“You lost me a cool hundo, Agent Anand.”
“And what if this guy got as tetchy about losing money as that other guy back in New York did, huh?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I would have handled it.”
“How?”
Her jaw set stubbornly. “Don’t worry. Take my word for it.”
“Like your word that you wouldn’t run away?” He glanced behind them. They were still far too close to the bar and the drunk men within to feel secure, so he started walking.
She fell into step a beat later, which he was grateful for. It wasn’t like he could toss her over his shoulder and march her back to bed, like a caveman.
Actually...
He tried to banish the image of a sexy, leopard-skin toga–wearing Sejal, but alas, his childhood crush on Wilma Flintstone was far too strong. His words were sharp when he spoke. “I didn’t want to have to deal with the local police over your little scam.”
“I don’t run scams, I’ll have you know.”
“Magic. Whatever you want to call it.” He let her go ahead of him up the rickety stairs to their room, which was also a mistake, because he had to force himself not to look at the way her jeans stretched over her firm ass.
“It’s not whatever I want to call it. It’s what it is.”
And it wasgood, or at least what he’d seen was good, but he shouldn’t be complimenting her sleight of hand in his fake official capacity. “Well, you can hustle some other cheater when we part ways, how about that?”
She turned to look at him, eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Some other cheater. That’s your victim profile, isn’t it?” That sounded sufficiently FBI-ish. He opened their door.
“What victim profile?” She followed him inside their room and toed the door closed.
He lifted a finger. “Married.” Another finger. “An asshole.” Another finger. “Not very bright. Who hurt you anyway? Did some rich jerk cheat on you?” If he squinted, Krish could kind of admire her bizarre moral compass. He, too, despised cheating.
Though he didn’t know if he’d be out on the streets running nightly scams to entrap and fleece adulterers. That was a personal vendetta for sure.
She watched him with unreadable eyes, and for a second he wondered if she wasn’t going to answer him, but then she did, ignoring the second question. “Wait, is that the profile? I hope you didn’t go to Quantico for that. And it’s not a hustle, and I don’t havevictims.”
It must have been fatigue that loosened his lips next, because his words came out more harshly than he intended. “Do your parents or aunt say their crimes are victimless, too?”
He didn’t expect her face to pale. Or for him to feel like he’d slapped a puppy.
Sejal’s lips pursed in a soundless whistle. “Huh. You’re pissed, aren’t you?”
“No. I’m not.” Or if he was pissed, it wasn’t at her.
He didn’t care how she made her petty cash, and he certainly didn’t care about cheaters who were foolish enough to hand their money to a pretty woman. She wasn’t the reason he’d been run ragged lately. That was purely the fault of his brother.
No, he corrected himself. It was Cobra’s fault. He must be more exhausted than he thought, if he was blaming his poor brother. “I... I am tired. And I was annoyed to wake up and find you gone.” It wasn’t an apology, but hopefully she could read between the lines.
Silence fell between them. Sejal finally broke it. “I have insomnia sometimes. And I’m not used to sleeping in jeans.”
What do you sleep in?
Except he wasn’t going to ask that. Asking that would sound perilously close to flirting, and a flirting man he was not. Krish’s game was nil. Zero.
“I went over to have a beer and get my mind off of everything, and the next thing I know, I have a little crowd around me.” She emptied her pockets, taking out the playing cards, the hotel key, and the pepper spray he’d given her. She unzipped the sweatshirt and dropped it on the table, over the pepper spray. Her shoulders were rounded, her stance defensive. “Maybe I just wanted to feel like I was good at something.”
“What do you mean?”
