“I know who you are.”
He paused and tilted his head like he really wasn’t sure. “How?” His jacket gently flapped when he adjusted his bag, and I saw my chance to really take the upper hand.
I stepped forward, reducing the space between us and feeling the warmth of his body. Another whiff of his clean scent hit me, and I wondered what I smelled like after donning clothes stuffed in a backpack and taking a cross-country flight.
“Well, first, you called me by a name that until eight hours ago was hidden in a locker only two people know the combination to. So, you either intercepted some highly classified information, or you’re already privy to said information.”
He blinked long lashes at me, looking legitimately surprised, and I felt a pang of tenderness at his innocence.
And then I dove on my opportunity.
Without dropping his eyes, I reached my hand out to his hip. Quicker than a lightning crack, I breached the warm pocket of air stuck between his jacket and torso. My fingers tingled when they brushed the smooth fabric of his shirt then closed around cold metal. My heart hit my ribcage in a thrilling surge both at what I was doing and at the fact I was so close to him. Before he knew what had hit him, I pulled his gun from its holster and held it between us, pointed at the ceiling.
“And then there’s your gun.” I gave him a sly grin. “Standard DSA issue,” I said, glancing at the markings and happy to see I was right. In truth, I hadn’t been one-hundred percent sure until that moment.
He sucked in a breath and reached for it like a kid grasping at a loose balloon string.
I yanked it away and handily released the clip with a few clicks. I knew how to handle a gun long before I became the DSA’s errand girl. I held the disassembled parts in each hand with a smug grin. “What, did you graduate the Academy last week? Gotta be quicker than that, ace.”
His dagger cheekbones spotted red, and the soft curve of his lips went thin and colorless.
My smile grew bigger. “And I also know you’re left-handed, but now I’m just showing off.” I nodded at the holster on his left hip and handed him the pieces of his weapon. I brushed my hands together and pivoted toward the kitchen.
The sharp click of a firearm being reloaded rang out behind me. His footsteps quickly followed.
“You can’t tamper with DSA equipment,” he said, flustered.
I swung open the fridge and found a modest offering: milk, butter, something green and leafy in the crisper, apples, a brick of cheese, and a dozen eggs. I reached for the cheese and an apple, then started opening cabinets, looking for the pantry.
“If thatisactually a crime, I suggest you keep a closer eye on your equipment, so you don’t get us both in trouble.”
I caught his frown from across the room. He holstered his gun and placed his messenger bag on the table. In the third cabinet I tried, I found some pantry staples: rice, beans, canned soup, cooking oil, and what I had come for: a box of crackers. I dumped a pile on a plate, found a knife, and carried the first meal I had had since New York to my new dining table.
The man in the suit, who still didn’t have a name, cautiously watched me slice the cheese. The pointy little paring knife washardly longer than my finger, but I enjoyed the look on his face at the sight of it in my hand. Just for fun, I deftly twirled it like a small propeller and then sliced the apple with five quick cuts in as many seconds, and let it fall open like a star on the plate. I picked up a wedge and bit it with a chunk of cheese. “Want some?” I asked, pushing the plate toward him.
He stared at me both like I was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen and like he was a little afraid.
“When is Wallace getting here?” I asked around a slice of apple.
The pause was not long, but it was palpable, and it shot a bolt of concern straight up my spine. Wallace always met me at a new job. Every time. Landing in the gorgeous neighborhood already felt off, and now his absence had me feeling like I was standing on a tilted floor.
The man stuck out his hand. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”
I chewed and swallowed my apple slice. “Byfootdo you mean that I disarmed you in under ten seconds and then made you a snack?”
His frustration was obvious and damn it, if it wasn’t charming. I sensed a balance in him, a softness and a strength, and I hazarded a guess based on his size and shape coupled with the way he was trying to look authoritative but coming off endearing instead that he struggled to keep that balance from tipping too far in one direction.
“I’m Agent Bray. Calvin Bray.”
“Nice to meet you, Cal,” I said, trying to keep my cool over the strange situation. “I assume you know my real name, but you’ll be calling me Lauren for the duration of this flight, wherever it is we are headed.” I plopped another chunk of cheese in my mouth. “And again, I ask, where’s Wallace?”
My feigned indifference to a new identity bounced off himlike a rubber ball. His eyes softened. “This must be hard for you. Moving around all the time.”
A fiery lump lodged in my throat and almost made me choke. He held my gaze with a look I never once saw in Wallace’s eyes—in anyone’s, really, perhaps save my mother, but those memories were distant and clouded at best. No one ever took the time to care. And now this agent fresh from the Academy with bottomless eyes and kiss-me lips was staring at me like he wanted to read my diary.
I forced the cheese down with a painful swallow and smiled. “This must be your first time working with a CI. We can’t afford to have feelings.” I took the knife to the cheese block with an aggressive whack, which made him lean back. “Speaking of business, are you going to tell me why I’m here? And where Wallace is?”
Memory of my phone call in the small hours of the night came back to me. The whistling wind, that cracking sound, the hitch in Wallace’s breath. The way he’d called me Erin. All of it was off, and pairing it with his absence had me fighting to hide my nerves.
