Deadly Testimony (Safeguard #2)(15)

He’d have to look into who supplied Safeguard with their catering. The person, or Isabelle, had good taste.

Spreading out the fixings, he set about making himself a sandwich. He also wrapped up everything again but left it all out so Isabelle could easily put together her own. He’d have made one for her but he didn’t know her tastes yet and wanted to see what she made for herself. Besides, observing her had proven a definite pleasure.

She was exceedingly expressive when conversing with him. Or perhaps he’d exaggerated his perceived difference between her stoic professional demeanor with the officers and deputy marshal and her somewhat startled reactions to him. With the others, she’d tended to set her jaw in a stubborn way. As if she was preparing to take on any pissing contests to come her way, and they were a certainty rather than a possibility.

He wasn’t sure if she’d noticed the difference in her own behavior yet, but he was hoping she would allow it to continue. Otherwise, she’d be every bit as boring as every other person assigned to protect him.

And really, he couldn’t afford to be bored. It’d lead to too much thinking about things he couldn’t take action on until after this entire mess was behind him.

The phone she’d left for him was on the table. She’d asked him to leave his personal electronics back at the Safeguard offices. However inconvenient, the precaution was understandable. He had the critical information he needed for the next several days at least. Never would he admit the twitch he experienced, habitually reaching for his smartphone.

He glanced at the screen of the loaned phone to quickly scan the incoming text from her and moved to the door. As she’d instructed, he stood to the side rather than in front of it and listened for her.

“Here.” Her voice whispered through the door, just loud enough to be heard.

He undid the dead bolts—really, why were there more than one—and let her into the room.

She entered, her dark gaze sweeping around the apartment and cataloging everything in sight. “Sorry, took a minute or two longer than I’d intended.”

“A minute or two is inexcusable.” He smiled at her.

Her brows wrinkled for a moment before she registered his sarcasm and let out a quick sigh as she turned and relocked the door. “In a lot of cases, it is.”

So serious. He searched her expression. Her lips were pressed together and her eyes weren’t focused on him anymore. Instead, there was the barest moment in which she was lost in memory.

“In this case, I think the worst consequence might be cold coffee.” He regretted having brought up unfortunate recollections. Everyone had them. He made it a practice not to delve into his if at all possible so bringing them up for someone else wasn’t something he did purposely.

“The cups are decently insulated.” She moved to the small table and set down the cup carrier.

He followed, stepping into her personal space by a couple of inches to see if she got standoffish. She didn’t back away but she turned immediately to face him and glare. He prudently held up his hands and stepped to the side to give her room, but he wasn’t about to back away from the cups she’d brought.

Enticing scents rose up to tease him. Decadent chocolate and rich cream were cut and complimented by the bittersweet, slightly nutty aroma of coffee. Wherever she’d picked these up, these drinks were worth their fluid weight in gold if the taste was as good as the smell.

She lifted a regular twelve-ounce cup. “Coffee. Dark roast. Sweetened with raw sugar. The store included a few extra packets in case it isn’t sweet enough, I guess.”

The packets were laid flat in the well of the cup holder. Good eye. He hadn’t even noticed them.

“I’m assuming at least one of those is your hot chocolate.” He took the coffee from her before he managed to rile her up enough to toss it at him. He’d made that mistake in the past with another woman.

“Mmm.” But she didn’t lift the smaller cup to her lips. Instead she held it out to him, as well. “Drinking chocolate, also known as sipping chocolate. Not hot chocolate. I’m a firm believer in everyone trying it from this place.”

He raised an eyebrow but took the cup from her. It was about the size of an espresso cup. To go. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, Mr. Yeun.” She took the last, espresso-sized cup and headed to the armchair in the corner. Then she breathed deeply of the aroma wafting from her prize.

“Kyle, please. No reason we can’t be on familiar terms even in strained circumstances.” It would actually help put him more at ease.

She nodded in acknowledgement but her attention seemed to remain on her precious cup, taking tiny sips and savoring.

Curious, he followed suit. Chocolate. Cream. More complex subtlety than he’d expected though with undertones of sweetness and bitterness. “What’s the difference between drinking chocolate and hot chocolate?”

Her eyes were half-hooded as she sipped. For a second, it didn’t seem as if she’d answer him, but then she did. “Different ratio of chocolate to milk for one thing. And drinking chocolate doesn’t have cocoa powder at all, I don’t think. Some hot chocolate mixes are nothing but or a mix of cocoa powder and shaved chocolate.”

Amusement bubbled through him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d competed against food for a woman’s attention and lost. Here, with Isabelle Scott, there wasn’t even a competition. And he was not coming out the winner.