A sigh started in her toes, gathered strength, and traveled every inch of her being before leaving her mouth. Putting the ledger aside, she reached for her journal and got lost in her thoughts.
Scribbling absentmindedly, Summer covered a page in hearts and flowers. There was something in the air. Something looming on the horizon. The threat surrounding her hadn’t evaporated—if anything, her sketchy departure made it more likely that the person or persons looking for her would dig and dig until her whereabouts were discovered.
No matter how she looked at it, there wasn’t anything lasting about her current situation. Sooner or later, the other shoe would drop. Pulling up stakes again was looking more and more likely, and if that was the case, she was definitely going to give in to the idea of a cross-country gambit.
As she doodled, a vague itinerary wormed its way into her thoughts, complete with maps and potential routes—all leading to New York City.
Her hand stopped moving. She looked down at the journal. Amidst the sloppy flowers and elaborate hearts was his name.
Closing the journal, Summer made a silent plan. She was going to have a long heart-to-heart talk with Reed. His input was important for what she was planning. If he was on board, she was going to start visualizing a move—maybe in the new year, when the baby was older and could handle traveling.
22
“Arnie, can you come here and like, do your thing? Our friends from the Bureau sent over a possible hire, and I need a read on this guy.”
“Can’t say no since that’s what you pay me for.” Arnie chuckled to the intercom. “What’s the play, King? How do you want this to go?”
“Remember the terrorists in the movie Die Hard? The badass blond guys?” King’s laughter had a villainous tone. “That’s what I want.”
Arnie smirked. “Do you speak German?” he asked.
“Not enough to be understood, but please feel free.”
“On it,” Arnie told him. “Give me five, and I’ll stroll in, okay?”
“You got it. Oh, wait. You need me to do anything?”
“Nah.” He sniggered. “Just nod and agree with whatever I say.”
Laughing to himself, he dug through an armoire of clothes and pulled out the look he was going for. A couple of minutes later, he casually strode into King’s office wearing glasses and a black turtleneck. He looked like a spokesperson for the Aryan Brotherhood—exactly the unsettling vibe he was going for.
Grumbling in German to King, he basically accused the boss of being a masturbating monkey.
King nodded and grunted, pointing at a chair positioned just outside the peripheral edge of the interview’s field of vision. It was an old-school power play intended to unsettle.
Arnie sat and listened. He didn’t make a snap judgment although he could have. Instead, he gave the Bureau the benefit of the doubt. The FBI didn’t recommend losers, or that was what he thought before getting a gander at the idiot trying hard to impress King.
It didn’t take long to discover the guy’s tell. He sucked at bluffing, evidenced by two nervous tics. One involved tapping his foot and the other a more obvious nose touch.
Standing slowly, he made a hand gesture, letting King know what he thought. Then because it was funny, he interrupted and in rapid, terse German suggested the CEOs of NIGHTWIND were both pussies. When King agreed with a series of nods, Arnie kept going and let loose with a tirade about absolutely nothing. In fact, most of what he snarled was his grocery list.
He excused himself and marched from the office. Out in the hallway, he had the misfortune to run into Dottie. On second thought, he considered with a dark scowl, she was probably lurking and just waiting to pounce.
“I’m still waiting on your Christmas list. Is there some reason you’re being an even bigger insufferable ass than usual?”
He had a response on the tip of his tongue but swallowed it when she paused for effect and shut him up with a single sentence.
“Nicole is going shopping this weekend and is demanding Uncle Arnie’s wish list.”
Using a kid against him was wrong on so many levels. Wrong but effective.
He kept walking. “Can’t you just make up something?”
“No,” Dottie sneered. “It’s not my list. How the hell should I know what you whispered to Santa?”
Stopping halfway down the hallway, he turned to her and growled to make his displeasure abundantly clear. She laughed in his face.
“All right. Fine,” he bit out. “Tell her socks. I want socks. Specifically Christmas