Page 37 of Choosing Stella

“That face says something.”

“You were funnier when you were accusing me of imprisoning you.”

“I wasn’t accusing you. I was gathering information.”

I raised an eyebrow.

She smiled.

“See? I can do your job too.”

“You’re terrible at my job.”

“You’ve known me three hours.”

“Exactly.”

She shook her head and carried her bag down the hall.

I went into the kitchen.

The safe house stayed stocked because empty refrigerators were useless during emergencies. I heated soup, added bread and sliced turkey to the table, then poured two glasses of water.

Stella returned without her jacket.

Without her jacket, the charcoal shirt showed the line of her waist.

Stella sat.

“I’m not really hungry.”

“Eat what you can.”

She picked up the spoon.

I took the chair across from her rather than beside her.

For several minutes the room stayed quiet except for the old building’s pipes and the faint hum of the heating system.

Stella managed half the soup and a piece of bread.

It was better than nothing.

The safe house stayed quiet through the afternoon. By early evening, I set the sealed communications unit on the far end of the table.

Stella glanced toward it.

“You brought that with us.”

“I photographed where it fell first. Bancroft will arrange the handoff.”

“Can you tell who it belonged to?”

“I can’t tell from this.”

I turned the sleeve enough for her to see the equipment number.

“It’s marked as Exchange security equipment, but there’s no individual name. It looks like pool-issued gear.”