Page 20 of Avenging Jessie
Just…close.
She gave him a wry look, as if she knew it was killing him to hold back. To keep his mouth full of pastry so he didn’t insert his foot into it. A crumb stuck to her bottom lip, and he reached out without thinking—then stopped himself.
Bad idea.
He jerked his hand back, grabbed his coffee as if that had been his plan all along. “Flynn wants an update. We’ve got a call with him in less than an hour.”
Jessie wiped her mouth with the towel, then leaned back. “Figures. Can’t let us go rogue for more than six hours without reeling us back in.”
Spence offered a half-smile. “He’s just trying to keep you from assassinating a high-value target without backup.”
She shrugged. “Somebody’s gotta do it.”
He chuckled. A beat passed. Then another.
Jessie took another bite, then set down the pastry and picked up her coffee again. She didn’t drink it right away. Instead, she let her gaze slide across the table—toward his closed laptop. “He’s probably got eyes on us anyway.” She paused, then added, “Not that I blame him.”
A flicker of amusement crossed her face, but it didn’t last. Her gaze lingered again—this time more deliberate. “I noticed something on your laptop last night.”
He stiffened. “Is that so?”
“Missing persons. Is there someone you’re searching for?”
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t for a long moment. “It’s a side project. I promise it won’t distract me from this mission.”
Jessie waited. Gave him a moment. When he said nothing, she continued, her voice gentler. “We all have those, don’t we? Side projects?”
Spence’s hand tightened around the last piece of croissant. The flaky bread turned to dust in his mouth. A long beat passed between them—tense, humming with the quiet knowledge that this was not just another offhand question.
He looked up and met her eyes.
She didn’t press, didn’t push. “You don’t have to tell me, but if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”
That damn lump clogged in his throat again. He hated it. Hated how easily she could reach the parts of him he buried.
For a second, the words trembled on the edge of his tongue. But if he opened the vault—if he let Victoria’s name out into the room—it wouldn’t just be about his sister anymore.
It would be about hisfailure.
His past.
All the ways he’d let her down.
He shoved back his chair, the legs screeching against the floor. “I need more coffee,” he muttered, grabbing his cup and heading toward the counter. He’d have to brew a pot.
Jessie’s voice followed him, quiet and calm. “Thanks.”
He paused. Turned just enough to glance at her over his shoulder.
“For what?” he asked.
She joined him and began filling the carafe with water. “For taking care of me.”
The words made him pause. Jessie Mendoza didn’t say thank you for anything. She especially didn’t thank people for caring about her.
She didn’t allow people to care.
And still—she’d said it.
