didn’t fix anything. It didn’t change anything. It only made a person say, “Thank you.” Thank you for what?
“I’ll need a list of everyone you suspect might have written this note. I’ll also want a list of anyone involved in any case you’ve solved since your return to the States. I imagine you can’t put together a list of potential threats from your days in the government—security clearance and all—so you’ll have to do your own work there.”
“Right. And you’ll—”
“I’ll need to get familiar with Sophie’s schedule. Her friends, teachers, et cetera. Do you want my surveillance to be covert or open?”
Mark hesitated and JoJo imagined he was weighing the pros and cons.
“Do you want to take the risk of me doing this without her knowledge, knowing at some point she might learn the truth or—”
“You can’t handle covert surveillance on a teenager?”
JoJo nearly growled. “Of course I can. But should danger threaten her in some way I may need to expose myself. The girl’s pretty bright. I’m thinking she wouldn’t buy the story that my presence was a coincidence. Or do you want to spare the righteous teen outrage that would follow such a revelation and simply explain what’s happening? A threat was made, we’re checking it out, but in the meantime I’m going to be hanging around to make sure nothing happens.”
Still, he hesitated.
“What did you say about wanting to fix the relationship between you and your daughter?”
“I don’t want to scare the crap out of her with this. She’s got enough on her plate.”
“Then you need to ask yourself who Sophie is. Is she the type of kid who is going to be freaked out by this and will shut down out of fear? Or is she the type of kid who can deal with the situation and take reasonable steps to secure her own safety by accepting a necessary precaution?”
“Are you seriously trying to out-reason me?”
“I’m saying you’re not a spy anymore. Getting away with a covert operation isn’t the goal. Establishing trust between you and your daughter is. You know? That silly thing called trust—that thing you want to have with me. Well, I’m no expert but I’m fairly sure it’s a critical component in any relationship, especially one between a father and daughter who are only starting to know one another.”
“You did out-reason me,” he whispered, sounding disgusted. “Okay. Come over tonight. We’ll talk to her together. I’ll let her know what the deal is and you can explain your role. She’ll probably take it better coming from you.”
“Deal.”
“Did you find an apartment yet?”
“Not yet. I have some appointments tomorrow.”
“To rent or buy?”
This time she was the one to hesitate, pondering how much he needed to know about her personal life. In her mind, the more space the better, especially since she realized she sort of liked him.
Not the dangerous red-zone level of like. More bordering on orange. He was funny and could trade barbs with anyone. But there was something else that made him different from other men she’d known. She’d worked for detectives, she’d trained with law enforcers. The term swinging dick was a staple in her descriptive vocabulary.
The difference between Mark and the other types she’d known in this profession was that he didn’t have to swing his dick to prove anything to anyone.
He was a badass, and his dick was just there. Impressive without having to announce its presence.
And that is enough time thinking about the Penis. Move on.
She considered what he had said earlier. If he was going to trust her with his daughter’s safety, then she could at least be honest with him about the basic facts of her life.
“Rent.”
“Because you can’t buy or won’t buy?”
“If you’re offering me a raise already...”
He sneered at her. That was the only description she could come up with for the way his lips thinned while half his mouth curled up. “I’m trying to find out if you’re renting for a reason.”
“Like, duh,” she said, with what she hoped was enough teenage speak so he would understand.
It only made him sneer harder.
“Yes, I’m renting for a reason. Until you and I figure out if we can mesh together, I don’t want to make any long-term commitments.”
“Why do we have to...mesh? Why can’t we simply be two people working together?”
“Dude, small office. You need to accept the fact that I’m the type who will go into your office and take the case folders if I need them. I probably need to accept the fact that, deep at heart, you’re still a paranoid spy guy. If we can’t do that, no meshing.”
“Well, then I want to mesh.” He shook his head slightly. “What I meant to say is, I want this to work out. With us.”
“Ditto.”
“Good. Okay, well, if you don’t have a place of your own, you’re probably sick of eating out. Come over for dinner.”
“You cook?”
“Why did your voice go up an octave? You don’t think I can cook? Is it because I’m a man? That’s so stereotypical and, I have to say, a little cliché.”
JoJo bit her lip because who knew? Maybe his secret passion was cooking. But she had a feeling she was being played. In fact, that was always how she felt around him. Like she was being tested or there was some hidden agenda behind everything he did and said. It constantly kept her on her toes.
The man—the real man—behind the intimidating spy or the sarcastic jokester or the seriously lost new dad, was a mystery.
Which was not a good thing because there was nothing she loved better than solving a mystery.
He’s your boss. He’s not a mystery. He’s your boss. A boss without a Penis.
Still, a home-cooked meal—if he could deliver it—was not something a woman who ate most of her meals at restaurants ever passed up. Cooking was a luxury her job rarely afforded.
“You’re on, chef.”
* * *
MARK CLUTCHED THE take-out bags in one hand while he fiddled with his key. He opened the door and found Sophie where he’d left her after he had picked her up from rehearsal. Nancy was with her and the two of them had their heads down over a big book.
“Hey, I’m home.”
Nancy lifted her head and smiled. “Hi.”
Again, Mark was struck
