“What are you making?”
“I don’t know yet.” She brought the knife down with enough force to cause serious harm to the wooden cutting board.
“Is that how recipes work?”
“It’s how this one works.”
At the risk of bodily harm, he took a step closer. “Stina.”
She slammed the knife on the counter and turned to him. “Do you have a reason for coming in here and bothering me, Rome?” Her chin dipped a little.
There it was.
The crack.
She didn’t cry or try to escape, but she gave him a small peek into her true state of mind.
“I just came in to see you.” He inched closer.
She shot him a warning look. “If you ever bothered to show me the nice big-brother side you’re known for around here, I might let you stick around.”
He moved in. “You don’t want me to be your big brother, Stina.”
She gripped the edge of the counter as if she needed it to stay on her feet. Or keep from throwing herself in his arms.
Maybe that was just his ego talking, but he recognized the signs—the light flush beneath her skin and her breaths coming faster.
She tipped her head to meet his stare. “You think you know what I want?”
He closed his hands on her waist and closed the gap between them. “I’m confident I do.”
Her laugh came out sharp and humorless. “Then are you going to give meanswers? Because that’s what I want, Rome.Answers.”
The question lay between them, but he didn’t move away.
Stina folded her arms, the gesture more defensive than defiant. “What is going on with the threat? Who’s after us? Are they after me more than Jolie? Am I ever getting my life back, or am I supposed to live down in this tunnel forever while everyone tells me to be patient?”
His jaw tightened.
She wasn’t done.
“How long am I supposed to do this? No phone, no work, nolife. No answers. Every time I think I understand one piece of the puzzle, three more holes open with nothing to fill them. The restaurant guy. Jolie’s kidnapper. Dead agent. Guys chasing us through Chicago. Now I’m supposed to just chop onions and pretend this is normal?”
He released a slow breath. “No one expects you to think this is normal.”
Truth was, he didn’t have an answer, and that bothered him more than he wanted her to see. She’d been here for weeks andthey didn’t seem to know much more than they had the day he forced her to wear the blackout hood.
Rome was good at spotting patterns and making them work. But he couldn’t make sense of Stina’s case within the bigger picture.
He looked into her eyes and told her the only thing he knew. “I’m not going to lie to you.”
“Refreshing.” She pushed an errant curl off her face.
“We don’t know who’s behind this yet.”
Her expression flickered. She glanced down at the mangled herbs. “Great.” Sarcasm didn’t fill her tone—exhaustion did.
His attention shifted, and he stopped seeing the mess in the kitchen and started looking at the pattern.
