She nodded. That sounded safe enough. After all, she had the choice whether or not to answer them.
“Who taught you to fight?”
“A friend.”
He didn’t let go of her hands. She was always in control, but Sinner’s touch, his presence, made her let down her guard.
“How old were you when you learned?”
“Twelve.”
She felt him suck in air and hold it. Finally, he continued. “Was it formal training, or born out of necessity?”
“Necessity.” She stopped there.
“Did the threat come from one person or a lot of bad situations?”
“Enough situations that I wanted to learn.”
“So it was to protect yourself.” His voice dropped lower, grew gentler. She found herself staring into his eyes—not just brown but all shades of amber and coffee and an earthy hue that drew her deeper.
“Yes,” she breathed out. “But I’m…disappointed in how I reacted in that alley.”
As if her answers were enough to satisfy him, he gave her hands a light squeeze. “You realize you did the unthinkable on our first day?”
She blinked. “You mean getting myself fired from this op?”
“No. You got the drugs.”
“Anybody can do that.”
“Yeah, junkies. Junkies can score drugs on their first try.”
She snorted despite herself, and quickly sobered. “I know you have more questions, Sinner.”
He hesitated for a beat, then pitched his voice into something warm and gentle. “Tell me about your mom.”
Her mind swirled. She wasn’t expecting that question.
“You said you haven’t cried since you lost your mom. Is she dead?”
A lump sat in her throat, heavy and pulsing with each beat of her heart. “Maybe.”
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
“I read your file,” he said quietly.
Her muscles went tight, the urge to yank free almost overwhelming. This was risky. Getting close to anyone meant they could be torn away.
But she didn’t step back. She let him hold her hands. Keeping the connection.
“How much do you know?” she whispered. Her entire past couldn’tbe in a file. Her life was so buried she didn’t technically exist.
“Enough to know you were in hiding.”
Oh god.
