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It seems too good to be true, when the woman simply tells her that family comes first. And that they hope grandma makes a smooth recovery.

Meera thanks her with warmth that hasn’t reared its head with me just yet, and maybe not ever.

“I’ll have to add what a good little liar you are to your file,” I cluck into her ear.

“And then you can shove that file up your a—Hi, Priya!”

I wince at the high, effusive pitch her voice takes on. Now, I can hear the nerves. Really? With a kid? One would think it’s easier to dodge one than an adult.

“Ms. Gallagher, thank God,” an impossibly girlish voice says on the other end. The relief wafting from the words is unmissable. “Where have you been? Mr. Patterson barreled through the electron transport chain in like thirty minutes, and I don’t think anyone knows what’s happening anymore!”

Okay, I snort to myself. So, she’s been intercepted by a nerd.

“Something’s come up, sweetheart,” Meera says, sounding genuinely regretful. “What specifically lost you?”

The kid doesn’t even miss a beat. “The proton gradient!”

“Okay, come here. You have something to write with?”

There’s rustling. Then Meera’s voice pitches lower, soothing, while she talks the girl through something that sounds fucking complicated. It goes right over my head. I hear something about a synthase, and know I don’t care. What isn’t so effortless to dismiss is the quality of attention Meera dotes on a random student with. She must have many of them, and the way she gives time to this girl, you would think she’s the only one Meera teaches. It’s admirable. Anyone would be able to see that.

She breaks down and rebuilds Priya’s understanding of the topic from scratch, taking it brick by brick, until the girl says, “Oh! Oh, okay, that actually makes a lot of sense when you put it like that.”

I’ll have to take her word for it.

“You’re doing great, Priya. I promise. You have to learn to take it a little easier, sweetheart,” Meera cajoles, and there’s such tenderness cocooning the words.

There’s a pause. Then, the kid asks, “Are you okay, Ms. Gallagher? You seem kind of—”

Meera insists, “I’m okay, sweetheart. Just some personal stuff going on. Don’t you worry about me. You go on. You don’t want to be late.”

Footsteps scurry away. Meera breathes heavily, like releasing a trapped breath, and the sound of it rattles down the line. I’m about to say something—what, exactly, I’m unsure would make her feel better—when Harvey’s voice interrupts. “Boss.”

I cover my mic. “What is it?”

“Grey sedan’s been idling at the end of the block. It pulled up maybe a minute after we did. Nobody’s gotten out. Two in the vehicle.”

“Lebedev is assigned to the east block. Send him in. Tell him to walk up easy. I want the plate, and I want a clear shot of whoever’s inside.”

In my ear, Meera says, anxiously, “I’m heading back out. Please don’t shoot anyone.”

“You’re fine,” I tell her, though nothing is. I bite back the urge to tell her to stay the fuck inside the building until I’ve confirmed who the fuck’s parked across from it. And what they want from her.

In my periphery, I see Lebedev peel off the far corner, his hands in his jacket pockets, sauntering with a casual stance. He passes as a bystander, no problem. He doesn’t even look right at the sedan.

It happens in tandem: Meera opens the door, Lebedev gets within thirty feet, the sedan pulls out. There’s no peeling away with a vicious, chaotic screech of tires. The vehicle merges into the thin morning traffic smoothly, like nothing is amiss. But it doesn’t feel that way.

In fact, it feels like a confirmation when Harvey says, “Lost it, boss. He said the windows were tinted entirely. Couldn’t make out the driver.”

Fuck.

She’s involved in this. I look at her, waiting for fucking something in her face to betray her one way or another. But Meera only looks utterly confused. “What?” she asks, edged with defensiveness.

I think about telling her. Maybe if I point it out as the latest example of why she’s safer with me—in the case that she’s not, by some stroke of luck, related to the fucking mole—she’ll stop looking at me like I’m scum.

But I don’t say a word as Harvey peels the car away from the curb.

Chapter 10 - Meera