"No, thankfully, bombs are not an everyday occurrence. But they do pop up from time to time."
She bumped his shoulder with hers. "How long do you think it will be before we hear back from Jason?"
"Not sure." He surveyed their dusty hideout again. "I really don't think anyone ever comes up here. The dust doesn't look disturbed around the desk or the boxes. As long as we're quiet, we're safe here until Jason comes up with something."
Something shifted in her gaze.
He'd tried to sound nonchalant about their less-than-ideal predicament, but he sensed the situation was beginning to worry her. "Hey, we've got this. Jason will get us out. Or we'll come up with our own plan if we need to. Either way, we're going to be fine."
She offered a tight smile.
The fear she couldn't hide from him clenched his heart and squeezed.
He pushed some stray hairs from her face. "Hey. Let's change the subject. We probably have a few minutes. Don't think about where we are. Let's talk about something else."
"Like what?" she asked.
"I don't know. Just anything," he said.
She gave a slow nod. She was quiet for so long he wasn't sure she was going to say anything.
"The things I missed . . . about Leo and my parents . . . didn't just make me sad—they scared me."
Oh man, this is not what I meant.
He'd hoped she'd talk about the weather or food. Or how he should be nicer to Rowan. Anything but this.
"Allie, you don't have to . . ."
The filtered light highlighted the emotion glistening in her eyes. He couldn't just tell her to stop talking now, but he'dwanted to keep things light, to cheer her up. Now, he had no idea what to say.
So, he simply laced his fingers through hers.
"It really scared me," she said. "I mean, if I can't see what Leo is doing, what my parents are doing—if I can't pick up on things about people I've known my entire life—then how can I expect to notice the tells of strangers at work? To catch the things I need to notice about the bad guys? How can I trust myself again? I've been afraid . . . afraid that my career is over. Not just because of my mistakes—not that they couldn't have been career-ending on their own—but I also felt like I might have lost my skill."
Wow. That came out of nowhere. Or . . . it probably didn't. She'd probably kept that bottled up for the past three months. He mentally kicked himself for not realizing how much she'd been struggling.
"Allie, you're good at what you do. You're very, very good at what you do. You didn't see what Leo and your parents were doing for several reasons. One, you didn't want to see it because you love them. And that's not a mistake or weakness. They're your family. You should have been able to trust them."
He stroked his thumb across the back of her hand. "And two, you shouldn't have to be suspicious of your brother or your parents. Or anyone you care about. They should have never put you in that position. What they did is their fault. Not yours."
Silent tears slid down her face. He brushed them away with his free hand, desperately wishing he could wipe away her grief as easily.
"Thank you," she whispered.
His thumb lingered on her wet cheek. "Also, what happened with your family had nothing to do with your professional ability. That wasn't work. It wasn't your assignment. Your job wasn't to suspect Leo. Or your parents."
He dropped his hand and placed it over hers. "You don't need to worry about your job, Allie. Surely, that's obvious by now. WhiteRock wanted you on this assignment, and you're doing great."
She made a show of glancing around their musty hiding spot. "Yeah. We're doing really great."
"You know what I mean. This,"—he circled his hand in the dim light—"is just a slight hitch in our plan. We'll be back on track soon."
The corner of her mouth quirked up.
He raised her hand, still laced with his, to his mouth and brushed a gentle kiss across the back. "For the record, I'm glad you gave your family the benefit of the doubt. I'm glad you wanted to trust them. And I'm sorry they let you down."
He'd tried to subdue the thought gnawing at him since this conversation started. But it kept clawing its way back, demanding to be voiced. "Please don't let what they did affect your ability to trust other people . . . other people who care about you."
