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“No.”
“What about these side projects you do for the DOJ? What kind of exposure risk to you is involved?”
“None. I’m completely insulated.”
Bastien’s eyes flick from me to the front windows before finding my face again. “You know what this means, right? Somebody’s been watching you. Probably someone you’ve targeted before. Or maybe someone’s figured out what you’re doing and wants you stopped.”
These scenarios scare the shit out of me. I hadn’t thought them possible, but here I am. Bastien picks up on my fear and squeezes my hand. “I need you to read me in, Birdie. Tell me everything.”
Bastien
Birdie’s eyes close, and I look down at my hands, which are practically caressing her arm. I hadn’t realized it, but I’ve leaned toward her with my offer to help. Dropping her hand, I stand and clear my throat. “Birdie?”
She looks up, eyes beseeching. “Before I tell you anything, I need to know you’ll keep this to yourself. Promise me that.”
“I don’t understand, but I’ll keep your secret as long as you promise never to meet up with a target alone again.”
“Oh, god, no! Never again.”
“Good.”
I pace the floor in front of Birdie’s chair while she clutches her chest and breathes deeply. No doubt, her heart’s racing, so I give her a chance to calm down before continuing.
Eventually, the need to find this sedan overpowers my compassion. “I don’t mean to pressure you, but you need to start talking. Whoever we’re dealing with knows where you live.”
Birdie jumps at the sound of my voice, but at least I’ve got her attention. “The first thing I want to know is how robust your security system is.”
She blinks a few times before the question registers. Then Birdie raises a brow. “You do know who my boss is, right?”
Point taken. “So, your security system is good. Now, I want to know everything; how you find targets, how you communicate, and the name of every target that’s ever laid eyes on you.”
Birdie nods, and her stomach growls. I’m fully prepared to ignore my hunger, but remember she’s a civilian and more crucial to Knot’s organization than any one operative.
Her stomach growls again, louder this time. Birdie’s cheeks redden, and I can’t help the tilt of my lips. “Maybe we should do something about dinner first.”
“Oh. I picked up something—”
She reaches around to grab a pre-packaged salad from a bag next to her purse. Her fingers catch on the bag, and the bowl goes sailing, opening and scattering its contents all over the floor once it lands. Birdie utters a dirty curse under her breath, drawing a laugh from me. “Maybe spy training could wait an hour,” I tell her.
And because I can’t help it, I grab her hand again and pull her out of the chair. “Let me take you to dinner.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she blushes.
“Come on. I’m hungry, you just lost your dinner, and I owe you.” And I don’t want you out of my sight until we’ve looked for that fucking car.
Instead of accepting, Birdie pulls her hand free and enters the kitchen to get a broom and dustpan. She sweeps up the salad explosion and says, “You don’t owe me anything. Bandaging your hands is something anyone would have done.”
“You’d think so, but you’re the first.”
The broom stills, and Birdie looks up. A sadness creeps over her face, and she asks, “You mean that’s happened before?”
“A time or two,” I answer with a shrug.
To avoid any further discussion on the subject of my temper, I take the broom from her. “Tell you what. You change out of that suit, and I’ll finish here.”
Birdie accepts my offer eagerly, as if she might feel raw and exposed and need a moment to steady herself. As Birdie turns to leave, those luscious curls swish around her, ensnaring my attention and drawing my gaze down the length of her.
Like it’s impossible to imagine that a guy would have a legitimate interest in me. Her defensive words from earlier echo in my head as I watch Birdie move down the hall. I’d like to know where her low self-esteem came from because she doesn’t see what I see. The woman is beautiful, glasses included.