Page 28 of Shadow

Like she had across that diner floor.

Which had clearly been a game. Chess.

“I’m tired,” he said finally. “Not desperate. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?”

“Yeah.” He held her gaze. “Desperate people make mistakes. Tired people just need coffee and a few hours of sleep. I’ll be fine.”

“Will you?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you ask a lot of questions?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you deflect when you’re uncomfortable?”

Touché.

Asher leaned back in his chair. “So what do we do? You need my intelligence. I need your trust. How do we make this work?”

Daphne’s expression didn’t change. “Here’s how this works. You follow my operational lead. You don’t make decisions about Roger and Destiny’s safety—I do. And if I find out you’re lying about anything, you’re done. Understood?”

He stared at her. “Excuse me?”

“Those are my rules.”

“You don’t seriously think you’re in charge.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Rules keep us safe. And I always keep the rules.”

Huh.

“I’ve spent the past three years keeping people alive. It’s what I do.” Her gaze met his. “So, I ask again. Understand?”

He sighed, his jaw tight. “For now.”

She nodded, then took a sip of coffee. “Now. Tell me everything you know about the Shadow Syndicate.”

Shoot.

She wanted to trust him.

And right off, that was the problem.

Daphne Cross could tell when someone was lying—two years of US Marshals Service and three years running private witness protection had taught her to read microexpressions, vocal patterns, body language—and in approximately thirty seconds, she’d know whether Asher Morrison was about to give her the intelligence that would save Roger and Destiny or the performance that would get them killed.

She couldn’t afford hope, even if the man had an aura about him, one that made her want to trust him. And those eyes—the way he’d looked at her at the diner.

Respect. Even appreciation. It had gotten too far into her head, or maybe just her entire body, because she couldn’t deny a sort of electricity that had shot through her when he’d come into the room.

She was just buzzing from nearly two days on the road.

She opened her laptop.

Asher leaned forward. Elbows on the table. His bandaged arm visible, the white gauze stark against tanned skin. It made him weirdly vulnerable, the superhero with scars.

Focus!

“How much do you know?” he asked.