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He holds out a note, a wry expression on his face. “Looks like we’ll be cooking a few meals. Hightower had a surplus of venison.”

I peer into the bag and jerk back as I spy the mass of ground meat. “I don’t cook. And if I did, it wouldnotbe that.”

He mutters under his breath and hauls out a box of cereal. “Too bad. I make a mean bowl of chili, and there’s a game on.”

I choke out a laugh. “That’s your idea of fun?”

He jerks back as though I’ve slapped him. “Just trying to make the best out of a bad situation.”

My brow knits as I shake off his bizarre comment. There is nothing that will make this better.

As he tackles one bag, I examine the contents, growing more irritated with each item. “They expect us to live on burgers, corn, and salad?”

Mick holds up a package of tortillas. “And tacos. Don’t forget tacos.”

With a half eye roll, I grab a bag of chips and toss it on the counter. “This isn’t a sleepover, and I can’t live on junk food.”

His eyes sweep over me before he peers into the remaining food sack. “Looks like you don’t have to.” He slides it toward me, and as I peer inside it, my annoyance lessens.

Whoever Hightower are, they did a better job of choosing the food than they did my clothing. Aside from tuna steaks, there are crawfish, mangos, passionfruit, papaya, apples, and bananas, along with citrus fruits, avocado, asparagus, and strawberries.

It’s uncanny. Almost as if someone knew exactly what I’d like to eat. Given that Mick’s already ripped open a box of cereal, they had an idea of what he likes to eat for breakfast too.

I grab a banana and peel it. “How well do you know… Hightower?”

He grabs two bowls and, without asking me if I want any, pours two servings. “Well enough.”

He douses his cereal in half-and-half then slides the carton toward me. “Coffee?”

Nodding, I pick up my bowl and my banana and take a seat at the table. As he puts the food away as though we’re on vacation and not in danger, the awkwardness only increases.

I cram a spoonful of cereal into my mouth and chomp my way through it, thinking as I chew. “But you don’t work for them. You’re Coast Guard.”

He scratches his chin and leans against the countertop, spooning his cereal into his mouth as we wait for the coffee to brew. “Is that a question or your way of letting me know you haven’t forgotten I saved your life yesterday?”

At the quirk to his lips and the creases around his eyes, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out he’s joking. I can do humor. What I can’t figure out is why he seems lighter this morning. Almost as if a weight’s been lifted from him.

“Neither. I’m trying to figure outwhyyou’re here with me, and not doing your job.”

His brow creases, and the mirth slips away. “Since you’re in the mood to chat, how about you tell me when you started making money off of innocent men.”

“They were hardly innocent.”

He shakes his head. “Unsuspecting. You like that better?”

I purse my lips then take another mouthful as a means to ignore him.

But he’s not giving up. He carries his bowl over to the table and sits opposite me. “Do you ever pity the guys you con?”

I glare at him. “Isn’t the coffee brewed yet?”

He stares up at me as he shovels cereal into his mouth. “Did someone teach you to do it, or is it instinct?”

I drop my spoon with a clatter. “What do you want me to say? That with you it was different, that I felt guilty? Well, Ididn’t.” To emphasize my point, I lean closer and jab my finger into the air. “If I don’t do it, someone else will, and that person is probably a whole lot worse than I am.”

“That’s how you justify it? By comparing yourself to othercriminals?”

I shrug and pick up my spoon. “Everyone compares themselves. Evencriminals.”