The demand was a direct reference to the conversation we’d had after I’d been informed of my partner’s nefarious crimes. He’d left me to sit in his office for an hour while news about Gregory broke and rumors about what had happened spread like wildfire. And when he’d returned, he still didn’t face me as a father, concerned for his son.
He faced me like the Deputy Director.
Don’t you ever feel this way? I’d said, desperate. Overwhelmed. Don’t you ever feel like the world is spinning out of your control?
My father’s face had remained expressionless. If an agent feels anything other than pride when he walks through those doors, it is absolutely his fault. Fix yourself, Samuel. Before you embarrass yourself, and our family, even more than you already have.
Fix yourself.
He had disconnected the call while I was lost in thought—the ensuing silence was his standard farewell. Working with Codex could be more than a punishment. If Abe trusted me with a case, and I closed it, it could go far in proving to my father that I was fixed. My father’s opinions on Codex notwithstanding, it could go far in proving to the Bureau that my outburst was a freak mistake and not a symptom of an underlying issue.
I cranked the speed on the treadmill again—feet pounding hard. Arms moving, lungs expanding, sweat beading my brow.
I ran faster. And then faster still.
If we caught a case, it would be my best chance. I’d just have Freya as my partner while doing it. The only woman who’d ever gotten under my fucking skin. Yesterday she’d scowled at me like I’d lit a stack of her favorite paperbacks on fire. Angry, her green eyes flashed emerald. A fact I remembered from our countless arguments in class. And at the library. And during dinner. And walking down our dorm hallway.
I wished I’d forgotten how exquisite her eyes were, angry or not.
But that would be a fucking lie.
Her uniform hadn’t changed in seven years either—giant glasses, messy bun, oversized sweater, and yoga pants. I’d always towered above her petite form, and I still did.
I increased the speed again. Faster.
I was sprinting now, burning through the spiky, hot energy that Freya always evoked. I hated that she smelled the same too, a nostalgic scent that knocked me for a fucking loop. Earl Grey. Cinnamon. Sugar. Freya smelled like her favorite things: tea, books, and cookies. She had when we were at Princeton. She had at Quantico.
My finger jammed down onto the button.
I ran like my career depended on it.
5
Sam
Two hours later and I was perched on the couch in Abe’s office, watching my former instructor write the words Antiquarian Book Festival on a big whiteboard. Henry and Delilah sat nearby. Henry was whispering close to Delilah’s ear, and even behind her hand, I could tell she was blushing.
Love, companionship, sex. They were also considered luxuries when you were dedicated to one job and one job only.
I glanced away, cleared my throat. Straightened my posture. Even when I was younger, I’d barely dated—a direct result of Freya’s aggravating presence in my life. It required a lot of mental energy to stay one step ahead, one point better, one minute faster. She was compelling for too many reasons.
“Is Freya always late?” I asked, glancing at my watch.
A half-smile flitted across Abe’s face as he wrote things down. “Every damn day. But she makes up for it by bringing all the food we could ever eat.”
Not a moment later, the woman in question was bursting into the room like a ray of golden light—cracking a joke with Henry, making Delilah laugh, unpacking donuts and coffee and tea satchels from a bag that read #1 CAT MOM. She spun in a circle, noted the available seating, and flashed a defiant look my way.
“Byrne,” she said.
“Evandale,” I replied. “Take a seat.”
Face rigid, body stiff, she plopped down cross-legged on the cushion next to me, careful to keep our bodies apart. The air filled with cinnamon and sugar. A strand of blonde hair brushed across her neck. Her lips were pink and plump and pursed in irritation. At me. While the rest of Codex talked around us, Freya prepared for battle.
“Didn’t think you’d be back,” she murmured. “Figured you’d be too intimidated.”
“By you?” I asked. “That’s never been the case.”
“Spoken by the man I once knocked on his ass ten seconds into a sparring session.”
I set my jaw, hid a smirk. Like most FBI agents, Freya and