“Could we go back to Randolph, now that we know more? I know you have reservations about the guy, but he’s got resources, contacts…”
“Alice, no?—”
“There was this woman at the hotel—she gave me her card.” Alice patted her jeans pockets, but of course the card was in her capris. “She said she was bankrolling his campaign and was well connected. Lawyers and stuff.”
“She knew who you were?”
“She recognized me. In case you didn’t know, I’m kinda famous now. Well, infamous.”
“Which sounds so much more fun.”
“Is it worth asking her to help?”
“No.”
“She said she had money, contacts, that we wanted the same thing.”
“Alice…”
“You just said that we need help. And he’s kind of on the same side as we are, right? Surely it can’t hurt if?—”
“We don’t know who’s on our side and who’s not. And I’m not trusting anyone Randolph is neck-deep into. All of this shit,” he said, indicating the screen, “I guess I thought that if there was a smoking gun, it would be obvious. Not the sixteenth line of a list of email contacts of someone I’ve never heard of.”
“What about if we take these files and the list to the authorities? Surely it’s enough to suggest there’s something else going on.”
“Not yet. I’m not handing any of it over until I know how it clears my name—until I know what Nika was doing with it. What if it disappears into the same black hole that swallowed her interrogation video? What if they don’t even investigate it? Not to mention that it’s going to be compromised by the fact it’s come through me. I don’t want to end up stuck in some FBI interview room at the mercy of whatever drips of bullshit they decide to share with me, while the people behind all this scurry to cover their tracks.” He linked his hands behind his head and shut his eyes tightly, like he had a headache. “Shit.”
Alice felt like rocks had landed in her stomach. Carter had never before let the stress show… “You couldn’t have gotten much sleep last night.”
“I’m used to operating on low sleep.”
“But no one’s at their best in those circumstances. Anyway, I’m guessing you’re happy to take a minute to eat?”
He emphatically pushed away the laptop. “Excellent guess. Sorry, I’m … It’s the…” He gestured at the computer again.
“I know.”
As she served, he strolled past her and opened the wine fridge. “Something white?” he said, evidently back to his level-headed norm. As much as any of this could be a ‘norm,’ even to him.
“Not sure carbonara is the kind of meal that comes with wine pairings.” She paused partway through grating parmesan onto his plate. “This is not what I would have thought being on the run with a super-spy would entail. It’s a lot more domestic than the movies would have you believe.”
“None of this is as I would have imagined, if I was gonna imagine it. I’m not in the habit of sleeping with women I go on the run with.” He opened the wine at the kitchen counter and poured it into two glasses. “Or sharing mydeepest, darkest secrets,” he said jokingly.
“This happens to you a lot? Going on the run with various women?”
“I’ve had to evade the odd pursuer here or there, sometimes with company, who have happened to be female, though not like this. But as you say, life is just a series of days. Survive this one, and you unlock the next. You won’t be offended if I work while I eat tonight,honey? Late night at the office.”
“Go right ahead,sugar.”
She felt his body right behind her, a momentary rise in the air temperature before his arms drifted around her, and his chin rested on her shoulder. Not about sex, this time. It was almost … real. She leaned into him, exhaling. An illusion, of course, but for the first time in a very long time, she felt the delicious ache of longing in her chest, and she let herself enjoy it. How nice would it be if, instead of bringing her pain, loving someone could bring peace and comfort?
Not with this guy, obviously. But hypothetically…
“We’d better eat before the sauce goes cold and gloopy,” she said.
He released her, pressing a kiss to her crown, his several-day-old beard velcroing her hair for a second. So cozy.
“This looks fantastic,” he said, as they sat down to eat. “Priyatnogo appetita.”
