The Thing About Love Read online

  Frowning, John walked over. “What is it?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead she flipped through the pages, found whatever she was looking for, and began reading.

  John glanced at the cover. People magazine. He lowered his voice so only she could hear. “Is it Blair? What, did they name him ‘Sexiest Windbag Alive’?” He was only half joking, not having a clue what could have Jessica so riveted.

  She shook her head, her tone quiet as she kept reading. “It’s not Blair.” After a few moments, she closed the magazine and haphazardly set it back on the rack. “Sorry, I was just . . . What were we talking about?”

  She looked rattled.

  Jessica Harlow never looked rattled.

  John put his hand on the small of her back, leaning in. “Jessica. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing.” She pointed to a photo on the bottom left corner of the cover. “I just wasn’t expecting to see my ex-husband on the cover of a magazine.”

  Ex-husband? John took a closer look. In the photo, a couple held hands as they beamed for the cameras, at what appeared to be a movie premiere or some other kind of red-carpet event. He recognized the woman, a brunette, some twenty-something actress whose name he was blanking on. The man standing next to her—Jessica’s former husband, apparently—was dark-haired, in his midthirties, and had a medium build.

  Above the happy couple was a short headline: PREGNANT AND ENGAGED!

  Jessica straightened her shoulders. “Well. We should probably head to our gate and stake out our places in line to board.” She feigned a smile. “You know how it is, trying to get overhead bin space these days.”

  Without waiting for his answer, she turned and walked away.

  • • •

  He was the least qualified person for the job.

  Rare was the occasion John could say that. Not to toot his own horn, but generally speaking, he had skills. He could adopt a variety of personas for undercover jobs and had a knack for reading people; he’d been deployed to combat zones fifteen times and was lethally accurate in all manner of firearms, including assault rifles, machine guns, sniper rifles, and grenade launchers; and he’d been trained to fight on every type of terrain from the desert to the mountains. Yes, he hadn’t quite figured out how to start a fire with two sticks and the ass end of a lightning bug, but he did know how to survive ten days in a swamp with a minimum of food provisions and on less than three hours of sleep per night, all while carrying eighty pounds of weapons and equipment over two hundred miles in ninety-degree temperatures.

  But in this particular instance, he was in over his head.

  Sitting beside him, Jessica gazed out the airplane window. She’d been quiet, having said all of about ten words the first thirty minutes of their flight. Even her trusty e-reader couldn’t seem to hold her attention—resting on her lap, the device had long since gone into sleep mode.

  He should say something. Obviously. But what? He was hardly an expert when it came to talking about feelings and relationship issues. Hell, the last time he’d had a problem in his own personal life, he’d gotten drunk, then had avoided the situation entirely by running off to Quantico and subjecting himself to two weeks of pure physical and mental torture.

  It had seemed like a perfectly reasonable solution at the time.

  His brother, the charmer, would know what to say in this situation. His brother would’ve had Jessica laughing by takeoff, immediately defusing the awkwardness of the moment and making her feel better with a self-deprecating “Men suck” joke or something like that.

  John doubted he could pull off a “Men suck.”

  But maybe . . . he didn’t have to address the problem specifically. Instead, he could signal the flight attendant for a couple of those miniature bottles of whiskey, pour Jessica and himself a drink, and just . . . start talking about football. Men had been effectively communicating that way for hundreds of years; surely she would understand that by not saying anything, he was, in fact, speaking volumes.

  He glanced over and saw that she was still staring out the window. Something inside him softened at the sight of her looking so vulnerable.

  He always did have a weakness for that.

  “I’m sorry you had to find out about your ex-husband this way,” he said, genuinely.

  She turned her head away from the window. “It’s not what you think.” She paused, conceding. “Okay, it’s not entirely what you think. It’s not that Alex has moved on. That was inevitable—for both of us. But the magazine said that his fiancée is five months pregnant.” She let that hang in the air. “Alex and I separated only six months ago.”

  Ah. “And now you’re thinking . . . ?”

  “Of course that’s what I’m thinking. I suppose it’s possible they got together right after Alex and I separated. But I know that actress. She was working with Alex on a film right before our marriage ended, and now I can’t help but wonder if—”

  “Don’t.”

  Jessica blinked at his interruption. “I’m sorry?”

  “Don’t go there,” he said, matter-of-factly.

  She sat back in her seat, sounding defensive. “Well, it’s not like I want to go there. But it would certainly explain some things about our divorce.”

  “You still don’t want to know.”

  She opened her mouth and then shut it, as if thinking better about whatever she’d been about to say. “I think I’m the better judge of what I want to know, thank you. Seeing how I’m the one who just found out my ex-husband was very possibly having an affair.” After shooting him a glare, she turned away and fell silent once again.

  So . . . this conversation was going well.

  “Men suck,” John offered.

  She turned and looked at him as if he’d just sprouted a third ear.

  “Yeah, I knew I couldn’t pull that off,” he muttered.

  She shook her head, then turned back to the window.

  A long silence stretched between them as John debated whether he wanted to go down this road.

