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He finished off the croissant. He’d left a little spot of chocolate on his lower lip. Not that I was staring at his mouth or anything.

He looked around the café and then lowered his voice. “My specialty is deception. And because I’m so good at it, I’m also excellent at spotting spot deceivers and liars.”

I wasn’t sure if he was teasing or serious. “That’s definitely a useful skill to have if you want to be an operative.”

“Yes, it is. Let’s just say I have a good understanding of human psychology. Within a minute, I can tell a lot about a person—marital status, occupation, hobbies, desires and needs.”

“That’s a pretty bold claim. You sound like an armchair psychic.”

That made him chuckle. “I can back it up. Let’s take you, Angel Sinclair. Red hair, the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen, a cautious nature, and a mind like a steel trap. That’s a lot packed into a small body. You’re a careful observer, but you don’t say much. Add to that, you have unswerving loyalty, naïveté, stubbornness, and a logical perspective on the world. You’ve also got a temper when pushed—the red hair gave that away—and you’re slow to trust.”

“Wow.” I clapped. Definitely an armchair psychic. “Anyone can play that game, Jax. But you get points off because the red-haired claim is stereotypical.”

“Okay, then tell me it’s not true. Just remember, I’m good at spotting liars.”

I pursed my lips at him and stayed silent.

He grinned. “But you…what is it about you, Red?”

“You may not be as good at psychology as you think. I’m an open book.”

“Not completely. I’m exceptionally sensitive to moods, facial expressions, and even mutual feelings of attraction. But there’s a wall around you.”

I let my gaze rise to his, meeting the fiery green of his eyes. “What do you really want from me, Jax?”

He finished his coffee and set down the mug. “I’m not sure yet. But trust me, when I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

CANDACE KIM

NSA Headquarters, Fort Meade, Maryland

Candace caught Slash’s eye as they were walking out of the director’s weekly stand-up meeting. He gave her an imperceptible nod. After chatting with a couple of assistants, she returned to her office and waited. Ten minutes later, Slash sat in her visitor chair.

“You’ve got news?” he asked.

“Yes, and not the good kind,” she replied. “We have a problem. The terrorist networks given to us by Sinclair in his last communication have suddenly vanished. They stopped returning to the two hideouts they were using and faded away. We were following one individual who took a sudden flight to São Paulo and then eluded our contacts there. The others were going about their normal business and never returned. They were tipped off.”

“By whom?”

“I don’t know, but people are speculating it was Sinclair.”

“Why would he do that?” Slash frowned. “That makes no sense. He wouldn’t jeopardize the immunity deal when he’s so close, and he’s never done anything like that in the past.”

“I know, but people are arguing this is proof that they can’t trust him, and with the evidence of good faith gone, we should cancel the deal. The Justice Department is getting jittery about the latest development. It’s taking everything I’ve got to calm everyone down. What do you think?”

“I think it stinks.”

“I agree. Someone is purposely sabotaging our efforts to bring him in, and my number one suspect is Isaac Remington. Did you come up with anything involving the Ahab/pope connection?”

“Nothing.” Slash rubbed his hand against his stubbled jaw, thinking. “Would you send me the transcripts of all the correspondence we’ve had with Sinclair? He’s a cryptologist by training, so we should think like one when we’re trying to decode whatever message he might be sending.”

“I’ll have everything to you by tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you. When’s the next communication scheduled with him?”

“Four days. I don’t even know if I should tell Sinclair what’s happened. Right now, I’m leaning toward keeping it quiet and seeing if he brings it up. It may give us some insight as to his mind-set.”