Blood Trinity (Belador #1)(95)

Well at least Rambo liked Italian.

On the other side of the door was a large office space. Over to her left, a table had been set up with two place settings and chairs. She walked further inside until she saw a sideboard with food lined up.

Isak stood in front of the sideboard, preparing two plates. “Can’t believe what it takes to eat a meal with you.”

She sorted through her reactions, from trepidation to anger to annoyance to surprise, and settled on humor. She had, after all, stood him up twice. And he didn’t seem ticked off with her or threatening. But he’d still snatched her off the street.

“Kidnapping me at gunpoint puts me in such an entertaining mood. Got a movie for later?”

He glanced her way, smiling at first, then did a double take, examining her from head to toe. His gaze turned murderous and he headed for the door. “Jones is dead.”

“Jones?” She realized then that Isak had assumed his man had been the culprit behind her beat-to-hell look. “No, no, no.” She pointed at herself. “He didn’t do this.”

Isak paused in midstride and turned to stop right in front of her. He touched her face with fingers so gentle it reminded her of the wind on her cheeks at night. “Did you wreck your bike?”

“Of course not.” She’d hurt someone for scratching her baby. “Might say I had a bad day at the office.”

His eyes held a thousand questions, none of which she could answer. Especially with him standing so close and with his fingertips grazing her bruised cheek. His fingers slipped under her chin and lifted slightly. “You’re not going to tell me who did this to you, are you?”

“What would you do if I did?”

“Far worse than what happened to that Birrn demon.”

He had to be the most charming kidnapper on earth. “No, I can’t tell you. The smell of food is killing me. I’d like to wash up first.”

“Bathroom’s over there.” He pointed to a door across the room.

She backed away from his fingers and went into the bathroom, which was clean and basic. A huge mirror told her just how bad the past twenty-four hours had been if her exhausted eyes, bruised skin and ratted-up hair were any indication. She scrubbed her face, arms and exposed chest skin, removing the mud that had dried from being slammed into the ground by Tristan at the park. She braided her hair again. Not much she could do about her ragged shirt.

Stepping back into the office-dining room, she sucked in the aroma of warm lasagna again. She should refuse to eat, talk or put up with being captured, but she hadn’t eaten in so long she was getting shaky from low blood sugar.

Don’t drool.

Music played softly in the background. Just enough sound to soften the quiet edges of the room. “Nice digs. Been using Martha Stewart’s guide to kidnapping?”

The prick of smile at his lips was his only acknowledgment she’d spoken.

Maybe she should button down on the sarcasm. Best not to wake the demon-killing side of him.

“Wine?” Isak set a plate at each end of the table.

“Water, please.” She was severely underdressed in her now filthy BDU shirt that had been new twenty years ago, the running top still gritty with mud, and jeans with a tear down one leg.

Isak’s short-sleeved black dress shirt and clean black jeans fit him like a wicked whisper. She’d been right about his eyes. Blue as the ocean and set in a face that hinted of Norwegian ancestors. That would explain the genetics for a body built like a tank. He was as drool-worthy as the meal.

Those quick eyes that missed nothing met hers and saw the admiration she should have kept secret.

How many kinds of a fool was she going to be around this guy? Get your head back into save-butt gear. She shifted her attention to a safe topic. “Smells delicious.”

The smile lifting one side of his mouth should have worried her instead of kicking up her heartbeat. “Dig in.”

She lifted a fork to stab salad in the glass bowl sitting to the side of her plate. She should address standing him up the second time. “Couldn’t help missing our meeting again.”

“Business, right?”

“Yes, actually. How’d you find me?” She might have to continue meeting him if he fed her like this.

“Remember? I have friends in low places.”

“So … what? You have a complete file downloaded on me?”

“I have enough.” He ate like a man should, no holding back, but she kept catching something in his movements that argued against his earthy personality. There. When he lifted the water goblet. It fit his hand as if he was as accustomed to crystal glass as he was to eating MREs—Meals Ready to Eat—in the field.

“In that case, what’s in my file?” She pushed another mouthful of Italian deliciousness into her mouth.

“I know your name is E. Valerie Kincaid, but not what the E stands for.”

“Me either. If you find out let me know.” The aunt who’d raised her had never explained why Evalle only had the initial E and not a first name. Would Isak have found out who her father and mother were? Her aunt had never shared the name of either. She’d only told Evalle that her mother was trash and her father didn’t want her.

“Why don’t you know?”

She shrugged. “I’ve always had just E, which is why my nickname became Evalle. The woman who raised me called me E. Valerie for a while, then it morphed into E-val. You happen to find out who my father was while you were at it?”