Page 13 of Phantom

“Not for a few years.”

“Did you visit for work or for pleasure?”

A pause. “Work.”

That would be the super-secret work he never talked about. I knew he’d been in the Army and then joined the CIA, but only because I’d happened to be in the room when Alaric, who owned a private intelligence agency, spilled the beans to Emmy. I also knew that Hawk had lost the rest of his team—the Phantoms—when a mission went wrong. One day, maybe he’d tell me the details himself, but until then, I wouldn’t push. Mainly because I was scared of pushing him away altogether. Navigating my way around Hawk’s psyche was like inching my way across a glass bridge—one misstep, and cracks might appear.

I kept the subject light. “I’d like to climb the Eiffel Tower and take a boat ride down the Seine. We’re meant to be riding in a boat this weekend, by the way. Do you know how to swim?”

“Why? Is the boat going to sink?”

“I hope not. What about fishing? Can you fish?”

“Not really.”

“Not really? What does that mean?”

“I once caught a barracuda with a home-made spear during a survival exercise, but I guess that’s not what you mean.”

“My sister’s fiancé has plans for a boys’ fishing trip on Friday before the rehearsal dinner.”

“I always thought fishing was just an excuse that men used to get away from their wives.”

Having spent a number of years around Odette, I honestly couldn’t blame Stu if it was.

“Do you have any hobbies apart from motorcycles?”

“Yeah, you.”

“Screwing me is a hobby?”

“I do it for pleasure.”

A hobby… I figured that sounded better than “fuck buddy” and slightly more personal than “acquaintance with benefits.” I’d take it.

“Anything else? Do you like to paint? Play the guitar? Grow your own vegetables?”

He gave that some thought. “I have a cactus on my kitchen windowsill.”

“I guess it’s a start. What about pets? Do you have any pets?”

“When I was a kid, I had a goldfish.” He smiled for a second, and then his expression clouded. “One of those motherfuckers from Dad’s MC pissed in the tank and killed it.”

Shit. “I’m so sorry.”

A shrug. “I drank four litres of soda and pissed in his gas tank. The bike stalled on I-95, and while he was waiting for the recovery truck, it got hit by a semi.”

Sheesh. “How old were you when you did that?”

“Nine or ten. Who’s taking care of your cat while you’re away?”

“Margaret, my neighbour. Basil spends half of his time there anyway, and she’ll pet him all day as long as he stays out of her yarn basket. Do you like cats?”

Hawk had scratched Basil on the head a time or two, but he’d never made any comment about him. Silence was his forte.

“Yeah. Maybe I’d get one if I had a Margaret, but I work away too often at the moment.”

“Do you have an apartment?”

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