holding him in place. “You deserve an ass whipping for that stunt.”
“Promise?” Giddiness flooded Jack as he rendered Gareth speechless for a second time that morning.
It didn’t last long.
“For Christ’s sake, Horwood, get a grip!”
“Sorry.” Jack drew a deep breath and slowly let it out. He was standing on the Strand during the morning rush, pedestrian traffic surging around him, and wondered why feeling happy reminded him of crazy nights drinking and laughing with Tom. It couldn’t have been that long since he felt like this, could it? He smiled into irate amber eyes. “I was just teasing.”
“Well, don’t. It’s irritating.”
The growl was more bark than bite, and the smile that crinkled the corners of Gareth’s eyes made Jack’s insides crinkle right back. With a little effort, he managed a wink and a halfhearted salute.
“Yes, sir.”
“I SUPPOSE I have you to thank for my rearranged schedule and this….” A slender hand waved at a thick concertina file on the corner of the desk, and Gareth tried not to flinch.
“Guilty as charged,” he admitted and stepped into the one room in the building that never failed to calm him. The space suited the quiet psychologist. The walls were painted a pale amethyst gray that complemented her eyes, the furniture was dark autumn-leaf oak, and a deep red sofa and two armchairs invited visitors to take their ease. With her delicate build, expressive eyes, and neat mahogany bob, Alexandra Marston looked positively regal surrounded by hibiscus trees in dark red ceramic pots, like a female Buddha or something equally Zen.
Gareth’s office faced the city and his desk offered views over London’s skyline and the River Thames, while Marston had opted for an office with windows onto the inner, glass-roofed courtyard of the Nancarrow Mining HQ and the graceful tall birch that took up the courtyard’s center. Most days Gareth liked his view out over London, but he could appreciate the serenity of Marston’s domain, a place to relax tight controls for just a moment.
“You really managed to convince him,” Alexandra Marston said, thoughtful, inviting her visitor to take a seat and reaching for the teapot on her desk. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be,” Gareth huffed in mild irritation. “It didn’t go as planned.”
“Because of the police operation?” Alexandra poured tea and held out a cup. “Close your mouth, Gareth. I am still not clairvoyant. Lisa called earlier, so I know you didn’t have the most restful of nights, and neither did your Jack.”
Gareth considered scoffing at Marston’s description of his night, or taking umbrage at having Jack apostrophized as his, but in the end he did neither. Knowing Alexandra, each word had been chosen with the utmost deliberation, and it was far safer to let her say what she felt she needed to say.
“How is he handling the death of that child?”
“Professionally,” Gareth replied, wondering if Jack was even better at hiding than he gave him credit for. “A little uneven when something catches him off guard, maybe.”
“Lisa wants his help with the investigation,” Marston informed him.
“I’m not surprised. He’s good.” Gareth’s mind filled with images of Jack moving about the dim club assessing targets, exits, and potential victims, missing nothing despite a belladonna-induced headache, impaired vision, and the obvious disadvantages of using himself as bait. He’d had to run that op with minimal intel and no backup, but once there Jack had owned the space and had done everything he needed to do to achieve his objective. “Damn good, actually.”
“So you approve?”
“Not my place to approve or disapprove,” Gareth said slowly. “Not my place to stop him if he wants to help, either. Don’t think I could.” There had been a time, years ago, when he had been able to control the dangers Jack faced. Now Gareth could watch and advise, but control was outside his
“Promise?” Giddiness flooded Jack as he rendered Gareth speechless for a second time that morning.
It didn’t last long.
“For Christ’s sake, Horwood, get a grip!”
“Sorry.” Jack drew a deep breath and slowly let it out. He was standing on the Strand during the morning rush, pedestrian traffic surging around him, and wondered why feeling happy reminded him of crazy nights drinking and laughing with Tom. It couldn’t have been that long since he felt like this, could it? He smiled into irate amber eyes. “I was just teasing.”
“Well, don’t. It’s irritating.”
The growl was more bark than bite, and the smile that crinkled the corners of Gareth’s eyes made Jack’s insides crinkle right back. With a little effort, he managed a wink and a halfhearted salute.
“Yes, sir.”
“I SUPPOSE I have you to thank for my rearranged schedule and this….” A slender hand waved at a thick concertina file on the corner of the desk, and Gareth tried not to flinch.
“Guilty as charged,” he admitted and stepped into the one room in the building that never failed to calm him. The space suited the quiet psychologist. The walls were painted a pale amethyst gray that complemented her eyes, the furniture was dark autumn-leaf oak, and a deep red sofa and two armchairs invited visitors to take their ease. With her delicate build, expressive eyes, and neat mahogany bob, Alexandra Marston looked positively regal surrounded by hibiscus trees in dark red ceramic pots, like a female Buddha or something equally Zen.
Gareth’s office faced the city and his desk offered views over London’s skyline and the River Thames, while Marston had opted for an office with windows onto the inner, glass-roofed courtyard of the Nancarrow Mining HQ and the graceful tall birch that took up the courtyard’s center. Most days Gareth liked his view out over London, but he could appreciate the serenity of Marston’s domain, a place to relax tight controls for just a moment.
“You really managed to convince him,” Alexandra Marston said, thoughtful, inviting her visitor to take a seat and reaching for the teapot on her desk. “I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be,” Gareth huffed in mild irritation. “It didn’t go as planned.”
“Because of the police operation?” Alexandra poured tea and held out a cup. “Close your mouth, Gareth. I am still not clairvoyant. Lisa called earlier, so I know you didn’t have the most restful of nights, and neither did your Jack.”
Gareth considered scoffing at Marston’s description of his night, or taking umbrage at having Jack apostrophized as his, but in the end he did neither. Knowing Alexandra, each word had been chosen with the utmost deliberation, and it was far safer to let her say what she felt she needed to say.
“How is he handling the death of that child?”
“Professionally,” Gareth replied, wondering if Jack was even better at hiding than he gave him credit for. “A little uneven when something catches him off guard, maybe.”
“Lisa wants his help with the investigation,” Marston informed him.
“I’m not surprised. He’s good.” Gareth’s mind filled with images of Jack moving about the dim club assessing targets, exits, and potential victims, missing nothing despite a belladonna-induced headache, impaired vision, and the obvious disadvantages of using himself as bait. He’d had to run that op with minimal intel and no backup, but once there Jack had owned the space and had done everything he needed to do to achieve his objective. “Damn good, actually.”
“So you approve?”
“Not my place to approve or disapprove,” Gareth said slowly. “Not my place to stop him if he wants to help, either. Don’t think I could.” There had been a time, years ago, when he had been able to control the dangers Jack faced. Now Gareth could watch and advise, but control was outside his
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