Deep Under (Tall, Dark and Deadly #4)(26)

“That’s actually honorable,” I say, thinking of the many dinner tables with an empty seat for my father. “It was hard on us when my father was undercover.”

“It is hard on the families and I swore I’d never have one as long as I was inside the agency.” He starts to open the box and pauses. “Damn. I didn’t order any drinks.”

“I got us waters, but they aren’t cold,” I say, hating that we were sidetracked before I found out more about his family. “I have diet Pepsi in the fridge but nothing else.”

“Water is fine by me,” he says, proving once again to be pretty easy to please, and eager to get to the food. “Are you ready for the best pizza of your life?”

“I’m ready,” I say, rubbing my hands together, saying to heck with the questions, and deciding to just live in the moment and enjoy a really good pizza. “Bring it on.”

He holds up his hands, like he’s preparing us both. “I’ve been traveling so much that it’s been years since I got to enjoy this piece of heaven.” He lifts the lid and then grimaces. “They burned it. I don’t f*cking believe they burned it.” He drops the lid. “I’ve been eating at this place since I was a kid and never once have they burned my damn pizza.”

“If it’s been around that long, maybe they sold out or the owners retired?”

“Impossible,” he says, and then amends his words with, “Holy shit. The owner isn’t exactly a spring chicken. Maybe I’ve lost my favorite pizza place.” His brow furrows and he reaches into his pocket and punches in a number. “Is Adam there?” He listens a minute and grimaces. “When? Right. Well, it shows. I’m the guy from the Ritz. We just got our pizza and for the first time in twenty years of ordering there, I’m not happy. It’s ten degrees of hell it’s so burned. When can we get a new one?” He scowls. “You’re three blocks away. Yeah. No. Forget it.” He ends the call and returns his phone to his pocket. “You were right. Adam retired, and despite getting us our pizza in twenty minutes, he says it will be an hour for a new one.”

“You look so disappointed,” I say, trying not to laugh, and failing, which earns me a scowl this time. “I’m sorry,” I add, forcing a straight face. “Pizza is sacred. I’m joking around, but I get it. I love it. I need it in my life. Let’s eat it. It can’t be that bad.” I flip open the lid and stare down at the black edges of the crust. “Yikes.”

“Yeah. It’s bad.”

“But,” I say, holding up a finger. “The cheese and sauce is the best part. Let me get us some forks.”

“No need,” he says, grabbing the bag. “We have some.” He reaches inside, and hands me one, though he doesn’t look pleased about it. “It’s ridiculous to eat pizza with a fork.”

“Hey, hey,” I say. “I object to that statement. Really cheesy, saucy pizza is messy and a fork keeps me from embarrassing myself by wearing it.”

“Men do not think of such things,” he says, puffing up his chest. “That’s my Ricardo impression. You like?”

I laugh, imagining Ricardo’s mannerisms, and pointing my fork at him. “That was good. You should have been an actor.”

“I was an actor. That’s exactly what undercover work is, but now,” he holds his hands out, “what you see is what you get, and that’s exactly what I tell my clients. Unfortunately, your pizza is the same. I promised you the world’s best pizza and a man should not go back on a promise. A man says what’s he’s going to do, and then does it.”

“Per my mother, that’s actually true, but this wasn’t your fault.”

“But I’m responsible for what I promise,” he says, and suddenly, the air has shifted, thickened, and I’m not sure we’re talking about pizza.

And suddenly, I have to force air out of my lungs. “What are we talking about, Kyle?”

“Many things,” he says, his eyes lightening again, the serious moment gone without answers. He lifts his fork. “Which is why I have to save face now.”

“Save face? Over pizza?”

“Pizza is sacred. You said it yourself.”

Now I laugh. “I did say that and it is. So I guess you defiled the pizza process by not using magical powers to know that it would suck tonight.” I straighten. “I challenge you. How are you going to save face?”

He deepens his voice. “We will begin a hunt to find the best pizza in the world. A new sampling will occur nightly.”

“Nightly? And an extra hour on the treadmill will occur nightly.”

“It’ll be worth it,” he promises.

“On that you’re right,” I agree. “Pizza is actually one of my favorite things in the world, and honestly, I can’t remember the last time I ordered it at all.”

“No?”

“Michael is not a pizza guy.”

“Another reason to dislike him,” he says.

“Another?”

“He’s a kingpin, Myla. I won’t pretend to like him.”

“But you’re working for him.”

“I’m working for me. Not him. And right now, I’m working for you. We should order a new pizza from someplace else, and let you enjoy it.”