He leaned closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “I’m here because someone made sure your searches didn’t light up alarms today. That kind of protection doesn’t last. You’re good, but you’re not invisible. The more you dig, the louder and bigger the target you make. And when they hear or see you …”
“Damn,” Zane whispered. “That should get her to back down.”
Elise’s smile faltered, just slightly. The fire in her eyes dimmed for a breath, enough for Blake to see the flicker of unease. But then she straightened, tossing her hair back as though brushing away the warning like a whiff of smoke.
“You think that’ll scare me off?” she asked, voice light, but her hand was white-knuckled on the stem of her wine glass. “I’ve already had a mentor die chasing this, and one of his friends, a private investigator, was killed, too. He died bringing me a letterfrom Étienne. You think I’m going to stop because a stranger in a suit tells me to?”
“What? I’ll get Jewell to dig into that as soon as she wakes up,” Zane commented quickly.
Blake studied her in silence, feeling the shift between them. He’d meant to warn her, scare her enough to make her step back. Instead, he’d confirmed what she already suspected—that she thought she was onto something real.
And now, he had to decide. Did he push harder and risk losing her trust, or play along long enough to keep her alive?
Elise’s eyes narrowed, her tone sharpened. “So, tell me, Suit. Who do you really work for? Because no accountant, no banker, no tourist with a conference badge knows how to cloak a reporter’s search history in real time. Hell, they don’t know how to find an IP address, let alone know what that identifier is doing on the web.”
Blake didn’t move, didn’t blink. Years of training had taught him to hold steady under scrutiny, but something about the tilt of her chin, the razor wit in her eyes, made it harder to want to maintain the mask.
“Maybe,” he said, his voice smooth, “I’m just a very resourceful businessman.”
She huffed a laugh, low and disbelieving. “Please. You’re never at rest. Tell me you haven’t counted exits since the moment we came in. You don’t glance at your drink. You look at reflections in the glass. You’ve got the air of a man waiting for a gunshot, not a flight home.”
Blake’s lips twitched at the corners. Sharp didn’t even begin to cover her.
Elise leaned in, lowering her voice. “So, I’ll ask again. Who do you work for?”
He could have lied. He should have. But Guardian’s directive weighed heavy, and her mentor’s death hung between them like a ghost neither could ignore.
“I work for people who’d prefer you keep breathing,” he said finally, measured, deliberate.
“True,” Zane added to his running commentary.
Her brows arched, her smile curling. “Ah. So, you admit it. You’re not here by chance.”
Blake lifted his glass, letting the whiskey roll across his tongue before answering. “No. Not by chance.”
“Also true,” Zane agreed.
Her satisfaction seemed to soften into something else … wariness, maybe, or the realization of what his presence really meant. Elise sat back, exhaling slowly, fingers drumming against the stem of her glass. “Then you already know I won’t stop. Whatever information killed my mentor, whatever he stumbled on, it’s tied to that man. And I’m not walking away from it.”
Blake studied her, heat rising low in his chest, a mix of frustration and reluctant admiration. Guardian hadn’t warned him she’d be stubborn. They hadn’t mentioned she’d be brilliant—and damn near impossible to deter.
Blake set his glass down slowly, his reflection caught in the amber glow. He’d come here intending to warn her, to shut her down cleanly. Guardian’s directive had been clear. But staring across the table at Elise, he knew he was already off script.
If he pressed harder, she’d push back twice as hard. If he tried to scare her, she’d only dig deeper. And if he walked away, she’d walk straight into a bullet meant for someone who asked too many questions.
So, he pivoted.
“Then we have a problem,” he said at last, his voice low, even. “Because if you won’t stop, you’re going to need someone who knows how to keep you alive while you poke the hornet’s nest.”
“Rut Roh, Scoobie. That’s not the plan,” Zane said, as if he didn’t know it.
Her eyes widened, just a fraction. “And let me guess—you’re volunteering? Out of the goodness of your heart?”
Blake allowed the faintest smirk. “Not my heart. I’m told I don’t have one. Let’s call it professional responsibility.”
Elise laughed softly, shaking her head. “You have a heart. All that flesh doesn’t move around by itself. And no, you don’t look like a man burdened by responsibility. You look like a man who keeps secrets in triplicate and only tells the truth when cornered.”
Blake tipped his head. “That’s not entirely wrong.”
