He took a seat in a wing chair away from the makeshift dance floor and watched as Chester once again fired up the old Victrola. But he’d wait his turn, particularly since Chester looked to be having the time of his life. Lex had been over the maps and addresses several times and had concluded that the client in Albany had indeed been the only one Bess hadn’t included on their map. He sincerely hoped that John Smith—he inwardly snorted at the name—would be here soon so he could take him down, load him up and haul him back to Atlanta, where the boys in blue would take care of him. Theoretically, he and Bess could be home before ten tonight, he could be back in his new apartment, his first assignment completed quickly and competently. For whatever reason, he didn’t think that was going to happen, and there was an even bigger part of him that, perversely, hoped it didn’t. Because no mission meant no more Bess and he wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her just yet. She was beautiful and interesting and she had a different way of looking at the world—a way that made him appreciate it more—and she was a nurturer and she was… She was good, Lex realized, the simple description fitting her as well as her name.
