Code Name - Rook (Jameson Force Security 6)

Kynan fills me in on a few more travel details, such as when we’re leaving for Ft. Bragg tomorrow and the military transport that will be on standby to take us into Colombia once the exchange is ready to be made. We sign off, and I head back into the hotel room.

I study Jaime, who is still sound asleep. After I grab the bottle of water, I exchange my phone for the Excedrin I’d left on the counter. Placing the water and pain reliever on the bedside table, I strip out of my clothes and slide under the covers with her.

I had hoped to be able to tell her the truth. Instead, I’m going to have to lie to her again. Gently, I pull her into my arms, and the movement causes her to groan. My head aches with sympathy pains.

“Is it time to get up?” she mumbles against my shoulder.

“It’s time to get some water and food into you,” I say gently.

She lifts her head so she can smile crookedly at me. “Are you my husband?”

I grin back, reaching one arm to grab the water bottle. “I am, and as part of my husbandly duties to take care of you in sickness and health, I want you to drink this water and take some Excedrin. Then we’ll discuss food.”

Handing the bottle to Jaime, I haul us into a sitting position against the headboard. While she starts sipping, I pull out the Excedrin for her to take.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, taking two white pills from my palm. She swallows them, winces, and downs more water before leaning her head against the padded headboard. “My head is telling me that I’ll never drink alcohol again.”

“At least not that much,” I suggest.

She rolls her head, grimaces, and asks, “Are you not hungover?”

“A little,” I admit. “But I think my tolerance is better than yours.”

Jaime manages a nod that I can tell hurts, then scoots closer to rest her head on my shoulder. “So, we’re really and truly married?”

“We are.” I reach down and pick up her left hand, admiring the simple band we purchased right at the chapel. I have a matching but slightly wider ring.

“Any regrets?” she whispers, looking at our hands together.

Shifting, I look her directly in the eye. “No. You?”

“No,” she replies with a sweet smile, which then slides off as her eyes widen. “But oh my gosh… my parents are going to kill me.”

“We could keep it a secret,” I suggest. “Do a proper engagement, let them have the wedding. Only you and I would know it was done earlier.”

She shakes her head, which causes another grimace of pain. “No. I couldn’t lie to them, plus… I’m not ashamed of it. I just know my mom had dreamy plans about me getting married, but she’ll get past it. Or she might demand we do a wedding.” Concern flits across her face. “Would you mind that?”

“Seeing you in a pretty white dress and eating good cake?” I give her a roguish grin. “Wouldn’t mind a bit.”

Jaime’s eyes sparkle with happiness, her fingers lacing with mine. “What about your parents? Will they be mad?”

“My mom is a southern traditionalist. She’s going to be shocked at the least, but she’s also going to love you once she meets you, so all will be forgiven. We’re going to need to plan a trip there soon to break the news.”

“I’d love that,” she murmurs. “I’ll be so nervous, but I would love it.”

She settles back against me, stays still for a moment before popping back up. “We have some things to figure out. Like I assume we’re going to live at my apartment, right?”

“Definitely.” I can’t let her live at Jameson as that would be a dead giveaway for my lies.

“And I’ll have to get new identification with your last name. Oh, and we need to compare health insurance policies and see who has the best benefits. And I’ll need to get you a key, make room in my closet for your stuff, and—”

Leaning across her, I shut her up with a kiss. She sighs and then giggles as I pull away.

“Relax,” I assure her. “It’s going to be fun figuring it all out.”

Her smile is as bright as the lights of Vegas in the middle of the night.

I hate that I’m going to take that away. “But I have some bad news.”

Her beautiful brows angle inward. “What’s that?”

I take in a breath, hating myself for another lie, and say, “My boss sent me an email. He wants me to go to a classic car auction tomorrow down in Georgia.”

At least there’s some tiny truth. I will be heading to Georgia before Colombia.

“Oh,” she says with surprise. “I didn’t know car salesmen traveled so much.”

I laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound forced or nervous. “It depends, I guess. But since we sell used cars, you have to go to auctions to purchase new stock. Especially for the classics.”