Something flickered in and out of her eyes and she brushed a nonexistent piece of debris from the leather cover of her briefcase. “Once or twice.”
“He speaks highly of you,” I said.
“Does he?” she said distractedly. Her eyes drifted down to her hands for a moment, and I couldn’t tell if she was being evasive because her history with Church was awkward or because she was intimidated by the thought of him. She wouldn’t be the first person in a power position who got moody and introspective when Church’s name was mentioned. There was something about Church that made you assess everything from how clean your fingernails were to how many sins were left unconfessed on your soul. After a few seconds she raised her eyes and looked at me.
“It might be useful if you brought me up to speed on what you’ve learned,” she said. “Mr. Church said that you’re already forming some useful theories … ?”
“Don’t yet know how useful they are,” I said, “but here goes.”
I told her everything that had happened since Church called me yesterday. The jet was far out over the Atlantic by the time I finished. While I spoke she took a lot of notes on her laptop.
The story hit her pretty hard and her eyes were wet. “Fair Isle. That encounter with the little boy—”
“Mikey,” I said.
“Mikey. That must have been very difficult.”
“Harder for him than me.”
“No,” she said, “I don’t think so. He’s past it now; he’s out of it. You have to carry it around with you.”
“It’s part of the job, Doc.”
She shifted to study me, eyes narrowing again. “Why are you doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“Blowing it off as if it’s nothing? You watched a little boy die a horrible death today. You had to use him in order to do your job. Are you going to sit there and tell me that it’s just another day at work? What, you did that and now you can clock out and watch the in-flight movie?”
I sighed. “What should I do? Break down and cry?”
“It would be a little more human.”
“Sure … and I’ll probably get around to that. I’m not that kind of macho. But at the same time, how would it get me through the rest of today? People I know have died today. I killed two people yesterday and someone else today. I want to hunt down the people responsible for what’s going on and kill them. Would disintegrating into tears get me through any of that?”
“You live a difficult life, Captain.”
“So does a nurse in a charity ward. It’s all relative, and the name is ‘Joe.’”
“And the loss of your men?” she said. “You must be devastated.”
“Sure. Granted, I’ve been away and didn’t really know them, but they wore the uniform, so anyone in the field is going to feel the loss.”
She nodded. “Funny, most professional soldiers who said something like that would come off sounding like a bad actor in a cheap action film. You don’t.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“It’s more typical of the kind of person Mr. Church tends to hire for his teams. He needs tough men and women, and granted there will always be a bit of the tough-guy catchphrases being tossed around, but most of the people I’ve met have a deeper level.” She cut me a sideways look. “And no, Captain Ledger, that is not in any way a flirtatious remark.”
“I never for a minute thought—”
“Yes, you did,” she said, but she said it pleasantly. Or so I thought. “Of course you did.”
“No, really, I—”
She held up a hand. “Okay, let’s throw some cards on the table so we can move forward without stepping on eggshells. Fair enough?”
“Yes?” I said dubiously.
“I work at T-Town, which is about ninety-nine percent men, and all of them either are alpha personalities or think they are. That said, what we have here is the standard dynamic for sexual tension. I’m moderately good-looking, I have big boobs, and I get hit on by everyone from the pastor of my church to baristas at Starbucks, and by every single guy at T-Town except for my boss and the range master. I don’t blame them and I don’t judge them. It’s part of the procreative drive hardwired into us, and we haven’t evolved as a species far enough to exert any genuine control over the biological imperative. You, on the other hand, are a very good-looking man of prime breeding age. Old enough to have interesting lines and scars—and stories to go with them—and young enough to be a catch. You probably get laid as often as you want to, and you can probably count on the fingers of one hand the number of times women have said no to you. Maybe—and please correct me if I’ve strayed too far into speculation—being an agent of a secret government organization has led you to buy into the superspy sex stud propaganda perpetuated by James Bond films.”
“My name is Powers,” I said. “Austin Powers.”
She ignored me and plowed ahead. “We’re in the middle of a crisis. We may have to work closely together for several days, or even several weeks. Close-quarters travel, emotions running high, all that. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not spend the next few days living inside a trite office romance cliché. That includes everything from mild flirtation to sexual innuendo and double entendre and the whole ball of wax.”
She sipped her Coke. The ball landed in my court with a thump.
I leaned back and smiled.
“What?” she asked.
“I can’t tell you how refreshing it is to hear this.”
She was flustered by that for almost a full second.
“You agree?” she said guardedly.
“Agree? While you were talking I was doing a little mental preflight check and, yeah, I had every typical male reaction in the book. Eyes, boobs, legs, the works. And you’re not ‘moderately good-looking’; you’re a fucking knockout and you know it. Or you should know it if you have a mirror. So yeah, I get that attraction is part of the proliferation of the species. And from a purely observational point of view I’m guilty as charged. No question,” I said. “And no apologies.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I’m as male and horny as the next guy. Maybe the next four guys, and sure, that’s the alpha-wolf drive-to-breed gene firing on all cylinders. Good call. On the other hand, you pointed out that I’m a professional of the kind Mr. Church hires. Not only don’t I think with my biceps or trigger finger; I don’t think with my dick.”
Circe considered that, nodded.
“One more thing,” I said. “Despite the hardwired urges, I’m also not on the market. I’m letting my heart take a long vacation. It might even retire to a cave.”
“Broken heart?” she probed. “Someone dump you?”
I almost let her off the hook, but I actually respected her for her candor. “No,” I said. “The woman—the extraordinary woman—with whom I was in love died.”
Circe’s lips parted, but she said nothing.
“She died on the job. If it wasn’t for her, you and I couldn’t be here having this conversation because the whole damn world would have gone to hell and, yes, in a handbasket.”
I could almost hear something go clunk in her head as a couple of disparate pieces of information fell sharply into place.
“Oh my God,” she said softly. “Grace Courtland? You were the one she was in love with?”
I nodded.
“Did Church tell you?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “Grace did.”
That hit me like a punch between the eyes. “Grace told you about us?”
“No … not really. She told me that she was starting to fall in love with someone. Someone … in the DMS. I … I thought she meant Mr. Church.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it; a single bark of shocked laughter burst out. “Church?”
“That’s funny?”