"You think I’m judging you," she says finally, voice low enough that it won't carry.
“Aren’t you?”
She tosses her head."I think you're using your cover as permission to stop caring about the difference between what youhaveto do and what youchooseto do."
Her eyes meet mine, steady and unflinching."There's a gap there, Jagger.And you know it."
The truth of that statement hits harder than I expect.I lean back against the cracked vinyl booth, crossing my arms—a reflex, a barrier."You don't pull punches, do you, Tiger?"
"I don't have time to."Her voice softens, but the intensity doesn't fade."I don't know how much longer I'll get the chance to talk to you like this.Toyou.Not the cover."
And there it is.The real reason behind this impromptu interrogation.She's not just making conversation—she's trying to know me before the window closes.Before we're locked into our roles and every word has to be calculated, every gesture scrutinized.
Like this is some high-stakes crash course in each other.Or a date.Which it isn't and can't be.
"Paco would have settled for a vending machine dinner," I say, deflecting.
She blows on her coffee and arches an eyebrow."Paco doesn't have your best interests at heart."
My chest tightens.And it's not because she finally dressed the wound I'd been neglecting."And you do?"
"Is that so hard to believe?"
Is she for real?I don’t even know her, but she’s taken better care of me in the last two days than anyrealwoman I used to prop up my cover in the last three years.
Our food arrives.Lurleen slides the catfish plate in front of Adena—golden, crispy, with a pile of hushpuppies on the side.My meatloaf looks like every other meatloaf I've ever had.Edible.Adequate.
The second we’re alone again, Adena pushes the basket toward the center of the table without a word.“So you don’t sit there drooling like a dachshund.”
I wish I could laugh.But the woman can read me like I'm an open book.Three years of a bulletproof cover, and she sees right through it.
I take a hushpuppy and place it beside my mashed potatoes.“Tell me something.You like this with everyone?”
Her brow knits.“Likewhat?”
“Sweet.”
She sputters a laugh, and an ache starts to grow in a place I thought was long cauterized.“No one calls me sweet, Jagger.Abrupt.Blunt.Occasionally generous and efficient.But neversweet.”
The idea that I’m seeing a side of her no one else does sends warmth spreading through me."So you’re saying I’m the exception?"
She stops chewing, and the tiniest flush grows on her cheeks.“Don’t flatter yourself.I’m obligated to look after the people God puts in my path.”
I frown and slice into the meatloaf a little too aggressively just as the toe of her boot gently kicks my shin.“Four o’clock.”
I glance up from my meal, and all my veins fire.
A cruiser just pulled into the parking lot.Two officers inside, windows fogged from the rain.
My hand stills on my fork.Every instinct I've honed screams at me to assess, calculate, prepare for the worst.I’m carrying, and so is Adena.
The cruiser’s door opens.
Adena's face is perfectly calm, but her fingers tighten around her fork.She's ready.Professional.
Everything I stopped being the second I started wanting this to be real.
Ten
