“Most things.”
“Most things.” His gaze holds mine. “I try not to test the exceptions.”
There’s a weight to the way he says it, like the golden boy has spent some late nights wondering exactly how breakable he really is.
I like that. Maybe that makes me a sadist.
“Of course, none of this takes away from the fact that he’s indestructible and invincible,” Rachel says sternly.
Even though he just admitted he isn’t.
“Right. Chalk it up to semantics,” I concede. Then, I go for the big one. “What about poisons? Can you survive being poisoned?”
He blinks at me, and Rachel speaks up again. “That’s classified, Ms. Baxter,” she says sharply, in a tone that tells me to watch myself or I’ll lose the interview. Fine.
“What about your suit?” I pivot back to him. “It’s not just for branding, I assume.”
“It’s not.” He relaxes slightly, back on safer ground. “It’s heat-resistant and friction-resistant, which is important when you’re flying at high speeds. You don’t want anything to snag. Then, of course, the forcefield I mentioned. Comms integration. It’s basically tactical gear that also happens to look good on a poster or an action figure. A multi-purpose uniform.”
“Do you ever take it off?”
The words come out before I can stop them, and I realize a beat too late how that sounds. Rachel coughs loudly. Jason suddenly finds his tablet very interesting.
Vanguard just grins, another real one, sharp and surprised and dangerously charming.
“I happen to get naked when I take a shower and dootherthings, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Bloody hell, Mia. Get a grip.
“I wasn’t, but thank you. Moving on,” I say, looking down at my notes to hide the flush creeping up my neck. “Your gloves. You took them off when you came in. Are those part of the tactical gear as well?”
“They are.” He flexes his fingers, and I try not to stare at the size of his hands. “Enhanced grip, heat-resistant. I wear them almost everywhere. Old soldier habit—you never know when you’re going to need to grab something on fire.”
“Or someone.”
“Or someone,” he agrees, and there’s a strain in his voice that makes me wonder how many burning people he’s pulled from wreckage over the years. How many he couldn’t reach in time. What does that do to a man? All that pressure to be the savior.
I push forward. “Let’s talk about your background. You were military before Global Dynamix, yes? Green Beret, then Delta Force. Decorated. Classified operations. What made you leave?”
I swear, the temperature in the room drops a few degrees. Rachel shifts in her seat. Jason’s stylus hovers frozen over his tablet.
Vanguard’s expression doesn’t change, but something behind his eyes shutters. “I was offered an opportunity to serve my country in a different capacity. I took it.”
“That’s the press release answer.”
“It’s the true answer.”
“But not the whole truth.”
“Is it ever?” He tilts his head, studying me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. “You seem very interested in what’s underneath the surface, Ms. Baxter.”
“That’s my job. Thoughtful, nuanced journalism, according to Rachel over there.”
Rachel frowns at me while Vanguard flashes me a ghost of a smile. “Right.”
Rachel clears her throat. “Perhaps we could steer the conversation toward Vanguard’s humanitarian work? The disaster relief efforts, the?—”
“In a moment.” I keep my eyes on him. “You joined the Global Dynamix program in 2034. That was during the Dark Decade. The worst of it.”
