at Orion, as well as one of his three closest friends.
“To be honest, this—” she motioned to the banner and then to the people next to her “—isn’t really for you, but we couldn’t resist trying to surprise you. Though, I guess it could count if we said, ‘Congratulations for a supremely well-done job of handling yourself this week!’” She held up a champagne flute—something he realized the other partygoers also held—and lifted it in the air. “To Jonathan Carmichael for an excellent job well-done!”
A chorus of “hear, hear” sounded.
“Thanks,” he said, still uncertain. “But who is this all really for?”
Nikki looked at Mark, who stepped to the side. Kelli, Mark’s girlfriend, showed herself.
“Us,” she answered before holding up her left hand. A ring graced her finger, but it was the smile on Mark’s face that really sold it.
“You’re kidding me,” Jonathan exclaimed, a smile as pure as they came pulling up the corners of his lips. “You two are getting hitched?”
They laughed in unison.
“You better believe it, best man!”
Jonathan’s happiness for his best friend pushed him forward and he gave the many-muscled man a big hug. Mark, knowing Jonathan wasn’t big on shows of affection, knew not to comment. Instead he returned it before passing the second embrace on to his future wife. The rest of the party went back to their own mingling as Jonathan took a step back to congratulate the two of them again.
“I wanted to wait to tell everyone after I’d told you, but this one here got a little too chatty.” Mark looked at Kelli, who just laughed. A woman Jonathan didn’t recognize pulled Nikki’s and her attention away, leaving Mark and Jonathan alone.
“So should we talk about your face?” the bodyguard asked. Jonathan knew how it looked—a cut above his right lip, a bandage on his eyebrow and a gnarly bruise across his jawline—but he was happy that no one else had brought it up while he was in front of everyone.
“Don’t worry, it feels worse than it looks,” he joked. “So, best man, really?” Jonathan didn’t want to keep talking about his previous job when he’d just been extended an honor that could be taken as the epitome of male friendship. Mark clapped him on the shoulder.
“Who else would I pick? Now go put your stuff away and we’ll talk bachelor party ideas.” Mark wiggled his eyebrows. Once again it reminded Jonathan of how much happier his friend had become in the past year of being with Kelli and her daughter. Life, according to him, had become more enjoyable than even he had imagined.
A mixture of longing, sadness and regret exploded in Jonathan’s chest as he set his pack down behind his desk. From the open door he could see Kelli take Mark’s hand even though the two were in separate conversations.
Looking back Jonathan would realize that it was in that moment that he made his next decision, but while he was still in the moment he would think it was when Nikki walked into the room to give him a new client file.
“I don’t want to be a field agent anymore,” he responded, surprising the two of them. “I’m missing out on life, Nikki, and I don’t want to anymore.” She took a seat. Jonathan continued, “Mark’s getting married and already has a little family. Oliver has a kid on the way. I—” He struggled to find the words.
“Want to grow roots,” she supplied.
“Yes, but I can’t do that if I’m never in one spot for long.”
“So you want a desk job,” she added.
He nodded.
Nikki Waters wasn’t an easy woman to ruffle. She pursed her lips but didn’t try to sway his decision.
“Okay,” she said instead.
“Okay?” He’d half expected her to be angry. Other than Mark he was the highest-ranking field agent.
“When I started Orion, I knew it would be a lot of work, and you’ve been an integral part in helping me carry that workload. That’s included sacrificing your personal life, I’ve noticed. If you want to stay in one place, we can make that happen.”
“So...that’s it?”
Nikki held up her index finger.
“Now, I didn’t say that.”
Kate Spears sighed as she looked down at the letter covered in blood. It, like the handful of others before it, was folded and had been placed squarely on the middle of her doormat.
Her father, Deacon, a man who was made of worry more than anything else, was lagging behind her, talking on his phone. His current worry that his wife, her stepmother, was having a less than good day at work rated low on the stress totem pole. But like his ability to worry, he took pride in being a good husband. So there he paced across the sidewalk next to Kate’s mailbox, listening to his wife’s woes as his daughter tried to figure out how to handle the bloody stationery.
“If this isn’t a true case of the Mondays, I don’t know what is,” she muttered as she riffled through her larger-than-life purse. Unable to distinguish or adhere to the line between work and home, she found the pack of latex gloves within seconds and pulled one on. In another pocket of her purse she found a clean baggie. Being a scientist had its perks.
“Okay, honey, love you, too,” Deacon said, suddenly closer. Kate panicked and stuffed the note into the plastic bag along with her latex glove as quickly as she could. The bag was then stuffed into the purse. All within seconds. It made Kate momentarily feel like she’d gotten away with something. Though, in hindsight, she would realize there were few things you could get past Deacon Spears. “Are we going to pretend that I didn’t just see you shove several things into your purse?”
Kate let out another long breath. While she didn’t always leave work at work, she didn’t want to bring this conversation home. Especially not during lunch with her father.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she lied, finally opening the front door.
“And there’s the higher pitch to your voice,” he pressed, following her into the entryway of her town house. Normally she would place her purse beneath the table next to the front door, but she kept it close to her side this time. Or else her father would already be going through it.
“Can you stop analyzing me? I’m not data, you know,” she said, grinning. While Deacon owned a hardware store, Kate still insisted on cheesy jokes from her field of work. He usually laughed at them. Not now. The fake mirth didn’t dissuade Deacon’s determination. He crossed his arms over his chest and used the voice reserved only to scold his daughter. Never mind that she was twenty-nine, had a mortgage and had just completed a five-year project that could save countless lives.
“Kathryn Gaye Spears, I don’t know why you’re lying to me, but I do know you better cut the crap now.”
Kate physically shied away from the accusation by moving down the hallway and into the kitchen. Her hand clung to the strap of her purse as if
