“His wife?!” Still in his uniform, Jesse was sprawled in a wicker rocker and half across the thrift shop coffee table on the balcony of Tanner’s Capitol Hill apartment, where he was working his woe-is-me way through his second glass of airline red wine. Technically it was Ernie’s apartment—Ernestine Hasegawa-Lopez was the name on the lease—but she’d shared it with Tanner for so long she wasn’t sure she’d even want to live in it without him.
Which meant living with Jesse sprawled across something half the time, but that was a long-standing custom, too, so she just rolled her eyes while Tanner filled her glass. She had just finished a three-day trip of her own, and wine was in order. “I’d say he sounds like a broken record,” she told Tanner, “but he probably wouldn’t get the reference.”
Je
