Page 33 of Prodigal Son

“Simon,” she said, gently. “I can’t urge you strongly enough to get away from this. Tell Pseudonym that something’s come up and get out. I don’t know the extent of their resources, but I think they run very, very deep.” Government-deep, she added to herself.

He nodded, but it wasn’t agreement, more of an acknowledgement that he’d heard her.

This might actually work, she thought.

And then–

“Wait.” Fox’s chair creaked as he sat forward and put his elbow back on the table. He looked at Simon, then at her, gaze narrow.

Oh no.

“Oh,” he said, and then again, delighted now, “oh. I get it. You two were…”

When Eden sent him what she hoped was a withering look – her pulse was speeding up, high and fast in her throat – he smiled at her with all his teeth and motioned between the two of them. “You weretogether, right?”

Simon rounded on him with a, “I don’t see how that’s any of–”

“Briefly,” Eden said, and prayed she wasn’t blushing. “That’s not important–”

“Oh,” Fox said with a laugh. A cackle, really. “But it is! Little Miss Professional, coming down here like this was all part of the plan, and you just wanted to lay eyes on your expensive shag–”

This wasn’t happening.

It couldn’t be.

Damn it.

“Charlie,” she said through her teeth, cutting him off. And oh no. Too late, she realized she’d just made it much,muchworse.

Because Simon made a quiet, shocked sound and said, “Thisis Charlie?” His look spoke of betrayal.

Eden wished the floor would open up and swallow her.

It was silent a moment, the light chatter and clink of cups and hiss of the espresso machine swelling in around them to fill the gap. Fox had cut off mid-laugh, and his mouth was still open. His eyes bounced between them, and she tried, fruitlessly, to beg him with her eyes to leave this the hell alone. Just drop it.

But Charlie Fox had never left anything alone in his life. It was a very good thing he wasn’t a cat, because he would have been dead by now, curiosity overload.

Slowly – slow-motion like in a movie, a horror movie that she was helpless to do anything besides watch – his mouth closed, and then stretched wide into a wicked smile. “You told him about me?” he asked, tone smug, brows jumping.

He’d given her a lot of looks since he got back, but not that one, not yet. She hated seeing it now and realizing it still had a devastating effect on her inner composure. Swooping stomach, clenching lungs, pattering pulse: the works.

But outwardly. “I hate you,” she said.

Then she very pointedly looked away from him, back to Simon, and tried to soften her expression. Poor Simon looked gobsmacked. Just like it always had, letting Fox get involved in something had completely derailed it. They’d been doing so well there for a second: good cop/bad cop. Or maybe it was more cop/gangster. But then this reveal had come tumbling out, and now she had no idea which direction was up. Only that she had to regain control of this meeting and end it before it grew even more regrettable.

“Listen, Simon,” she said, aiming for businesslike. “Ignore him. What we’re telling you about Pseudonym is true. The target stole some incredibly incriminating evidence from them, and they will literally kill to get it back. Drop the case. Don’t get mixed up with them any more than you already are.”

His expression slowly cleared as she spoke, professionalism returning. “I trust you. But–”

“No. Just trust me.” She pushed her chair back. “For yourself, and your team, please.”

He held her gaze a long moment; emotion flicked through his eyes, one after the next, too fast to name. Finally, he nodded. “What about you? Who’s gonna make sure you don’t get killed?”

The question caught her in the ribs, a sucker-punch. She huffed out a breath that tried and failed to be a laugh. “Don’t worry about me. I always land on my feet.”

Simon sent her a sad, concerned smile. “Maybe not as often as you think you do.”

The coffeeshop was suffocating, suddenly.

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