My heart rate spikes. Part of me—the part I’m trying very hard to ignore—wants it to be him. Wants him to have followed me, to have changed his mind about keeping distance, to be standing on the other side of that door with that look in his eyes that makes me forget everything I’m supposed to be.
And just realizing how loud that part is makes me know how damn close I am to throwing in the towel and giving it all up for him.
I cross to the door and check the peephole.
My stomach drops.
It’s not Vanguard.
It’s Cal.
What the hell?
I open the door slowly, keeping my expression neutral even as my mind races. He’s standing in the hallway with a duffel bag over one shoulder, looking exactly the way I remember—tall, lean, that shock of dark hair falling across his forehead. The furrow between his brows that appears when he’s worried.
And he’s worried now.
“Hi,” he says.
“Uh, hi Cal.” I step back, letting him in. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“That’s the greeting I get?” He sets his bag down, his eyes doing a quick assessment of me—the hotel robe, the wet hair, the dark circles I couldn’t hide. Those faint bruises. “No ‘good to see you, Cal’ or ‘how was your flight, Cal’ or?—”
“How did you even know which room I was in…Cal?”
“I have my ways.” He shrugs and I can tell he’s holding something back. “Mank sent me.”
“Mank sent you,” I repeat, frowning. “All the way here? Why? As backup?”
“As support. You know there’s a difference.” He moves further into the room and looks around. “Nice digs. Magazine journalism must pay better than I thought.” He turns to face me, and the lightness drops from his voice. “You look like hell, Mia.”
“Gee, thanks. You really know how to flatter a girl.”
“I’m serious. You look…” He trails off, searching for the right word. “Exhausted. Like you’ve been run over by a lorry who then went back and did it again. You look bloody wrecked. No offense.”
I look wrecked because I’ve been taken apart and put back together wrong.
“No offense, of course,” I say with a snort. “It’s been a trying mission.”
“So I gathered. Three days dark—that’s not like you.”
“Did Bayo call you?”
You got here awfully fast if so.
“Bayo doesn’t know I’m here yet.” He says it casually, but something about the phrasing makes my antenna twitch. “I came straight from JFK. Wanted to see you first.”
“Does Bayo know you’re coming at all? Kat?”
A beat. “They will.”
The twitch intensifies. Standard protocol would have Cal coordinating with the team on the ground before makingcontact. Showing up unannounced, going directly to my hotel instead of the safehouse—it’s not how things are done.
But this is Cal. We have history. Maybe he just wanted to see me privately first, before things got awkward in front of the others. Maybe he…
Oh damn. He knows about Nate, doesn’t he? He knows about how close I’ve gotten to the target. That’s why he’s here. He’s jealous. Hurt, even.
“You should have called,” I say, moving to the minibar. I need a stiff drink, stat. “I could have met you somewhere.”
