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Her rosy lips curve into a broad, appreciative smile.

Fuck.

This is not going to be easy. Or worse, it will be too easy, and then what? I’ll arrest her for aiding and abetting the Russians, that’s what.

“How many?” A perky woman in a black headset looks up from a map of the place, and I memorize it in less than five seconds.

“Four,” Pierce pipes up.

“It’s a fifty-minute wait for a table, but there’s space at the bar.”

“Bar sounds perfect,” June says.

“Bar will be perfect.” I smile.

She squeezes my arm again, and I close my eyes briefly. Then shaking myself mentally, I flash another smile to the hostess, steering June to a four-top table in the bar area.

Pierce and Charlie pull up two empty stools, deep in conversation as June climbs onto a chair. She wrinkles her nose at the sticky spilled drinks coating the surface.

I’ve been tailing her for ages, and I’m still surprised at all her little quirks. Her purse on her lap, her ankles crossed neatly, the picture of a total prissy princess… yet I can’t help but follow the lines of her legs until they disappear under her tight black skirt.

This is wrong. Both my attraction to her, and how she’s acting.

It’s all sorts of wrong for someone who just went through what she did.

Her behavior—her reactions—don’t make sense. The two women are acting like nothing is wrong, and they just ran over a man. A man who pointed a gun at them.

I don’t expect Charlie to react, but June? If June is who she claims to be, just a civilian researcher, then she’s taking this way too in stride.

There’s no way she isn’t in bed with the Russians, just like her dad was.

“Everything okay?” June asks. Her forehead is adorably crinkled, and if I didn’t know better, I would almost think her concern was real.

“Yeah,” I tell her. I make myself smile at her. “I’m gonna go grab us some drinks,” I announce, looking around at everyone. “Whaddya want? And uh?—”

“I’m Charlie,” Charlie unnecessarily announces. Right. Because I’m not supposed to know her. Goddammit, I’m distracted. She wiggles her fingers in greeting, a familiar lopsided grin on her face. “I’ll take whatever June’s drinking.”

“Beer for me, anything on tap,” Pierce says, barely taking his eyes off his current target, Charlie Abbot.

Jesus. Apparently, Charlie’s just as good at wrapping men around her finger as she is at everything else.

Can’t say I regret hiring her… even if her methods are unconventional.

“Something strong,” I say, mask firmly in place. “That I can do.”

June presses a finger to the sticky spot on the table. Her lip curls up in distaste and she casts a desperate look around.

“I’ll see about getting the table cleaned up, too.”

She sighs, relaxing back into the chair.

“That would be freaking great.” Her eyes dart over the faces in the bar. Like she’s keeping an eye out for something. Someone.

I use the mirror behind it to keep an eye on the table. Brightly painted wooden fish hang in schools from the ceiling. The airconditioner sends them swinging on their clear fishing line, slightly impacting my view.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asks.

“Two margaritas, two Shiners, and four shots of tequila, please.” It’s a bit much, but tequila seems like a good choice. It's strong. Plying June with alcohol for information might feel wrong, but it’s a good course of action.