Monk is still on the phone when we board, and neither Canon nor I speak once we’re in motion. I sneak a peripheral glance at him from beneath my lashes, watching the shift of his shoulders under the jacket. I think about how I felt when I saw him with Arietta—the unreasonable jealousy. I wonder if he’s got a girl, some woman he goes home to or finds solace in or who merely slakes his physical needs. And the thought of it embeds a burning thorn in my heart. How can someone you’ve known for such a short time inspire this visceral response?
