His walls had been remarkably easy to scale. Could a man trained to find criminals really not know that the woman he touched was one?
I stared up at the man whose life I had infiltrated. His expression was concerned, his eyes soft. I couldn’t detect any duplicity. He appeared to be someone who cared. A man possibly falling.
It upset me.
Because of the secrets.
They can weigh a heart down.
My heart could havenothingto do with this.
I couldn’t afford it.
But it did. I couldn’t stop the way it pounded for a man who shouldn’t have mattered.
But in spite of this, I had to make sure he didn’t suspect me. That his trail was stone cold.
It was his heart or my freedom.
Choosing one over the other shouldn’t be hard.
I slowly let my shoulders sag. I unclenched my fists.
I had a part to play. Appearances were important.
I was the romantic interest of the unsuspecting FBI agent. That was my role.
Why was I starting to hate the mask so damn much?
He took my hand and gave it a squeeze, regarding me steadily. “You okay?”
Calm. Even. Give awaynothing.
Why did I want, if only for a moment, to give him somethingmore?
“It was a long day. I’m fine now that I’m here,” I said.
He ran his hand through my hair. “You don’t have to pretend. I know we haven’t known each other that long, but you can trust me.”
Trust.
Why did that sound like such a dirty word?
He wants me to trust him.
His offer was without guile. Without pretext.
I could see that.
The twinge of guilt was back. And it was uncomfortable.
“Thanks, but I’m fine.” I gave him a weak smile.
“Why do I feel like you’re not being truthful?” Mason asked, his fingers on the nape of my neck.
My throat felt tight.
“I’m being truthful,” I protested, sounding defensive.
