talk.”
But all I get is a shake of her head, and then she grabs the umbrella and closes the door before I can say anything else.
I wait there for a second, maybe hoping she’s peeking through the peephole, still thinking about the man on her porch. But I hear the beeping of her alarm and then footsteps as she walks away.
There’s a lot on her mind tonight. But it isn’t me.
So I jog down her steps and walk back to my car. Madrid is in there. We’re a team again, it seems. She knows this can be a career-making case, she’s in for the teamwork.
I open the driver’s side door and slip into the rental car.
“Damn, boy. You’re wet!” She scoots away from my dripping coat and presses herself against the passenger door. “Anything?”
“Nope,” I sigh. “You wanna eat?”
“Eat?” she says, scrunching up her face in a way that makes her upturned nose crinkle. “We are on a deadline. We ain’t eatin’. We’re gonna work.” Her thick Southern accent comes out when she’s annoyed. And it clashes with her fake, trashy persona. She comes off as half streetwalker and half gang member, but over the past few months I’ve gotten to know her a little better. Madrid Marano usually talks like she came straight out of Brooklyn, but she is from Savannah, Georgia. A real Southern belle from a family that has been in the Agency for three generations.
Which is funny if you compare us. I’m actually from Brooklyn, but lost the accent when I took my first assignment down south in Miami.
“She’s having a bad day, Madrid. It’s not a good time to move this forward.”
“We don’t have time for good times,” Madrid says, her voice rising a little. “You’re a man. A somewhat attractive man. If you like blue eyes and blond hair. Which I don’t,” she says, her hand on her chest like she needs to clear this up right now. “I like them dark, understand. So don’t be all accusing me of inappropriate conduct when I have to turn you down ’cause you’re hot for me.”
I just shake my head. She’s always on this kick about how desirable she is and how I secretly lust after her.
“So get your move on, boy. You need a plan to seduce this girl into helping us. We have no time for pansy-ass, pouting girls and pussyfooting, ’fraidy-cat men who don’t know how to get a job done. Get your game on, Jax.” She opens her door, steps out, and then leans back in, dripping water everywhere. “I’m going back to the apartment to check footage. You wrap this shit up tonight and we’ll reconvene in the AM. Madrid out.”
And then she slams the door and walks away.
Fucking women. I sigh as I start up my car.
Moves. I have moves, but Sasha Cherlin doesn’t look like she takes kindly to moves. Plus she had a bad day. I need to make sure I don’t add to it, or it will set us back further.
“Well,” I huff, pulling away from the curb. “Just take a play out of yesteryear, Jax. Treat her nice and let the chips fall where they may.”
After I shut the alarm off I press myself against the door, a feeling of defeat trying its best to wash over me, but I square my shoulders and walk off, dropping my bag on a chair as I make my way to the stairs. My feet find the places on the old wooden steps where no boards will creak out of habit and I silently ascend to the upper bedrooms. There are three. I don’t need three, since I am alone, and this makes the place feel empty and cold. A shudder erupts in my body as I walk into the elegantly decorated master bedroom—which I don’t normally sleep in since I’m a paranoid freak—and throw myself face-first on the bed.
Am I stupid?
Yes. I am the dumbest girl alive. I am the biggest fool to ever live. I am naive and gullible in ways I can’t even describe right now. Because I believed that if I worked hard, got good grades, took the path most traveled, every step away from the broken-hearted thirteen-year-old who sat and cried over a broken promise would lead to something else.
Something better. A new life. A new family. A new opportunity.
And where do I find myself now? Not digging up dinosaurs—which is also the foolish dream of a child. Kicked out of the world of