Where she looks. How she handles the pressure. Whether she can draw information from men who think she has been reduced to something decorative. Whether her anger sharpens her abilities or exposes her.
I watch in the reflection as she says something to Alistair that I cannot hear. I see the shape of her mouth change, and the slight tilt of her head.
Leon says, “Are you listening?”
“No.” I look back at him. “You were talking around the point. Continue when you find it.”
His expression falters, and color rises faintly along his neck. Behind me, Alistair leans closer to Maya. His fingers remainaround her wrist. And I take one sip from my drink to distract myself, the sharp bittersweet taste of the alcohol helping me concentrate.
“Someone interrupted the transfer and removed those assets from my control,” Leon says. “I want to know who.”
“There were many interruptions that night.”
“This one was specific. Intentional.”
“Then perhaps your men should have been trained better.”
His eyes harden at the critique. “My men were busy with the FBI.”
“Everyone was busy with the FBI. Some still managed to leave with what they wanted.” Leon’s gaze flicks toward Maya again, faster this time. He respects the warning enough not to linger. Smart.
“I lost more than inventory,” he says.
I set the glass aside. “What exactly did you lose, Leon?”
His face reveals nothing as he responds to the push, “As I said, assets.”
“And you don’t know who has them?”
His mouth thins.
The twins are still leverage. Not because he loves them. Because someone took what belonged to him, and he doesn’t know whose hand to sever for it. Pride will do what fatherhood didn't. Pride will bring him close.
But Maya will bring him closer. She will not allow herself to fail those children, which makes her far more committed than Leon. It also makes her more vulnerable.
In the reflection, I see Alistair’s hand slide from her wrist to her forearm. My grip tightens around nothing, fingers flexing against my own skin. Maya’s smile changes. A less observant man would miss it. Alistair certainly does.
He sees a woman tolerating him because she has been trained by rooms like this to survive first and retaliate later. He doesn’t see the agent calculating witness lines and usable force. He doesn’t see the sister of a dead woman measuring whether the information is worth the contamination of his hand.
Leon continues talking, and I push the sound of his voice out of focus and keep my eyes on the reflection. Maya leans back by half an inch. Alistair follows, pursuing her in the small space, and I stand.
Leon stops mid-sentence. “Where are you going?”
“To correct a mistake.”
His eyes narrow. “What mistake?”
I leave him behind the partition. Careful not to hurry. Hurry tells a room that something has gone wrong. I move through the VIP area as if returning to my table, my jacket falling just enough to hide the draw of the gun beneath it. Omar sees me from the lower bar and shifts his attention immediately, but I give him no signal to interfere.
Alistair is mine.
His voice reaches me before I reach him. “Maybe I want to see what he paid for.”
My gun is in my hand before the last word finishes. I see Maya’s fingers beneath the table, closed around a fork, and I realize she is only a matter of seconds away from stabbing him herself. Which pleases me more than it should.
I step behind Alistair and place my left hand on his shoulder like we are old friends. His body stiffens beneath the weight of my palm. He understands the pressure there before he understands the weapon that presses against his side, the barrel settles low against his ribs, hidden beneath my jacket, and the angle of my body.
Maya sees it.
