Page 108 of Player

Clarissa

We’re in like Finn now.

Exactly as we’d hoped for. With everything that’s happened—my investigation shifting to black market uranium sales, my barely surviving that horrible house explosion, us running from the mob then getting inside their organization, and everything Finn-related: his quick tongue and mean fists, his way with words and the way he handles my body—I’d be a fool to jeopardize my investigation now.

I won’t be passing on his boss’s message. Besides, what’s the worst that can happen? When the CIA takes down the main players in the uranium trade, Finn is going to get his hand slapped, followed by a gold medal, or whatever the CIA offers as recognition for work done well.

And me? This story will win me the recognition I so desperately want. Opportunities knocking and doors opening. My reporting on little Christiana’s life getting the attention in needs. My success will allow me to pay tribute by keeping her memory alive.

I smile, feeling more hopeful now than I’ve felt in ages.

Due, in part, to the man eating his breakfast in the seat across from me. God help me, but even with a mouthful of eggs, he’s beautiful. My pulse speeds up and I find myself hungry for more than breakfast. I can’t get enough of him.

“Something you want to say?” He doesn’t even look up from his plate. Does he know? Has that wicked sixth sense of his raised the alarm on how my feelings have changed? I love him. Yes. I do.

“You’re a beautiful man, Finn McDuff.”

Instead of smiling, he scowls. “I’m not.”

“So humble.”

“Being honest. There are things about me you don’t know.”

“Enlighten me. For starters, where were you born?”

“The north.”

I sigh. “Can you be more specific?”

“Can’t a bloke eat his breakfast without being harassed by a sassy reporter?”

“Fine,” I say, sipping my coffee and wondering what’s put a burr under his saddle.

“Derry,” he answers out of nowhere.

“Do you go back and visit?”

“No point. My brother Jimmy died young. My parents are long dead and buried.”

“And friends?”

“Don’t have any.”

I snort. “Now that I find hard to believe.” I take another sip of coffee then tackle a harder topic. “Why did you have me ask the tortilla woman for the daily special?”

He stops midchew, a look of disbelief crossing his expression. “You still on about that?”

“Worried your boss would raise hell if he discovered I approached you?”

“Raise hell is putting it lightly.”

I must make a weird face as I consider what I’m not telling him because his eyes narrow on me like he can smell my lie. Before he can ask, I steer our conversation away fromthatdiscussion. “You jerked off onto my stomach after calling me a cab. Not very gentlemanly of you.”

“Can we talk about Derry some more?”

I lean in. “But we’re a far cry from Antonio, aren’t we? You played me. I mean, how did I ever fall for you being that horrible a lover?”

“I’m a brilliant liar.” He chews a piece of ham then swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he does so. Watching him eat shouldn’t be such a turn on. “Truth is you shouldn’t believe half the malarkey that comes out of me mouth.”