“Speaking of which, how is it you were okay being in that diner?” he asked.
She finished chewing some spicy chicken. “The restaurant is out of the way and hardly ever very busy. I don’t feel hemmed in, and there’s never a crowd.” Though it had been getting harder and harder to force herself to be around people. She needed to work on that.
He reached out and lifted her chin with one knuckle. “I should’ve asked. Are you all right? Seeing a shoot-out like that is terrifying, and that wasn’t my first by a long shot, pardon the pun.” His warm finger was gentle, his eyes seeking.
She took a moment, absurdly touched by his concern. “I was scared, but everything happened so quickly that it was over almost as soon as it started.” Truth be told, her biggest concern had been to keep hidden.
“I won’t let anything happen to you, Pippa. I promise.” He removed his hand, but an intensity remained in his expression. A look that took her breath away.
This was temporary, and she couldn’t rely on that kind of protection. “You don’t need to make me promises.” She probably didn’t deserve them. Those kinds of vows required honesty in exchange.
“Yet I just did.” He tilted his head. “You can trust me. You know that, right?”
For the first time in years, she was tempted to tell the full truth. To give him all of herself. But what would that accomplish? The past was in the past, and it had to stay there. “I know.”
A veil dropped over his eyes and he returned to his food.
She had the oddest sense that she’d disappointed him, so she struggled to find something to talk about. Anything. “Do you miss being undercover?”
He paused in the middle of eating. “Not really. I mean, it’s hard to meld your real life with a new, fictional life and then remember it’s not true.” He looked up. “Know what I mean?”
She shook her head, the movement shaky even to her. “Not really. I’m just me.”
His smile was smooth and reassuring. “I find you fascinating, and I haven’t gotten in the front door yet. Tell me about your family.”
She’d forgotten this part about dating, if what they were doing could be called dating. “Oh. Well. My dad was in the army. Died somewhere across the world from here when I was around six years old, and we never really found out how or why.” How different would her life had been if he had lived?
Mal leaned back. “I’m sorry.” His eyes turned liquid.
She shrugged. “I don’t remember much about him, to be honest. My mom and I moved around a lot after that, but we didn’t much get along. When I was eighteen, I went out on my own and haven’t looked back.” That was about as truthful as she could get.
Malcolm frowned. “I thought you said she died in a car accident.”
Oh God. They’d talked about her mom already. In all the craziness, Pippa had forgotten. “Yeah, she did. After I left home at eighteen.”
He set down his napkin. “I’m sorry. Can you visit her grave?”
“No.” Who even knew where her mother was these days? The family liked to move around to find new money and new marks. “I don’t think about her much.” She wished it were possible they weren’t looking for her any longer. “Um, now I remember you saying your folks were deceased and your grandpa raised you.”
“Yeah. He was an ass.” Mal took another drink of his water. “I had a shrink tell me once that I have abandonment issues. That I push people away.” He shrugged. “But being alone made it possible for me to go undercover several times, and the last time it was for two years.”
Abandonment issues? Kind of made sense. “You seem like a hero to me. The type to eventually settle down with the right woman and be a badass dad.”
One eyebrow arched. He kicked his legs out under the table and patted his very flat belly. “Boy, do you have me pegged wrong. Can you imagine how screwed up a woman would have to be to end up with me?”
She coughed out a laugh. Many adjectives described her, and screwup was apt. But now she was just fantasizing. He’d never end up with a liar. “You’re selling yourself short.”
“No.” He tugged his T-shirt down and scratched his neck. “I’m always investigating. Don’t know how to trust anybody. And if I had someone who was actually mine—I mean really mine—I’m sure I’d be a complete possessive dick.”
There was something sweet about his admission. Or perhaps that was just a dream she couldn’t have. “I see you as more protective than possessive.”
“Not much of a difference, blue eyes.” He glanced at the clock on the microwave. “Now, I have a proposition for you.”
Her breath sped up, but her body was so tired. Or maybe her brain was just exhausted. The talk with Trixie, although short, had taken a toll. The past often did. Even so, curiosity made her ask, “What’s your proposition?”
“I’m tired, and by the look of you, you’re exhausted.” He stood and tossed all the garbage away. “Do you have a television in your bedroom?”
She stilled. “Yes. Why?”
