“Say again?” I prod as he pulls in front of a two-car garage.
Turning off the vehicle and unlatching his seat belt, he looks across the center console at me. He doesn’t seem irritated to have to repeat something that was probably important.
Instead, his eyes move over my newly dyed hair, a chocolate brown as close to my original color as I could estimate. I’ve been blond for over a year, and it was shocking to see the transformation back into myself. Same color as my mother’s hair and more suited in both color and tone to my olive skin, also inherited from my mother.
Ladd stares for so long I become self-conscious and push my hair behind my ears. This is the longest it’s ever been, and I want to cut it, not only to disguise myself from Mejia but also because I usually wear my hair just above my shoulders. Not too long to make me hot, but long enough to pull into a ponytail should I need to get rid of the distraction of it when working out or during missions.
“Miami?” I say, trying to spark Ladd out of his perusal.
He blinks once and says, “We need to leave before the snow gets too heavy. I don’t want to chance the roads closing and delaying our departure.”
“Okay,” I reply, not having any argument against this idea. It’s smart.
“Britney will be here soon. She can cut your hair, and it won’t take me long to pack.”
“Okay,” I repeat, my stomach turning over on itself at the prospect of meeting his ex-wife, who, by all accounts, is perfectly nice according to her ex-husband, but who had something that I’ve coveted for years.
Ladd’s stare intensifies, lines creasing his forehead. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I exclaim confidently. “Of course.”
His beautiful eyes turn hard, slightly icy. “I need your head in the game, Greer. If you can’t do this, I’ll go down and take care of Mejia myself. You can stay here.”
That offends me on a level deeper than the unexplored parts of the ocean. My own tone is glacial. “I’m ready for this, and you either trust me or you don’t. But if you don’t, chances are you’re going to get me killed.”
Ladd’s face flushes with anger, but he doesn’t respond, instead opening his car door and exiting the Jeep. He doesn’t wait for me, slamming the door behind him, and I scramble out to catch up.
I’m just hitting the porch steps when he’s pushing the front door open and walking in, not bothering to wait for me or make an official welcome into his home. I step into the foyer and close the door behind me. A lump forms in my throat when a beautiful, blond-haired boy—obviously his child—flies into his arms.
“Hey, buddy.” Ladd gives his son a hard hug before setting him down.
“Cage said you’re leaving on an assignment,” Ethan exclaims, his expression worried. That touches me. He’s clearly of an age to know some peril can be at play with his father’s job.
A man comes out of the kitchen, a half-eaten apple in hand, and leans against the entryway. Ethan’s expression cuts to him. I’m assuming this is Cage.
Ladd looks to him, a silent demand for a report, and Cage obliges. “I’ve got Brendan and Mickey walking perimeter. No sign of anything.”
Throwing his thumb over his shoulder at me, Ladd says, “That’s Greer.”
Cage smiles, and although I’ve figured out his name, he nods and says, “Cage.”
“Nice to meet you.” The words are hard to get out as Ladd doesn’t make an official introduction between me and his son, and fuck, if that doesn’t hurt. But it’s obviously coming from a place within that still doesn’t like me very much.
But I’m going to correct the oversight. I lean around Ladd to make eye contact with the boy. “Hi. You must be Ethan. I’m Greer.”
There’s not a shy bone in his body. He smiles in welcome. “Are you my dad’s partner on this mission?”
“I am,” I reply with a return smile. “I’ll keep him safe for you.”
Some boys might sneer at a woman keeping their father safe, but Ethan says, “Cool. All the Jameson agents are badass.”
Before I can correct his wrong assumption as to being a Jameson agent, Ladd ruffles the boy’s hair. “Hey… language, buddy.”
“Sorry,” Ethan mutters with a duck of his head, but his eyes twinkle, and I know he’s not sorry at all.
“Come on upstairs,” Ladd says, draping his arm around Ethan’s shoulders. “You can help me pack and I’ll tell you what’s going on.”
Not once does Ladd acknowledge me, but I watch them both ascend the stairs until they’re out of sight.
“You’re former CIA, huh?” Cage says.
I turn my attention to him, and he takes a big bite of his apple. “Yeah.”
He chews for a moment, studying me shrewdly. When he swallows, he asks, “What’s the deal with you and Ladd? He says y’all were engaged a long time ago. Why didn’t y’all get married?”