Page 28 of Perfect Vengeance

“Mind telling me how I make sure a clownfish eats?”

“There’s a can of freeze-dried shrimp and flaked seaweed by the tank. Just lift the lid and tap some in. John Wayne and Annie Oakley will do the rest.”

“Fine,” came Kyle’s terse response.

Jack clipped the phone back onto his belt. When he repositioned his left hand on the wheel, he gripped it so hard his knuckles cracked.

No wedding ring. Then again, maybe he was married and didn’t wear one. A lot of men did that these days.

While it was none of her business, she couldn’t help but analyze the conversation she’d overheard, and another chink of her inherent animosity tumbled to the ground.

Even stern, hard-assed federal agents had families. Jack had a mother and brother who obviously cared for him very much. Whatever family issues existed, he was apparently upset over them.

“It’s probably none of my business,” she began, “but⁠—”

“Probably not.” His chiseled jaw tightened as he stared out the windshield at the stopped lanes of traffic looming ahead.

“But,” she continued, ignoring his none too subtle message, “family is something you should never take for granted.”

“Eavesdropping, huh?”

“Hard not to. Your brother was yelling loudly enough for the car next to us to hear. It was like listening to someone use a megaphone.” She frowned when Jack didn’t respond to her attempt at lightening the conversation. His anger she was used to, but this silent brooding thing was beginning to bug her, and that really did make her nervous. “So you actually have a mother?”

“Did you think I hatched from an egg?” The annoyance on his face was priceless.

“Certainly not.” She snickered. “Humans aren’t birthed that way. I think you were one of those clandestine genetic government experiments. You know, grown in a test tube and born in an underground laboratory. Like on the X-Files.”

“To hell with this.” He cut the steering wheel hard left and darted the Expedition into the thru-traffic lane, causing several drivers to pound on their horns.

Gina grabbed the armrest as he stomped on the accelerator, swerving as he drove. He hung a sharp right down a short street that dropped them directly in front of the tunnel entrance. A uniformed Port Authority cop blocked the way. Jack rolled down his window, flashed his badge, and was immediately waived through. In no time, they were speeding through the Holland Tunnel toward New Jersey.

“Another perk of the job?”

“For official business, yes.”

“And while we’re at it, you must know that talking on a cell phone without a hands-free device is illegal in New York.”

His brows drew together. “What are you, a cop?”

“Speaking of which, your brother sounds like one. Is he? And how many brothers do you have?”

“You ask too many questions.” He scowled, and she couldn’t hold back a giddy grin.

The drive was becoming far more entertaining than she could have imagined. She held no power over this man whatsoever, except the instinctive ability to annoy him. Anger at the FBI aside, something about cracking through Jack’s emotional armor and goading him was downright fun and something he couldn’t arrest her for. Too bad, so sad.

Lights lining the tiled tunnel walls blurred into a pale gold streak. The faint smell of exhaust came through the air vents.

“Three,” Jack muttered.

“Three what?”

“Brothers.”

Ah. Progress. “Are they also in the FBI?”

“Two are, both in other OCUs—organized crime units. The other works for… Well, we’re not quite sure what agency he works for.”

“Must make for scintillating conversation at family dinners.” She lowered her voice, trying to impersonate a man’s much lower octave. “Hey, bro, kung fu anyone into confessing lately? How many hoods did ya throw in the slammer this week? Why, today I busted three little old ladies peddling whacky weed out the back of a flower shop. One of them tried hitting me over the head with her cane.” She laughed and turned to see Jack scowling again, which, naturally, only made her laugh harder.