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“You don’t have to help us—” I start but Cruz is faster.
“It’s an order from the U.S. government.”
I’m not technically sure we have that kind of power.
There’s a grin the size of a watermelon growing on Amelia’s face. “You’re saying I’d be working for the FBI?”
“As an asset,” Cruz clarifies.
“An asset?” Amelia muses.
A lot of people are scared to help out the government, but this woman falls into a category all her own. She looks absolutely thrilled. Frighteningly so. I step in front of Amelia to block her view of Cruz. She needs to think this through before agreeing to anything.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say to her. “It’s not necessary. And it could be dangerous.”
“Please,” Amelia scoffs. “I’m not worried about a little danger.”
That’s what’s worrying me.
“You can walk out of here and pretend this never happened,” I try again.
“Oh, but it did.” She beams. “And it happened to me.” She steps closer and tiptoes her fingers up my chest. “What would you like me to do, Agent Harris?” Her eyes dart between mine, searching for something.
My heart hammers in my chest, right beneath her fingertip. “It’s up to you,” I say, as nonchalantly as possible. If it were up to me, I’d advise her to leave. Get as far away from Liam Hawthorne as possible. But something tells me she wants to do the exact opposite and nothing I say will change that.
“I’ll help you with your case,” she says. “On one condition.”
And there goes my ever-mounting stress around this woman. I clear my throat. “What’s that?”
“Can I get a badge?”
“No.” Cruz and I say at the same time.
Amelia doesn’t seem disappointed in the slightest. “It was worth a shot.”
Chapter 11
Amelia
I’m twenty-five percent sure last night was some weird messed-up dream. The other and obviously larger and more sane part of my brain is aware it wasn’t but still struggles to believe it.
I agreed to help the FBI. And the worst part? They swore me to secrecy.
Clearly, they know nothing about me or they never would have put our country in this kind of danger.
“Amelia, are you okay?” Leah asks.
“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”
She looks around the near-empty salon then back at me and lowers her voice. “Because you just told that potted plant you work for the FBI now.”
I look down to find one of the fig leaves between my hands. Seems I was petting it as well.
I shut my mouth before I give away any more national secrets. Releasing the mini tree, I walk back to my station, where I should be. “I read an article last week that said if you tell your plants funny stories every day, they become a more vibrant color and I wanted to test it out.”
Her blue eyes widen as she tries to follow my train of thought. I don’t blame her, that was a wild one.
“Okay…”
