Deadly Testimony (Safeguard #2)(25)

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 out again at the next meal.”

Isabelle’s eyes widened. “There’s a ton of them.”

“Nine here. There’s always many served with a meal.” He pulled out Korean-style chopsticks and a long-handled spoon for each of them and set them out. “She sent haemul-sundubu-jjigae as our soup. It’s a sort of spicy soft tofu stew with seafood.”

Isabelle took up a small container of rice and extended her spoon to the sundubu, catching up a small amount of broth and sipping experimentally. “It’s good.”

“There are restaurants that serve just the sundubu or with a bowl of rice and a plate of fried whole fish. But not with a full accompaniment of banchan like this.” He tried one of the banchan nearest him. “These kkwarigochujjim are very tasty. They’re steamed, seasoned shishito peppers.”

Isabelle extended her chopsticks and snagged one. “I’ve had them grilled before in other dishes, not Korean.”

He nodded. “They’re used in other cooking. Not too spicy. Good flavor.”

“What are these? Are they supposed to be cold?” She used her chopsticks to tap the side of a container.

“Eomuk-bokkeum. Spicy stir-fried fish cakes.” He raised an eyebrow. “Some people prefer not to know what they are eating before they try it.”

Isabelle seemed unfazed. “I’ll give them a try either way but I’m generally interested in what I’m eating so I can try to remember what to call it if I like it and want to find it again.”

Fair. His anger was slowly leeching away and he had to admit it’d been a long time since he’d enjoyed a meal with someone. Here, in this moment, with the dim lighting and sophisticated decor, he could imagine they were dining in privacy by choice rather than necessity. The sofa was small and as either of them reached for food, shoulders bumped and knees touched.

Every chance contact zinged through the fabric of his clothing to his skin, heightened his awareness of her.

He’d been out to dinner on dates frequently enough, to be sure. But there hadn’t been this element of exploration and discovery in the dinner.

It was pleasant. Something he found himself enjoying despite his continued concern.