Page 38 of To Catch a Latte Thick as Thieves

“Personal protection device,” he corrected her. He would have continued his lecture, but he took a bite of the torte and was rendered speechless. How could anyone create such perfection? It was the perfect blend of flavors, sweet chocolate and crunchy nuts. If there was a heaven, this was it.

“Fisher?” She watched him with a small smile tipping her lips. “Fisher? Was there something you wanted to tell me?”

He dropped his fork. “Yeah.”

At his somber tone, the spark in her eyes dimmed and she plopped onto the seat across from him with a thump.

“I wish I could have told you sooner, but...” he paused. Was there a tactful way to tell a woman you’d been lying to her for days? Did Hallmark make a card for this?

“You’re married, aren’t you?” she interrupted his thoughts.

“Married? No.” He shook his head. “Nothing like that.”

“Gay?”

“No.”

“Emotionally unavailable?”

“What? No.”

“Commitment phobic?”

“Hell no!”

“Then what?” she asked, sounding exasperated.

He paused unable to think of a delicate way to put it.

“Oh, I get it. You don’t like methatway,” she said, rising from her seat. She began to swipe nonexistent crumbs from the tabletop. “Don’t wrack your brain trying to find a nice way to tell me, just say it. You think of me as a sister, and you don’t want to ruin our friendship. There. Now was that so hard?”

She began to walk away, but Fisher caught her by the wrist. He tugged her toward him. She dug in her heels. He tugged harder. Her chin was tipped up at a proud angle, but he could see the hurt in her face. It was as if every muscle had gone lax, giving her whole face a sad, wilted appearance. It broke his heart.

“Annie, sit down,” he whispered. When she didn’t appear inclined to follow his orders, he pulled her onto the chair beside him. “What I have to tell you has almost nothing to do with us.”

“Oh...Oh?” she asked. Her face flamed a vibrant shade of scarlet and she glanced at the fingers she held clenched into fists. He watched her take a deep breath and slowly release her fingers.

“You know that I work for the government,” he began, watching her face. “But do you know exactly what I do?”

“I thought you were a paper jockey for some bureaucratic office,” she said.

“Close.” He sent her a wry smile.

Now that the moment of truth had arrived, he found himself painfully reluctant to tell her. He didn’t want to hurt her. But she needed to know what was happening. Even if it meant losing her.

“I do write reports,” he said. “Some days it seems I’m wading hip-deep in paper, but my title isn’t paper jockey, it’s special agent.”

“Special agent?” She blinked at him. “That sounds ominous...like Secret Service or CIA.”

“Actually, it’s FBI,” he said. “I’m a special agent with the FBI.”

“FBI?” Her mouth popped open and her eyes grew wide. “You’re an FBI agent?”

“Yes.” He watched the emotions pass over her face like storm clouds rolling over a blue sky. He held his breath waiting for the rumble of thunder.

It never came. She sat watching him, studying him. Her gaze scrutinized him, as if trying to figure out how this new information fit in with everything she knew about him. Fisher shifted under her watchful gaze. He’d feel better if she’d just yell at him and get it over with. No such luck.

“Well?” he prompted her.