  “It’s different for us,” he finally said, his voice low enough that no one around them would hear. “You think you’ll have some kind of resolution if you know whether your ex cheated, but you’re not thinking about what happens after that.”

  “What happens after that? Enlighten me,” she said dryly.

  “You’ll replay in your head every conversation you had with him—and her, too—going back through even the most meaningless interactions, trying to figure out if there was any sign of what they were doing behind your back.” He looked at her knowingly. “Because there had to be some sign, right? Some look, some hint, something one of them said to you, something you missed that, if you’d only paid more attention to it, you could’ve at least saved yourself the embarrassment of feeling like a fool for not having suspected a thing. So you’ll parse through it all, like a new case file, studying every detail and trying to figure out how the hell two people with no undercover training and no particular skills at deception managed to pull the wool over your eyes. And the short answer is . . . they just did. As much as people like us hate to admit it, we’re not infallible. And if you go down this road, trust me, you won’t find any answers to the questions you’ve been stewing over since you saw that magazine. All you’ll end up with is a lot of needless self-doubt.”

  Jessica’s expression had softened by the time he was done speaking. “It sounds like you have some experience with this.”

  “You could say that.” He saw her waiting for more. Fine, he supposed he had to share now, after opening the door with a speech like that. “Last month, I walked in on my girlfriend having sex with one of my friends.”

  Her eyes went wide. “No. Literally mid-act?”

  “Judging from the fact that he was groaning, ‘I’m gonna come so hard in you,’ I’d say they were nearing the end of the act
,” he said wryly.

  She covered her mouth with one hand. “Oh my God, what do you even do in a situation like that? Did you kick the guy’s ass?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” John grumbled. And he still wasn’t sure he’d made the right call on that one. “He jumped off the bed, buck naked, dick swinging everywhere. It was not a situation I wanted to get closer to.”

  She made a face. “Fair enough.” She paused, as if proceeding cautiously. “Had you and your girlfriend been dating a long time?”

  “Two years.” John almost left it at that but then oddly found himself continuing on. “We’d been going through a rough patch for a few months. I was traveling back and forth to Detroit for a job, and she wasn’t happy with the situation. She called me a ‘part-time’ boyfriend.”

  Jessica bristled at that. “Didn’t she know what line of work you were in before you started dating?”

  John pointed. “Thank you. That’s what I said.”

  Another silence fell between them as one of the flight attendants stopped by to take their drink orders.

  “For me and Alex, the undercover work became this constant source of tension,” Jessica said, keeping her voice low after the flight attendant left. “First, he started getting jealous of my male partners.” She looked him over. “He would’ve hated you.”

  John had a sneaking suspicion the feeling would’ve been mutual.

  “Then we started arguing any time I had to cancel plans for work,” she continued.

  John snorted, well familiar with that argument. “Like you want to cancel plans. Because that’s so much fun for you.”

  “I know, right? As if I wouldn’t rather be on a beach in Mexico, instead of working. But what was I supposed to do? Blow an entire investigation just so I didn’t have to reschedule a vacation?”

  “Try explaining that to the SAC.”

  “‘Sorry, sir, that the L.A. County Sheriff’s Department will get away scot-free with multiple corruption and civil rights violations, and that I wasted taxpayer dollars on a now-meaningless thirteen-month investigation,’” she imitated. “‘But this is the week to go to Cabo. Everyone who’s anyone in Hollywood will be there.’”

  John pulled back. “Hang on. Are you talking about Operation Pandora’s Box?” Last summer, the investigation into the Los Angeles County Jail system had been one of the FBI’s most talked-about sting ops, making national news and resulting in the conviction of five high-ranking members of the L.A. Sheriff’s Department. “That was you?”

  “That was me.”

  He looked her over. “Well done, you.”

  She smiled at the praise, then fell quiet again. Side-by-side they sat for several moments, until she tilted her head in his direction.

  “I do feel bad about canceling the vacation,” she said, more serious. “And I also had to bail last-minute on the premiere of one of Alex’s movies. I think that might have been the night that he . . . Well, let’s just say things weren’t the same after that.”

  John nodded.

  Yeah, he’d been there, too.

  “Don’t beat yourself up over these things. If your ex couldn’t appreciate how important your work is to you—hell, how important it is to society—well, then, his loss is the Chicago FBI’s gain.” His eyes met hers. “You’re a great agent, Jessica. One of the best—if not the best—I’ve ever worked with.”

  She blushed at his words, then cleared her throat and went for a joke, repeating his words from the other day. “How much did that pain you to say?”

  “More than the time another HRT selectee dropped a thirty-five-pound battering ram on my foot.”

  “Ouch.” With a smile, she glanced down at her e-reader, as if just realizing it was there. She picked it up off her lap and got comfortable in her seat, then looked sideways at him. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “You know what for.” She held his gaze meaningfully.

  John felt something in his chest pull tight.

  “Anytime, Harlow.”

  18

  Twenty minutes late, Blair and Morano walked through the front door of the vacated bank building that soon would be home to Ashley and Dave’s pizzeria and wine bar.

