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“Who taught you?”

Her entire demeanor switches. Her posture relaxes, and she bats her eyelashes at me. “Why were the cops shooting at you?”

I take my time answering. I’ve obviously hit a sore spot. “I don’t know that they were.”

She presses her lips together. “Is that why I’m here and not under arrest?”

I’m not going to give her any more information than I need to. “You’re here because I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

She swallows. “If I’d been arrested, I’d get to make a phone call.”

I choke on a laugh. “Go ahead. I’d love to see who’d come to get you. Your terrorist friends maybe?”

Her eyes flash with anger. “I amnotfriends with any terrorists.”

“You’re a liar,” I growl. My fist clenches, and she notices it immediately.

Her back straightens, and she slowly puts the coffee mug down, her eyes cast downward. “It’s the truth. But I guess that’s not important to you.”

I laugh too harshly. “Do you even know you’re lying?”

“I’mnotlying.”

“Define a lie.”

Her mouth parts, and she chews on her bottom lip before replying. “Something said or done in order to deceive someone or make them believe something that isn’t true.”

I lean forward so she knows I’m serious. “You can’t even look me in the eye.”

She throws her head back and laughs. “That’s amyth. Liars make more eye contact.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She shrugs. “I don’t care.”

I pick up my coffee, more to give my hands something to do than out of desire to drink it.

“Show me. Tell me something that can’t possibly be true.”

Her lips quirk, and she keeps her eyes locked on me, never moving. “I’ve never had a cup of coffee before.”

Smiling, she returns her attention to her coffee, leaving me flummoxed by her behavior.

Samantha

I should have known he’d be armed. My own tiny gun weighing down my pocket is little comfort. Not when he has his cannon strapped to his side.

How did I not notice that before?

I shiver and take a swallow of the coffee he made. It’s not terrible, and the warmth soothes the irritation of sucking in so much salty water. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him pick up the cookies and pop one in his mouth.

In response, my stomach growls, and he sounds amused as he speaks. “Dinner won’t be here for a few hours.”

I ignore him, trying to think about something other than my stomach or being trapped here with him. The robe is long enough and large enough that it covers my legs, but if I get the chance to leave, I don’t really want to do so half-dressed. “I need clothes.”

His eyes narrow, and he assesses me as if he knows what I’m thinking. “You can wait for those too.”

I huff out an irritated breath and stare straight ahead as I return to my coffee.