I nod because I can—it's my job to step into other people’s skins. And besides, I'm a spy forced to gather intelligence for this administration. I understand how it feels to be compelled into immoral acts.