Page 13 of His Wall

"What do you think about him, Calder? Not the file. You. After four months."

I opened my mouth and closed it.

The truth was a complicated sentence, and I did not have it ready.

The truth was that Julian Cross was the smartest person I had ever stood next to, and that he was also the warmest. Those two things should not have been able to live in the same body and yet did.

I gave her a different sentence.

"I think he's the most careful man I've ever met. And I don't think the carefulness is about the deal he's working."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning he's hiding something. Whether it's what we think it is, I can't tell you yet."

"You've been in there four months, Calder."

My stomach twisted. "I know."

"Cross is a man who responds to women. He's clearly interested. He talks when he's comfortable — you said it yourself. So make him comfortable. Stop being a wall. Give him something to lean into."

"It's not that simple."

"It's exactly that simple. You're undercover. The point is to become someone he trusts. Right now, you're someone he's curious about."

She let that sit for a beat.

"Curiosity has a shelf life, Calder. You use it before it expires."

THREE

JULIAN

I came off the elevator at 7:45 a.m. with a blueberry scone in a paper bag and the aftertaste of bad sleep in my mouth.

The light was already heavy through the glass at the end of the hall. The floor smelled faintly of warm paper. The cleaning crew had finished their loop. Reception was up. Sarah, at the front desk, lifted her coffee cup at me without looking away from her monitor.

I lifted the bag back at her.

Claire was at her desk.

Pale-blue blouse this morning, sleeves to the elbow, the buttons done up to the second one from the top. Same low knot of dark hair. Same watch on the inside of her left wrist. Her laptop was open, and beside it on the desk was a yellow legal pad with three lines written in her small, even script.

I walked past her on the way to my office. I lifted one hand at her without looking up from my phone.

"Good morning, Julian."

I stopped.

Two steps past her desk. Phone halfway down to my pocket.

I turned around.

She was looking at me, chin lifted, gray eyes on mine, hand flat on the legal pad. And she was smirking.

"What did you call me?"

"Julian."