“Hey,” he said, sliding into the seat across from her. “You look better than last night.”
“I look like I slept in a hotel and spent half the night jumping at shadows.”
A smile almost touched his mouth. “Fair enough.”
The waitress appeared with coffee for Carson and took their orders. Nora got the French toast like he’d suggested. Carson ordered eggs and bacon, no toast, extra coffee.
“You look like you didn’t sleep at all,” Nora observed when the waitress left.
“I slept some.”
“That’s a lie.”
His eyes met hers, sharp and assessing. “You’re observant.”
“I spent most of my childhood learning to read people. It was a survival skill.” Nora wrapped both hands around her coffee mug. “Foster care teaches you to notice when adults are lying.”
Something shifted in Carson’s expression. Understanding, maybe. Or sympathy he was trying to hide.
“Your case file mentioned you grew up in foster care,” he said carefully. “Seven different homes.”
“Eight, actually. They missed one.” Nora took a sip of coffee to avoid his eyes. “I wasn’t an easy kid to place. Quiet. Anxious. Scared of everything. Most families wanted someone...lighter.”
“That’s not your fault.”
“I know that now. Took years of therapy to believe it.” She set down her mug. “But it’s why no one believes me when I say something’s wrong. I’ve got a history of anxiety. Of seeing threats that aren’t there. Of not trusting people.”
“Except those threats are real this time.”
The conviction in his voice made her eyes sting. “You really believe that.”
“I know that.” Carson leaned forward slightly. “I ran Eugene’s background deeper last night. Francis Whitmore. His father worked at your accounting firm fifteen years ago. Got fired for embezzlement.”
Nora’s breath caught. “I don’t remember anyone named Whitmore.”
“You wouldn’t. You were still in college. But the firm your father—Francis’father—worked for? Same one you work for now.”
The pieces clicked together in her mind, forming a picture that made her stomach turn. “You think he’s targeting me because of my company?”
“I think there’s a connection. I just don’t know what it is yet.” Carson’s jaw clenched. “But I’m going to find out.”
The food arrived, and they ate in relative silence. Nora couldn’t taste anything, her mind spinning with this new information. Francis Whitmore. A connection to her company. A reason to target her specifically.
It was real. All of it. Not her imagination. Not her anxiety. Real.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Carson looked up from his eggs. “For what?”
“For not giving up on this. For believing me when everyone else thinks I’m crazy.”
“You’re not crazy, Nora.” His voice was firm. Final. “And anyone who made you feel that way is wrong.”
The intensity in his eyes made her pulse skip. Made her aware of how close they were across the small table. How his hand was just inches from hers on the worn Formica.
She pulled back slightly, breaking the moment. “Whathappens now?”
“Now I talk to ‘Eugene.’ Officially. Bring him in for questioning.” Carson’s expression hardened. “And I dig into every aspect of his life until I find what I’m looking for.”
