When Sam got home from work that night, she wasn’t surprised to find him sitting in her living room. He had a habit of popping up when something was going on. She barely spared him a glance while pulling off her shoes and tossing her jacket in the closet.
“How long have you known?” she asked.
Jack made a face then rubbed the back of his neck.
She could guess the answer. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“Need to know,” was all he said.
Irritation welled up inside her. “You could have given me some kind of warning.”
Jack went to her, his hands warm along Sam’s arms, but her body refused to relax. He swallowed hard. “I wanted to. I almost did several times, but what difference would it have made? You would have been thinking about it this whole time instead of just... enjoying things.”
Sam knew he was right, but she still couldn’t shake the anger. “Were you in on it?”
His arms fell to his side, his face blanching. “Sam,” he pleaded, following her into the kitchen. “They came to me asking for recommendations to replace Weir. I had to be honest. No favors, remember?”