phone away, her nerves were evident from her rapid, foggy vapor-cloud breaths in the cold night air. It was obvious enough that Emmett quietly instructed her to cover her mouth and nose with her scarf. It made her feel a bit like a train robber from the Wild West, but it worked. She appreciated the pointer.
She studied the way he moved, his effective blending of confidence and caution, and tried to emulate it as they slipped away from the marina. The flashing lights and distressed voices of partygoers faded behind them as they walked down to meet the cab.
When they were once more in the relative safety of the cab, she pulled down her scarf and grinned up at him. This kind of thing probably wasn’t supposed to feel like fun, but it was so much better than sitting at her desk watching her life tick by.
The part of her that rebelled at the thought of ditching him was positively giddy that it hadn’t come to that. She understood the logic of his plan, but it was the flash of grief in his eyes when he’d admitted he was used to it that bothered her. Whoever had left him somewhere in his past had scarred him in the process.
It made her angry on his behalf, made her want to let him know some people could be trusted to do the right thing. That was a concept he should know from working with her brother’s covert team, but she knew from William that a sense of isolation was a frequent result of long-term undercover operations.
The man was a loner. Most spies were, for obvious reasons, but she got the sense that he’d been that way long before her brother had recruited him to Mission Recovery.
“How did you land such a great job?”
She knew from the hard line of his mouth and cocked eyebrow he understood exactly what she meant. She could also see he didn’t want to tell her.
“Standard first-date question,” she teased, catching the smile on the driver’s face reflected in the rearview mirror. He wanted her to sell one picture to anyone the cops might find and question, but after he’d saved her—twice—she was determined to sell another version of their story.
He’d behaved admirably all night—the perfect gentleman and valiant defender. However he’d managed to raise Thomas’s suspicions, she knew it wasn’t as simple as Thomas might believe.
“Fair enough.” He rubbed his hands together, blowing on them as if he was chilled. “I’d finished a rather delicate piece of work during an internship in New York City. It caught some attention and a recruiter arrived. It took some convincing, but eventually I made the change.”
She knew how to read between the lines, to sort fact from necessary fiction, but usually she had a frame of reference. With Emmett, she only had the online dating profile and the knowledge that he’d been trained to lie, to adapt to the cover story when necessary and make it believable.
One day soon, assuming she survived whatever this was, she’d be doing the same thing.
She’d seen many resumes cross her desk at the office, and she understood the natural language that bolstered rather average accomplishments. With Emmett, she sensed the reverse was true. His self-reliance and swagger wasn’t all show. It was a direct result of practice becoming a string of successes.
She’d married William so young. It gave her the unique perspective of watching him change through the course of his career, especially in the early years. Those had been some rough days, being a wife and stay-at-home mother while learning how to read a husband who couldn’t discuss his day without breaking security protocols.
“A delicate piece of work” could mean anything, which meant New York might be the kernel of truth. Or the whole story might be completely false.
Emmett surprised her by taking her hand in his. “I like my job and I’ve enjoyed my time with the company. It’s been good work.”
Said like a man who didn’t think he’d be at it much longer. Already he was putting Mission Recovery
She studied the way he moved, his effective blending of confidence and caution, and tried to emulate it as they slipped away from the marina. The flashing lights and distressed voices of partygoers faded behind them as they walked down to meet the cab.
When they were once more in the relative safety of the cab, she pulled down her scarf and grinned up at him. This kind of thing probably wasn’t supposed to feel like fun, but it was so much better than sitting at her desk watching her life tick by.
The part of her that rebelled at the thought of ditching him was positively giddy that it hadn’t come to that. She understood the logic of his plan, but it was the flash of grief in his eyes when he’d admitted he was used to it that bothered her. Whoever had left him somewhere in his past had scarred him in the process.
It made her angry on his behalf, made her want to let him know some people could be trusted to do the right thing. That was a concept he should know from working with her brother’s covert team, but she knew from William that a sense of isolation was a frequent result of long-term undercover operations.
The man was a loner. Most spies were, for obvious reasons, but she got the sense that he’d been that way long before her brother had recruited him to Mission Recovery.
“How did you land such a great job?”
She knew from the hard line of his mouth and cocked eyebrow he understood exactly what she meant. She could also see he didn’t want to tell her.
“Standard first-date question,” she teased, catching the smile on the driver’s face reflected in the rearview mirror. He wanted her to sell one picture to anyone the cops might find and question, but after he’d saved her—twice—she was determined to sell another version of their story.
He’d behaved admirably all night—the perfect gentleman and valiant defender. However he’d managed to raise Thomas’s suspicions, she knew it wasn’t as simple as Thomas might believe.
“Fair enough.” He rubbed his hands together, blowing on them as if he was chilled. “I’d finished a rather delicate piece of work during an internship in New York City. It caught some attention and a recruiter arrived. It took some convincing, but eventually I made the change.”
She knew how to read between the lines, to sort fact from necessary fiction, but usually she had a frame of reference. With Emmett, she only had the online dating profile and the knowledge that he’d been trained to lie, to adapt to the cover story when necessary and make it believable.
One day soon, assuming she survived whatever this was, she’d be doing the same thing.
She’d seen many resumes cross her desk at the office, and she understood the natural language that bolstered rather average accomplishments. With Emmett, she sensed the reverse was true. His self-reliance and swagger wasn’t all show. It was a direct result of practice becoming a string of successes.
She’d married William so young. It gave her the unique perspective of watching him change through the course of his career, especially in the early years. Those had been some rough days, being a wife and stay-at-home mother while learning how to read a husband who couldn’t discuss his day without breaking security protocols.
“A delicate piece of work” could mean anything, which meant New York might be the kernel of truth. Or the whole story might be completely false.
Emmett surprised her by taking her hand in his. “I like my job and I’ve enjoyed my time with the company. It’s been good work.”
Said like a man who didn’t think he’d be at it much longer. Already he was putting Mission Recovery
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