supplies behind.
What he found instead was a series of small containers, carefully labeled, and he froze. “Where did you go for food?”
Isabelle didn’t even look up from her laptop. “Safeguard has connections to an excellent catering company in downtown Seattle. I had them deliver directly to me a couple of blocks away. That way, we don’t need to worry about room service or who made the food we’re about to eat. Standard practice for me and other Safeguard operatives on longer engagements. The shorter ones, we just don’t eat or drink anything we didn’t bring with us on the job. There should be a note in there telling us what everything is.”
Kyle wasn’t sure whether to be irritated or complimented. The contents of these bags were enough for more than one meal. “You told them my ethnic background?”
Isabelle shrugged. “I didn’t. But the owner of the catering company experiments with a lot of ethnic cuisine. She knows I’ll eat anything she sends me. No questions asked.”
Interesting. “I’m concerned about this woman having access to my personal information.”
“Not likely.” Isabelle waved a hand. “It’s not our procedure to share those. What probably happened was when she received the order from me via secure email, she contacted Gabriel Diaz to see what happened to the previous order for food that was supposed to last us several days and asked a couple pointed questions to see what else she could send. Was there anything we didn’t like? Do we have access to a microwave? Questions like that.”
“And Gabriel Diaz would’ve let her know about my ethnic background. The coincidence is a little too unlikely.” He didn’t give a shit if Isabelle was starting to get irritated at his line of questioning. They were supposed to be ensuring his safety. Obviously, there’d been issues ever since he’d gone into protective custody. This sharing of information, however benign, came across as unprofessional to him.
Isabelle sighed and stood to face him. “Most likely, she asked what type of food would be appreciated. Most likely Diaz would’ve taken a guess. I can confirm at my next communication checkpoint if necessary. But think on this—last time I headed out on a mission I got some great Brazilian dishes. The first time I met her, she packed us muffuletta sandwiches. She starts with something interesting and branches out from there. What did Maylin send this time?”
His temper cooled as he realized Isabelle still didn’t know what had been sent them for dinner. From her exasperation, and the slight edge to her voice, she was also ready to push back on him for the insinuation that she or her superior at Safeguard might have been anything less than professional.
Reaching out, he flipped the switch to the lights on the wall and ignored her glare. If he was going to eat, he was going to do so in comfort without feeling like he was under observation. The light behind her was more than enough to see by without being too much.
He approached the lower coffee table—they’d need the space to spread out properly—and motioned for her to move her laptop. Her jaw tightened but she did without comment. He started to take out the various dishes.
“Korean food, prepared in a traditional style.” He glanced at Isabelle.
She shrugged. “I haven’t had much Korean food. Not many of my coworkers have historically been as adventurous about food as the Safeguard people are.”
A shame. He was more curious as to whether she simply didn’t care what she ate or she was open to trying a variety of cuisines. He was betting the latter considering her earlier enjoyment of the chocolate beverages. She had a palette, a refined one.
He grunted. “These smaller containers are called banchan and are side dishes to accompany a main meal with rice and a soup. There’s a variety, always, and they’re meant to be shared. If we don’t finish them in one sitting, they’re to be put away to be brought
What he found instead was a series of small containers, carefully labeled, and he froze. “Where did you go for food?”
Isabelle didn’t even look up from her laptop. “Safeguard has connections to an excellent catering company in downtown Seattle. I had them deliver directly to me a couple of blocks away. That way, we don’t need to worry about room service or who made the food we’re about to eat. Standard practice for me and other Safeguard operatives on longer engagements. The shorter ones, we just don’t eat or drink anything we didn’t bring with us on the job. There should be a note in there telling us what everything is.”
Kyle wasn’t sure whether to be irritated or complimented. The contents of these bags were enough for more than one meal. “You told them my ethnic background?”
Isabelle shrugged. “I didn’t. But the owner of the catering company experiments with a lot of ethnic cuisine. She knows I’ll eat anything she sends me. No questions asked.”
Interesting. “I’m concerned about this woman having access to my personal information.”
“Not likely.” Isabelle waved a hand. “It’s not our procedure to share those. What probably happened was when she received the order from me via secure email, she contacted Gabriel Diaz to see what happened to the previous order for food that was supposed to last us several days and asked a couple pointed questions to see what else she could send. Was there anything we didn’t like? Do we have access to a microwave? Questions like that.”
“And Gabriel Diaz would’ve let her know about my ethnic background. The coincidence is a little too unlikely.” He didn’t give a shit if Isabelle was starting to get irritated at his line of questioning. They were supposed to be ensuring his safety. Obviously, there’d been issues ever since he’d gone into protective custody. This sharing of information, however benign, came across as unprofessional to him.
Isabelle sighed and stood to face him. “Most likely, she asked what type of food would be appreciated. Most likely Diaz would’ve taken a guess. I can confirm at my next communication checkpoint if necessary. But think on this—last time I headed out on a mission I got some great Brazilian dishes. The first time I met her, she packed us muffuletta sandwiches. She starts with something interesting and branches out from there. What did Maylin send this time?”
His temper cooled as he realized Isabelle still didn’t know what had been sent them for dinner. From her exasperation, and the slight edge to her voice, she was also ready to push back on him for the insinuation that she or her superior at Safeguard might have been anything less than professional.
Reaching out, he flipped the switch to the lights on the wall and ignored her glare. If he was going to eat, he was going to do so in comfort without feeling like he was under observation. The light behind her was more than enough to see by without being too much.
He approached the lower coffee table—they’d need the space to spread out properly—and motioned for her to move her laptop. Her jaw tightened but she did without comment. He started to take out the various dishes.
“Korean food, prepared in a traditional style.” He glanced at Isabelle.
She shrugged. “I haven’t had much Korean food. Not many of my coworkers have historically been as adventurous about food as the Safeguard people are.”
A shame. He was more curious as to whether she simply didn’t care what she ate or she was open to trying a variety of cuisines. He was betting the latter considering her earlier enjoyment of the chocolate beverages. She had a palette, a refined one.
He grunted. “These smaller containers are called banchan and are side dishes to accompany a main meal with rice and a soup. There’s a variety, always, and they’re meant to be shared. If we don’t finish them in one sitting, they’re to be put away to be brought
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