protest. “I’m out here purely as a favor to Jeff, and I don’t have any official sanction from my employer, government or otherwise, to be here.”
“So you’re not officially a spy?” she asked in disappointment.
“Sorry. Not officially.”
She perked up. “But you are one in your regular life, yes?”
“Sam,” he warned.
“You have got to loosen up. I just think it’s cool, that’s all.”
He made an exasperated sound.
“Can you pull some strings? Get someone credible to vouch that you are a government agent? Jeff can probably arrange that if you can’t.”
“I can arrange that myself, thank you,” he replied wryly.
“There you have it. We convince Wendall Proctor that you’re a spy and you want to help him bring down the government from the inside.”
He shook his head. “It’ll never work.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“Yes. We use your eyes to stand off at a distance and watch Wendall and company. See if we can figure out what they’re up to.”
“My way’s better,” she declared.
“My way’s safer.”
They glared at each other, at an impasse.
Gray sighed. “How about this? We try it my way first, and if it doesn’t work, then we do it your way.”
It would cost them a few days, but that might not be a bad thing. A little more separation from Luke’s murder before they showed up on Proctor’s doorstep might reduce the suspicion aimed at them. Or not.
* * *
They spent the rest of the morning tearing up carpet. It was hard enough work that Gray was mostly able to ignore the disturbing parallels of it to his previous life. He and Sam wrestled the heavy rolls of dusty carpet and truly foul padding out to the front curb together.
“Good riddance,” he declared. And he did have to admit the oak flooring beneath the carpet was pretty decent. “I’ll rent a buffer tomorrow and start sanding the floors. It’s going to be a giant mess.”
“Maybe I should run some errands, then, and be out of the house.” She tried to sound casual, but her pulse leaped at the idea of getting her hands on a computer.
“We’ll need a high-quality polyurethane stain and sealer if we’re going to do the floors right.”
She laughed at his seriousness over the job. “Do you like dark oak or light?”
“Dark. It gives more of a feeling of age. Importance. Which do you prefer?”
“Why, Grayson Pierce. Who’d have guessed you think about such things? I had no idea you’re an interior decorator at heart.”
He swatted her playfully on the behind as she walked past him into the house. She squealed and scooted out of his reach. “Hey, while we’re redoing the floors, how do you feel about painting the walls? I can’t stand that shade of beige.”
He grinned. “I didn’t know beige came in shades. Who’s the decorator at heart now?”
“It’s my superior eyesight. I see nuances in color that you normal people don’t.”
He laughed. “I bow to your supersight, madam. Paint the walls whatever color you want.”
“ Any color?”
“No black. And nothing with the words ‘neon’ or ‘glow-in-the-dark’ in its name.”
“Stick in the mud.”
“Yup. That’s me.”
And there it was again. That awful haunted look at the back of his gaze that shouted of unspeakable suffering. The only place she’d seen such pain before was in old photographs of Holocaust survivors. What in the hell had happened to him?
In anticipation of Sam needing to go different directions from him, Gray drove her to the nearest vintage car rental place to lease her a car for the next several months. He sincerely hoped they were done with their investigation long before then, but right now, they were all about the appearance of settling into the area.
No surprise, she squealed with delight at a late-’60s vintage, red Volkswagen Beetle and just had to have it.
“I’m calling it the Ladybug,” she announced as he handed her the keys.
Knowing her, she would be painting black polka dots
“So you’re not officially a spy?” she asked in disappointment.
“Sorry. Not officially.”
She perked up. “But you are one in your regular life, yes?”
“Sam,” he warned.
“You have got to loosen up. I just think it’s cool, that’s all.”
He made an exasperated sound.
“Can you pull some strings? Get someone credible to vouch that you are a government agent? Jeff can probably arrange that if you can’t.”
“I can arrange that myself, thank you,” he replied wryly.
“There you have it. We convince Wendall Proctor that you’re a spy and you want to help him bring down the government from the inside.”
He shook his head. “It’ll never work.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“Yes. We use your eyes to stand off at a distance and watch Wendall and company. See if we can figure out what they’re up to.”
“My way’s better,” she declared.
“My way’s safer.”
They glared at each other, at an impasse.
Gray sighed. “How about this? We try it my way first, and if it doesn’t work, then we do it your way.”
It would cost them a few days, but that might not be a bad thing. A little more separation from Luke’s murder before they showed up on Proctor’s doorstep might reduce the suspicion aimed at them. Or not.
* * *
They spent the rest of the morning tearing up carpet. It was hard enough work that Gray was mostly able to ignore the disturbing parallels of it to his previous life. He and Sam wrestled the heavy rolls of dusty carpet and truly foul padding out to the front curb together.
“Good riddance,” he declared. And he did have to admit the oak flooring beneath the carpet was pretty decent. “I’ll rent a buffer tomorrow and start sanding the floors. It’s going to be a giant mess.”
“Maybe I should run some errands, then, and be out of the house.” She tried to sound casual, but her pulse leaped at the idea of getting her hands on a computer.
“We’ll need a high-quality polyurethane stain and sealer if we’re going to do the floors right.”
She laughed at his seriousness over the job. “Do you like dark oak or light?”
“Dark. It gives more of a feeling of age. Importance. Which do you prefer?”
“Why, Grayson Pierce. Who’d have guessed you think about such things? I had no idea you’re an interior decorator at heart.”
He swatted her playfully on the behind as she walked past him into the house. She squealed and scooted out of his reach. “Hey, while we’re redoing the floors, how do you feel about painting the walls? I can’t stand that shade of beige.”
He grinned. “I didn’t know beige came in shades. Who’s the decorator at heart now?”
“It’s my superior eyesight. I see nuances in color that you normal people don’t.”
He laughed. “I bow to your supersight, madam. Paint the walls whatever color you want.”
“ Any color?”
“No black. And nothing with the words ‘neon’ or ‘glow-in-the-dark’ in its name.”
“Stick in the mud.”
“Yup. That’s me.”
And there it was again. That awful haunted look at the back of his gaze that shouted of unspeakable suffering. The only place she’d seen such pain before was in old photographs of Holocaust survivors. What in the hell had happened to him?
In anticipation of Sam needing to go different directions from him, Gray drove her to the nearest vintage car rental place to lease her a car for the next several months. He sincerely hoped they were done with their investigation long before then, but right now, they were all about the appearance of settling into the area.
No surprise, she squealed with delight at a late-’60s vintage, red Volkswagen Beetle and just had to have it.
“I’m calling it the Ladybug,” she announced as he handed her the keys.
Knowing her, she would be painting black polka dots
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