“What happened to Smith?” Sinner’s voice was low and soothing.
The room shrank, the walls suddenly pushing in.
She flipped a card at him. One to her.
“I wasn’t there. That day.” She swallowed hard. “I had a fight with my mom. I was eighteen. One of the big things we arguedabout almost daily was that everyone my age had real jobs with real money. But I didn’t have an ID. No social security card to get a job. So I was stuck babysitting the neighborhood brats for pennies. After the fight, I ran out. When I came back…Smith was down on the ground. Some guys came for him. Mom tried to save him. I saw her doing chest compressions, but there was blood everywhere and I justknew.”
She gulped down the emotion she’d never let out, along with the words she’d never spoken. The print on the cards blurred in her vision, then cleared.
“Smith always told me if anything happened to him to go to the FBI and tell them…” She lifted her gaze to Sinner’s. “Project Lazarus.”
He didn’t speak, but she didn’t need words of comfort. She just needed someone to listen.
No, notsomeone—she needed Sinner to listen.
Finally, he exhaled slowly. “I’m glad you had Smith to watch over you.”
She nodded, blinking hard. “And you?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I had an uncle. He owned a pizza shop and taught me everything I know about pizza. When I turned eighteen, he told me to go to the FBI and get an ID. As soon as I got there and stated my case, the FBI said, ‘You’re Lazarus. You’re entering the next class at Quantico.’”
Her breath caught. It was the same story. Different details. Same erasure.
But even though he was Lazarus too, and now Blackout, he’d lived a pretty good life.
It was clear that the Charlie team had become his family. Maybe…just maybe she could have that too.
Someday.
Maybe.
After a few rounds of cards, she stacked the deck and set it in the middle of the table.
Sinner reached across the space and skimmed his thumb across her knuckles, making her skin prickle.
“This was the best date,” she murmured.
He scoffed softly. “Your expectations are too low.”
She smiled. “I admit I don’t have a lot to compare, but I know what I want to do on the next date.”
He swished his thumb down her wrist. “You mean after the drug deals and finding a terrorist?”
Smiling, she nodded. “After that.”
“I’m up for anything. Especially strip poker.” His brows gave a seductive twitch.
“How about…a tattoo?”
He stared at her harder. “You’re not supposed to have any identifying features.”
“I’m not.”
The smile she wore was certain. She was prepared to take the next step in her life—the FBI, Project Lazarus and WitSec be damned. She was going to start living for herself.
And looking at the man across from her, she knew she wouldn’t be stepping into it alone.
THIRTEEN
