In A Fix - Mary Calmes Page 0,35
this failing epically. I may be just a bit overwrought at the moment.”
She was amazing was what she was. “I think you’re being great.”
“Why? Because I’m not making a scene?”
“Yes, but really, what would be the point of that?”
“To make me feel better?”
“But would it?” I asked seriously. “You’d come off as unhinged.”
“Which I could very well be.”
I studied her, the calm, how meticulously she was packing. “Are you?”
She took a breath. “No. Not really.”
I went back to helping her pack, but I had a thought. “May I ask a question?”
“Of course,” she replied blandly, turning to look at me.
“What now?”
“How do you mean?” she asked as she went back to packing.
“With Nolan.”
She shook her head.
“You’re just dismissing that out of hand?”
“Please, Croy, I couldn’t possibly entertain such a thing.”
“Why not? He’s got it bad for you,” I reminded her. “But you know that.”
“Yes,” she replied wistfully.
“Do you like him, or just the attention?”
“You make me sound horrible,” she said, trying not to smile.
“Which is not my intent.”
She sighed. “I know, but…how would that even work?”
“If you want it, you make it work. ‘Time is too slow for those who wait…’”
We were quiet for a moment.
“You can still be sad,” I informed her. “It’s still an end.”
“Yes.”
I winced.
“What?”
“I’m doing it again.”
“Sounding pretentious?” she teased me.
“Yes,” I agreed. “It’s a terrible quality.”
“It’s all right,” she murmured, and I could hear the resignation in her tone. “And you weren’t pretentious, not at all. You’re right, though. I am sad,” she explained as she systematically repacked, placing shoes in smaller Louis Vuitton bags, using her Tetris skills to arrange everything just so.
“The façade wasn’t sustainable.”
“No,” she admitted, and for a few minutes we packed in silence, until Nolan walked into the room.
“What’s going on?”
Both of us stopped and looked at him. I found myself squinting as Astor scowled.
“What?” he asked again, irritably, gesturing at me. “And what are you doing in here?”
“I’m helping,” I replied, because surely it was obvious.
“Why? Where is she going?” he demanded, and then turned to Astor. “Where are you going?” He moved around in front of her, barring her path back to the suitcase.
“Please, Lan, you couldn’t have missed––” She stopped, at a loss, turning to me.
“The display?” I offered.
“Yes,” she declared, giving me a nod. “Good choice.” She turned to Nolan then, and took both of his hands in hers. “Since no one missed that display, we need to talk, you and I.”
His mouth opened, but he’d apparently gone mute.
“Croy,” she whispered, “will you excuse us?”
I was mortified that I was still there. “Sorry. Let me know if you need me.”
She nodded before taking a breath. “Let’s talk, Nolan.”
That was my cue, so I pivoted and made for the door as I heard his husked “Oh” behind me. I didn’t envy either of them the talk they were about to have.
Because I was thoughtful, I locked the door and pulled it closed gently, quietly, so no one could interrupt them before they were ready.
“What are you doing?” Dallas snapped at me as I made my way back to the main room.
“Listen,” I told him, smiling and unable to stop. I always thought my life was kind of a mess, I wasn’t as together as I seemed, but compared to Brig and the people in his life, I was the goddamn Rock of Gibraltar. “Things are coming together.”
“Oh, are they?” He scowled, and the lines in this forehead deepened along with the one between his eyebrows. “What things?”
“You’re the special agent, you figure it out.”
“I know facts, that’s all,” he almost snarled.
“Hold on,” I said quickly, crossing the room to Chase.
“Oh God, what?” he groaned, looking at me before he took a long gulp of the drink in front of him.
“Is that vodka?” I asked, horrified that he was drinking it straight.
He grunted.
“All right, Brig and Eric are in our room, talking”—I hoped to God that’s all they were doing since I had to sleep in there—“so I wouldn’t try to go in there, and Astor is in her room, packing.”
“I’m leaving in the morning,” he informed me. “I’ve had as much of this celebration as I can possibly take. This weekend is a bust.”
I had to agree.
“Where’s Digby?” he asked absently, taking another big gulp of his drink, finishing it off and taking the next one that Kent passed him.
“Brig didn’t want him around anymore,” I lied, because the DEA was still going to try to use him to catch some smaller, blue blood fish, and it