Melody's Six

Her peevish tone surprised him. Melody rarely got bogged down in the emotion of things she couldn’t change. Was she passionate about helping people? Absolutely. But the way she’d explained it to him, the gloss and shine of being a CIA officer had worn thin for her. Between the necessary red tape and the oversight of people who didn’t trust her interpretation of the human intel, she felt lost trying to sort out being helpful from fulfilling an unspoken agenda.

“You had one foot out the door at that point anyway,” he reminded her.

“How can you know that?”

He spared her a quick look. Did she really not remember their earliest conversations? He had a vivid memory of his every encounter with Mel. From the moment he’d laid eyes on her, to the warmth in her hand when they were introduced, to the first glimpse of her edgy sense of humor during a break between sessions.

When the Athena Project went from concept to active partnerships, if he hadn’t been paired with Mel, he would’ve reconsidered this whole effort. Something between them just clicked. Being a guy who avoided his emotional side as much as possible, he’d never delved into the why of that click. Working with Mel was smooth, effortless, and that’s what mattered to him.

Maybe he should’ve checked in before now to learn what mattered to her. Regardless, he didn’t believe all of those positive first impressions and natural connections were one-sided.

“During the retreat where we met,” he said, “you told me your last mission was a nasty snafu, but the end result worked out for the best. Those are not the words of a Melody Boyd who wanted to stay with the CIA.”

“I remember.” She dropped her head back against the seat. “There are times when you could dial down the expert-partner thing.”

He smiled at her grumbling, feeling as confident as ever about her, their partnership, and all the rest. “Not a chance, Mrs. Turner.”

Crap. Had he really just called her that again? He’d vowed never to use that title with another woman and now he’d done it twice in a matter of hours. Just like the first time, it felt as if all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. Was there any way to fix it? He glanced her way, noticed the carefully neutral expression. If he said anything he’d be digging himself in deeper. Better to ignore it again than bring himself to the brink of another panic attack.

“Commendable,” she said. “I know this isn’t your idea of a good time.” Reaching over, she patted his shoulder. “We do need to get comfortable with the Mr. and Mrs.” She sat up straight and cleared her throat. “Thank you for the support, Mr. Turner. As husbands go, you’re the best.”

Not even close to the truth, but he’d promised to accept her compliments. “You’re welcome.” He managed a deep, slow breath. Barely.

They were playing roles for the sake of the job. “We’ll need to lean into the married thing for this one, I think,” he heard himself say.

“Wasn’t that the plan?”

“I mean really lean in,” he clarified. “If we can convince everyone we’ve been together for years, it makes it less likely you’ll be recognized.”

She set her cell phone, screen down, on her long, slender thigh. “That makes sense. Whatever name he’s using, Azizi is inherently biased. He doesn’t believe professional women, especially those employed by the CIA are wife material. That alone should keep him from connecting anything about me to the woman he thinks he killed.”

“Then let’s get our origin story straight.” They should’ve been doing that from the start. Instead, she’d had to talk him down when he flipped out.

“Our…Oh, man. You’re right. We worked on everything but that. Give me a sec.” She picked up her phone, hurriedly texting something.

“Notifying Beck?”

“Yes. I want someone to have our location and status well before we’re in range of any spyware Atwell may have around his property. And someone else needs to know we’ve bumped into a man on the Most-Wanted list.”

“We’re fifteen minutes out, if that helps.”

“It does.” Her thumbs danced across her screen as she added another message. “I warned her that it’s likely to be sporadic updates and only when we’re away from his place.”

“Smart thinking.” As usual. “Did we meet in college or what?” he asked as soon as she put down her phone again.

“Let’s keep it closer to the truth. How about we met three years ago at a retreat in Montana for sportsmen and -women and just hit it off.”

That definitely lined up well. “And the wedding?” His throat might as well be full of gravel, but he would not derail their progress.

“That could go several ways.” She pursed her lips. “Would you rather go with sunset on the beach or whirlwind in Las Vegas?”

He choked. He’d been thinking about timelines not venues. He had attended weddings at the beach and in Vegas. His wedding had been a big, traditional event in a church, with all the stress, opinions, and expense that went with it.

“If you’re leaving it up to me, I vote for Vegas,” Mel said, completely unfazed by his sputtering. “It fits us.” She sent him a winning smile that settled him down. “Undercover or not, it’s a stretch for me to talk up the traditional white dress and veil routine. So, Vegas. Six months ago.”

He wasn’t sure he believed her about not being a traditional bride. And now that she put the image in his head, he couldn’t shake the image of her, dressed in white lace, her hair in some fancy style dotted with flowers, walking down the aisle. Toward him.

What was his problem? His buddies on the team would have a field day with him if they knew his mind was meandering down these ridiculous paths. He and Mel were professional partners. End of story.

“Vegas. Six months ago,” he echoed, resigned. Not that he had better suggestions.

“We both relocated to Fool’s Gold for the work and outdoor recreation opportunities.”

“Use our old locations as personal back story?”

“That’s the smartest approach. Of course, it goes without saying our goal is not to make lifelong friends with these people.”

He was more worried about resurrecting a lifelong enemy issue. “I know as well as you do how to shift focus.”

“That’s the spirit.” She tossed a bright smile at him. “We’ll be okay, Dean. Azizi won’t recognize me. For him, the old me is a gold-star achievement in his win-column.”

Dean wished he could believe it. There were some things Mel didn’t seem to understand about herself, especially when it came down to how the world viewed her. She was utterly captivating. Definitely memorable. Her long, graceful stride carried her through a room as if she was walking on air. Time and again, he noticed the way people stared, certain she was a celebrity they couldn’t quite name. Although she knew how to disguise herself for their various ops, she would always be a woman who effortlessly drew attention.

Off-duty, that was no problem at all.