Page 4 of Secret Mission

She doesn’t just look ethereal, she wears her exhaustion like a veil.

“Who are you?” she asks instead of answering my question.

This biting demand comes just about the time I’m turning from stunned to angry myself.

Not angry.

Furious at myself for harboring the feelings the woman evokes. “Our team’s been looking for you.”

She flinches, but holds my gaze with a wary focus. “I know.”

I’m not really sure what the fuck is going on here—the tension snapping between us—but an uneasy feeling works its way into my gut right alongside the paralyzing grief that’s been there for too fucking long.

She tightens her hold on herself. “It’s all a scam.”

Hm. Weird remark.

Unconsciously, I get close enough to reach out and grab her if she decides to take off. “What’s a scam?”

“All of it. Whatever my father told you.”

I’m not sure why, but her attitude is all over my last nerve for no good reason. Or maybe for every good reason. But there’s a tornado inside my head right now, and I can’t see clearly for the debris.

“Oh, really?”

The woman stares at the center of my chest as if there’s something interesting there. Maybe the black, smoking cavern where my fucking heart used to live.

If she stares long enough, she’ll probably see a curl of smoke.

The wholenot meeting my gazeirritates me too.

Women look at my eyes and fall in. That takes care of the other mixed-bag of body language my soulless carcass gives off.

“Hey, I’m up here.”

She mutters, “Tall men are such tools.”

I smirk at that stab. Don’t know about all tall men, but I’m well acquainted with my assholeness. I pull it out regularly.

“I know a few remarks about blonde women. Shall I share?”

Boring her gaze into my pecs, she sighs dramatically. “Spare me. I’ve probably heard them all, and something tells me you’re not very original. The taller they are, the smaller the brain.”

Oh, damn. This woman’s got a razorblade behind those straight white teeth.

“Okay, let’s cut the bullshit. Where have you been?”

Shifting between her feet, she frowns, causing a crease between her delicate brows. “Around.”

“Cut the cryptic.”

Way to live up to her expectation that I’m a tool.

Grumbling, I jerk my chin toward the party of onlookers that are leaving this shit up to my ass like I’m the greeting committee and interrogation team all rolled into one.

“Come with me.”

She takes a step back, glancing around nervously. “No, I should go.”