“I know. That was one of the things I liked about you.”
There is something wrong with him.The thought comes to me as quickly as the re-calculation of his character does. Not the kind of wrong that makes men rant or throw things. His is quieter. Controlled. Built behind the eyes of a killer. He looks at me as if knowing I am a threat has only made the next part of our interaction more interesting.
I should find that terrifying. Part of me does, actually, but another part finds it intriguing. And that is the problem.
“You could have left me for the FBI to pick up,” I say.
“Yes.”
“You could have killed me.”
“Yes.”
“But you brought me here instead.”
“You did ask me to bring you with me, Maya.”
That amusement has returned.
“Why? Why did you?”
His silence lasts half a second, then he smiles faintly. “You are useful.”
“Try again.”
His eyes darken. “Careful.”
I pull at my wrists again, more because I need to do something than because I expect freedom. This time, though, he lets go. The sudden release almost throws me off balance. I push off his lap and get to my feet, tightening the robe around myself with more dignity than I feel. He remains seated, relaxed, one arm resting against the side of the chair as if having a furious federal agent dumped across his thighs is a normal part of his morning.
Maybe for him, it is.
The letter opener lies on the rug near his foot. He nudges it toward me with the toe of one polished shoe.
I stare at it. Then at him.
“Pick it up if it makes you feel better,” he says.
“You’re insane.”
“And?”
“You admit that very comfortably.”
“Denying obvious things is a waste of time.”
I don’t pick up the letter opener, not trusting getting that close to his foot. It feels like letting him win, but not getting kicked while I’m reaching for it is a win too. Though I am not entirely sure what game we are playing or how many times I have already lost.
I put distance between us instead, walking toward the desk, toward the files, toward anything that is not his lap and the fact that my body remembers the pressure of his hand at my waist. His gaze follows me. I feel it like another touch.
“Where are Erin and Heath?” I ask again.
“You will see them soon.”
“When?”
“When you agree to behave.”
That makes me turn on him. “Do not talk to me like I’m a dog.”
