Page 54 of Only the Hunter

While the attendant addresses Evie in English, she responds in French. Shaky, uncertain French, but I’m impressed with the effort. Impressed, not surprised.

It’s not necessary, but I follow the attendant to the door, checking the door lock behind him. When I approach the table, Evie has her laptop out, with her soup and bread set to the side. I ordered the American cheeseburger and fries—easy and filling—in case this lunch ends up doubling as dinner.

Since she’s planning on working, I step into the bedroom and retrieve my laptop from my bag and join her at the table. She’s pulled her hair back, and I catch the slight blush highlighting her defined cheekbones. Her thick dark eyebrows, one subtly different in shape than the other, frame her mahogany eyes. Unruly wisps frame her face, lending her a harried, slightly undone look. Perfectly imperfect.

When she looks up, catching me observing, her brow crinkles and her fingers still on the keyboard. “Is something wrong with it? Call them back⁠—”

“It’s fine.” I force myself to focus on the food instead of the flush lingering on her cheeks.

I cut the cheeseburger in half with a knife and take a bite under her critical eye. “It’s good,” I reassure her. “What about yours?”

She tears off a piece of bread and dips it in the soup, turns back to her laptop, chews, then sucks a finger clean. Her lips round the digit, slowly, her cheeks hollowing with the suction.

Parts of my body that should remain disinterested prove quite disobedient.

Oblivious to my growing discomfort, she shifts the screen so I can see. “These are the NGO records. Transfer timelines.”

“Is that on a database?”

“No. My contact shared the file. She was moved the day after I was instructed to drop the case. Project Safe Passage disbanded on the same day.”

This is good. Focusing on the project at hand is exactly what we should be doing. “What’s your theory?”

I pick up a fry and she tracks the movement—her eyes following my hand to my mouth like she wants one. That’s why I ordered fries. She’s always loved them.

Her knee bumps mine under the table as she reaches across—a brief contact that shouldn’t register but does. She grabs three fries without acknowledging the touch, already pointing at her screen with the other hand.

I don’t move my leg.

Neither does she.

“To bring the NGO in, it seems someone knew a higher-up was instructing us to drop the case, and Lina, our witness, would no longer be safe.”

“Why?”

“Because—no case, no need for WITSEC. So…,” She reaches for two more fries, only this time, she waves them around like a pointer as she talks, “my theory is either someone knew it was coming down the pike and wanted to move her to safety, or someone wanted to ensure the case remains closed and moved her so they could get to her.”

“This NGO not known for safekeeping?”

“It’s not that. But if something happens to her here, it’s less likely it’ll track back to an inter-agency project in the states. Without NGO support—Lina had no resources. Typical of a traffic victim. She’d likely never get out of the country without support.”

“If you were to place a bet? Which theory wins?”

“Well, I’m here.”

“You think someone sent her here to eliminate her quietly.”

She eats the two fries she’s been holding, swallows, and taps on the keyboard. “There are other options for safekeeping in the US. This happened quickly. If anyone wanted to close out the Safe Passage project correctly, there would’ve been a final interview with the witness. That never happened.”

“Is that when you became suspicious?”

“No.” Her fingers keep moving. “I became suspicious when we dropped an easy win. Procedure not being followed⁠—”

“Your brake line.”

Her lips purse, but she doesn’t look up.

My phone vibrates.