Someone Else's Lady

“I can tell you now,” Angela said one evening after a few beers following a long day with the fugitive task force. “Tell me what?” She smiled as she stretched out in her lounge chair. “I love your forgetfulness.” “I’m glad one of us does,” I said, thinking what a shitty thing that was to say. “I’m about to tell you something that could get me in a lot of trouble. It can’t be proven, and you’re going to be pissed as hell. But you wanted the truth, so you’re getting it. I just hope it’s something you forget.” “Is it really that bad?” “It’s not that you’d want to forget it—it’s that you’d want to use it against me.” She took another sip of beer. “You haven’t told anyone else?” Angela shook her head. “Why not?” “Because it’s not something you tell just anyone, Jamie.” “So what is it?” She studied me with penetrating blue eyes, unsure. “Come on,” I coaxed. “You’ve come this far.” “Part of it is my fault.” “Part of what?” “Do you want to hear this or not?” I nodded. “I didn’t seize the opportunity. We started off on the wrong foot. I took things too personally. My mom was sick. I didn’t have time. Most marshals stay single for a reason.” “Are you talking about when I was held hostage?” “You never saw it, did you?” “Saw what?” “That I was falling for you.” I hadn’t. Not at all. “But it was too late.” “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not sorry about Michelle, but I didn’t know.” “Fuck buddies are easy.” “But you wanted more?” “No. Not at first.” “You weren’t supposed to be in the car that day.” A chill ran through me.