The Espionage Effect(64)

“In the ninetieth percentile, given the first-glance clues in that dungeon: clean room, test tubes, centrifuges…syringes. The DNA diagrams on the wall could’ve been a weaponized virus. I’d have to do some research. Can I use your computer?”

“Sure. I have to check messages first, report in.” He tossed back the rest of his espresso and headed to the sink where he washed and rinsed the small cup. Then he ripped off a section of paper towel before resting the glass upside down on it with care.

Afterward, he turned to face me, faint worry lines etched into his forehead. “Listen, about last night.”

I shook my head, dismissing his concern. Didn’t matter if the topic was his rule slipup, my breakdown, or his unexpected tenderness. The regret on his face was clear.

I swallowed down a simmering uneasiness. “No need to mention it. I won’t let it happen again.” That covered it all. I forced myself to focus on what I believed I could control. The most important thing to me was getting Alec on board with my official involvement with EtherSphere One.

If any doubt had existed that I wanted to be a spy, needed to be an instrument for revenge and justice, it had vanished last night. I’d been thrust into the realm of absolute certainty about the path I wanted to follow.

Confusion warred across his features until finally those etched lines relaxed. He gave me a curt nod. “Good. Best to keep the lines clearly drawn.”

Were we on the same page? I had no idea. But since all possibilities landed dead center in a personal minefield I was unwilling to traverse, I kept silent, intending for the meaning on my end to encompass them all.

“But you need to train me.” There. I said it.

His head twitched infinitesimally backward, eyes widening for an instant. “For what?”

Oh, here we go again. My eyes narrowed. “I had to surprise you at the party to convince you to involve me. I just connected the dots for you on how Escobar is communicating. You need me.”

One dark brow cocked up in challenge. “I don’t need you.”

“You do. Get over your pride about it. Let me help you.”

Amusement flickered in his eyes. A smile played at the corner of his lips as he crossed his arms over his bare chest and propped a hip against the counter. “No pride about it. Sound reasoning prevails. You aren’t prepared to be a field agent.”

“I know that.” Exasperated, I threw my arms wide. “That’s what I’m saying. Prepare me.”

“Impossible.”

“Bullshit.” I rarely swore, but was willing to try any tactic to break through his dense objections. “Only because you aren’t considering the possibility. How do you think I stabbed you?”

A muscle tensed in his jaw.

“Wasn’t beginner’s luck.” I turned my back to him and went to the sink. I remained silent while I repeated his anal-retentive routine: washing, rinsing, paper-towel ripping, and glass upending.

By the time I turned around, his expression had changed. It was still hard around the edges, but the slightest bit of curiosity shone in his eyes. Holding my gaze, he uncrossed his arms and braced his hands along the counter’s edge at his sides.

“Convince me.” The quiet words held a note of challenge.

Sounded like he wanted an oral dissertation, not a physical display.

Fine. Hadn’t told a soul in the world what I’d done, how I’d prepared, but if this was my résumé and job interview wrapped into one, I planned to leave no advantage unleveraged.

“After my sister was taken, not only did my parents train me to assess every situation—to anticipate risk variables, plan to thwart danger and deal with it, if necessary—I trained myself in various…skill sets.”

I paused, gauging him for interest.

His expression was unreadable. “Explain.”

“It began with archery. I threatened my parents that I wouldn’t go into third grade until they enrolled me in lessons. Within a month, my instructor unofficially pronounced me a ‘prodigy master archer.’ I kept the skill sharp by joining clubs as I got older.”

He remained silent as he held my gaze.

“Next came martial arts. Aikido, to start. I achieved First Don. Then I began training in jiu-jitsu until I received my black belt.”

“What style?”

“Jiu-jitsu? Shorinji Kan.”

He gave a barely perceptible nod. “Training for multiple armed or unarmed opponents. Focus is on awareness of the entire situation. All potential threats.”

“How I’ve been preparing all my life.”

“Anything else?”

“Volleyball,” I reminded him.

He coughed out a laugh. “Looking to play spy as a team sport?”

“No.” I arched an irritated brow, then lowered it, taking a deep breath as I willed myself to stay calm, focused. “It enhanced my ability to read people, both my teammates and the opponent. Plus it kept me in shape.” I shrugged.

His gaze traveled down my body. Not that he saw much underneath his enormous T-shirt. When a spark heated in his eyes and a corner of his mouth kicked up, I knew he saw right through it, right through me.

“That it did,” he murmured.

Determined, I pursed my lips and narrowed my eyes. Sexual chemistry off the charts? No problem. But I could ignore it. I wouldn’t let him rattle me. Not when a goal I’d been working toward my whole life, but hadn’t clearly identified until now, was within reach.