  Supposedly.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Blair said, as he and Morano crossed the room to the wall of empty teller windows where Jessica and John stood. “It took me longer to wrap things up at the office than I’d anticipated.” Without much attempt at subtlety, his gaze traveled over the fitted white sheath dress Jessica had changed into at the hotel.

  “No problem,” she said. “Dave and I passed the time by listening to ‘Free Bird’ and ‘Sweet Home Alabama’ on my phone.”

  Blair let out a bark of laughter. “Heard about my speech, did you?”

  “Mr. Mayor, I think practically everyone in this country heard about that speech.”

  “All in a day’s work.” Blair winked at her, obviously enjoying the flattery, then gestured to their surroundings. “So. This is going to be your Tuscan-like pizzeria and wine bar.”

  Morano also checked out the space. “How long will it take to turn this into a restaurant?”

  “Ideally, we’d like to open in late fall,” John said. “Here, let me show you what we have in mind in terms of design.”

  Jessica leaned against the teller counter, watching as John gave Blair and Morano a brief tour of the space. He, too, had changed at the hotel, into a light gray checkered suit, white shirt, and tie that was almost the exact deep blue shade as his eyes.

  Probably, she needed to stop noticing things like that.

  “What do you think?” she asked Morano and Blair after they’d finished the tour.

  “I think it’s going to be a hit. I’ll be sure to have my assistant book me a table for opening night.” Blair strode back to where Jessica stood and rested an elbow on the teller counter. “Now. About your zoning and parking problems.”

  “Yes, about that.” Jessica held his gaze. “Anthony says you’ve agreed to help us out.”

  “I have.” Blair looked down at the briefcase at her feet. “Assuming you have what I think you have in that briefcase.”

  Actually, Jessica had a little surprise for him on that front. But first she wanted to get him to talk more about the bribe. She and John were wearing wireless mics again, with Agents Leavitt and Todd listening in from an unmarked car parked in an alley a few blocks away. “Before we get to the briefcase, Dave and I have a few questions.”

  Blair looked between her and John, who leaned casually against a nearby cubicle. “What kind of questions?”

  “We just want to make sure everyone’s on the same page. A couple years ago, Dave and I had a problem related to some zoning issues back in Chicago—an alderman we thought we had a deal with tried to scam money out of us by making promises he couldn’t deliver. That’s made us more cautious with these types of arrangements.” She smiled. “I’m sure you understand.”

  Blair’s eyes flashed with arrogance. “With all due respect, Ms. Evers, I’m no fucking alderman.”

  “With all due respect, Mr. Mayor, I wouldn’t be paying you fifty thousand dollars for one phone call if you were. But since we plan to develop several projects in Jacksonville, we consider this more an investment in a long-term mutually beneficial relationship.”

  Blair studied her for a moment. “All right. What do you want to know?”

  “Anthony mentioned that you have a friend on the Land Use Committee?”

  “Not just on the committee, he’s the director. Paul Ryu.”

  “And he’ll make sure our zoning and parking applications get approved?” she asked.

  “He will if I ask him to.”

  “What if he asks why you want our applications approved?” John said. “Obviously, this deal needs to remain between us.”

 
“You think?” Blair snorted. “Paul’s not going to ask why. I’m the mayor. I ask someone for a favor, and it’s done. Simple as that.”

  “There are some timing issues here, not the least of which is making sure we don’t lose this property,” Jessica said. “How quickly after we give you the money can you reach out to Ryu on our behalf?”

  “I’ll call him tomorrow.” He cocked his head confidently. “Is that quick enough for you?”

  Jessica looked sideways at John, as if to say, I’m good. You?

  He nodded.

  “Well, then.” She reached for the briefcase at her feet and handed it over to Blair. His fingers brushed over hers as he grabbed the handle—not an accident, she was quite certain.

  Blair unzipped the case, peered inside, and frowned. He gave the briefcase a shake. “Is this a joke?”

  “That’s half of the money now,” Jessica said. “The remaining twenty-five thousand is yours as soon as our applications are approved by the committee.”

  Morano stepped forward, his expression one of genuine surprise. “Uh, that’s not what we agreed. There was never any talk about splitting the payment into parts.”

  Indeed, they had not discussed this part of the plan with Morano. Despite the fact that he was cooperating with the FBI, he wasn’t privy to the agents’ strategy at all times. The Jacksonville FBI office was eager to wrap up their investigation of Blair, and this sting op was the last piece of that. While the mayor said he would act quickly to get Ashley and Dave’s applications approved, the FBI was hardly inclined to believe the mere word of a man whom they were about to arrest for corruption, bribery, and honest services fraud. This way, by holding the remaining twenty-five thousand dollars over Blair’s head, he’d be more inclined to finish the job as soon as possible.

  “As you said the other day, Mr. Mayor, I think we understand each other. So I’m sure you can appreciate why Dave and I feel the need to have some sort of guarantee in this situation.”

  Blair zipped up the briefcase. Then he took a step closer to Jessica, lowering his voice. “Careful, Ashley.”