That Time in Moscow, Logan Ryles [the best books to read .txt] 📗

she stared out over the Mississippi River. Wolfgang nudged the door shut and shuffled toward her, feeling his heart rate quicken as the sun glimmered off her tanned skin.

Megan was petite—barely five feet tall—but two missions with her taught Wolfgang that size was no measure of ability. Megan was distant and elusive—a personality shrouded in shadow that, no matter how many times he tried to get to know her, still remained aloof. He’d at first attributed her distance as some manner of arrogance or condescension with the new guy on the team, but there had been flashes now and then of a deeper warmth to her that gave him hope—hope that maybe she’d give him the time of day. Because besides being mysterious and interesting, Megan had the sort of confidence and subtle good looks that made a man stare. Wolfgang was staring now.

“Nice car,” Megan said before taking a pull of the cigarette.

Wolfgang frowned. “You saw it?”

She laughed. “It’s bright yellow, Wolf. Everybody saw it.”

Wolfgang felt suddenly self-conscious, and he shifted, staring down at his tennis shoes. Still no gum, but the smudges bothered him now—as did the cheap jeans.

Why didn’t I stop to change? She shouldn’t see me like this . . . not while she looks this good.

“I don’t know. I guess I liked the color,” he mumbled.

Megan laughed again, softer this time. Smoke drifted from her mouth, and she waved for him to sit. “Chill, dude. It’s a nice car. I just didn’t take you to be a car guy.”

Wolfgang sat down, pulling his legs toward his chest and watching as she sucked on the cigarette. He hated the smell of smoke and the stench of sour clothes forever permeated by it. But right then, it didn’t bother him so much.

Megan caught him staring and gestured toward the pack of cigarettes sitting on the floor next to her.

Wolfgang shook his head. “No, thanks. I don’t smoke.”

She turned from the window and leaned back against the wall, taking another pull and staring at him with quiet grey eyes that left him wondering what was happening behind them. The kind of eyes that told you Megan only said about five percent of the things she thought, but that the other ninety-five percent was well worth his time.

“You don’t smoke,” Megan said. “You don’t drink. You don’t cuss. What’s with you, anyway? Religion?”

Wolfgang looked away, weighing the questions one at a time. Ever since he’d first met Megan, the day before the Paris job, he’d longed for a time like this—a time when they were alone and could talk. Now that the moment had come, he felt thrown off guard. All his usual charisma and wit fled him quicker than the Mercedes powering onto the freeway, and he felt like a silly little kid.

“Not religion,” he said, still not looking her way.

Megan said nothing for a long moment, then grunted. “I get it. I won’t pry.”

Idiot. You can’t expect her to talk to you if you won’t talk to her.

“My father was a drunk,” Wolfgang said, looking up. “He beat my mother all the time. He smoked a lot, too. When he was really mad, he’d burn her stomach with the cigarettes.” Wolfgang winced as he spoke, then turned away and stared out the window.

Fool. You said too much. What the heck is wrong with you?

Megan said nothing, but when Wolfgang looked back, she stared at him with the cigarette lowered next to her knee. Her eyes were softer now, and when he met her gaze, she didn’t look away.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice soft but strong.

Wolfgang’s cheeks flushed.

What was I thinking? Now she sees me as a pansy.

He cleared his throat, feeling his old wit return as he shoveled the memories back into their graves and reburied them with willful denial. “It’s a pretty sweet car,” he said, flashing a grin. “You should take a ride with me. Maybe someplace downtown. Maybe someplace with good food.”

A smile played at the corner of her mouth. “You never give up, do you?”

Wolfgang shrugged. “It’s just a meal with a coworker. Can’t object to that, can you?”

Megan rolled the cigarette between two fingers and cocked her head. “I told you, Wolfgang. I’m not getting involved with anybody on the team. But”—she hesitated, then shrugged—“you know, dinner with a coworker, maybe.”

A rush of elation overwhelmed Wolfgang as the door swung open and the remaining three members of Charlie Team burst into the room, headed by Edric, the team lead.

“On your feet, guys!” Edric said, clapping his hands. “We’ve got work to do.”

2

Charlie Team gathered around the plastic conference table as Edric assumed his position in front of the whiteboard. He wore a blazer over a T-shirt, and Wolfgang realized it was the first time since joining Charlie Team that his boss wasn’t wearing a cast or a sling over his left arm. During a botched mission in Damascus, Edric had fallen two stories and wrecked his shoulder, elbow, and forearm. It was also that mission that claimed the life of James—Wolfgang’s predecessor and Megan’s former boyfriend. Hence her unwillingness to date a team member.

Wolfgang took a sip of water from a bottle and then glanced to the end of the table at the last two members of Charlie Team—Kevin, a fellow operator, and Lyle, the team technology wiz. Lyle was all the clichés—short, wiry, and awkward, complete with smudged glasses that didn’t fit his face. But he was a warmhearted man once you got to know him, and Wolfgang was pretty sure Elon Musk knew less about gadgetry and computer technology than Lyle.

Kevin was another story. Big, muscular, and moody, he was Megan’s half-brother and aggressively protective of her. He and Wolfgang had a love-hate relationship born out of Wolfgang’s repeated attempts to build a bridge and Kevin’s repeated refusals to meet him halfway.

You can’t win them all.

“All right.” Edric spoke from the whiteboard, where he was busy jotting something down with a red marker. As he stepped aside, Wolfgang saw the word,