“Are we staying here long?”
She glowered at him, clearly irritated. He only waited. He’d followed her directions to the letter earlier, without question. This was a lull in their movement and he needed a break from unquestioning obedience. Otherwise, he’d be too tempted to make a bad decision later when it might matter more.
Or at least, that was the way he rationalized it to himself. Isabelle very likely had her own opinion on his current dallying. He struggled for a moment, on the edge of apologizing and going to do as she’d said. She was keeping him alive for God’s sake.
And she acted like she wanted him to remain that way. There was no resentment, no dirty look, no grimace at anything they’d had to do so far. She hadn’t treated him like a job or a paycheck. She’d acted with immediate urgency, like she valued his life. Outside his actual family, she might be a first.
Before he could apologize, she ground out an answer to his question. “Awhile. I want to log on via a private proxy server and decide on our next move. They’ll be searching the streets in a wider search pattern by now and it’d be better to be out of easy sight until we know exactly where we’re headed.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. He could use the time to regain his balance. Then maybe he could get his more ridiculous impulses under control and quit giving her a hard time. “The coffee flight, then.”
“What?” If possible her glower grew deeper and a spark of temper flared up in her gaze.
She was too much fun to tease.
He lifted a chin to indicate the menu behind the coffee bar. “I’ll take the coffee flight while we wait. It’ll calm my nerves.”
Okay, maybe not quit entirely. But he’d try to keep his teasing in reasonable parameters if he had something else to occupy his attention.
“Take your time in the restroom. I’ll keep an eye on anyone coming in from here.” She was already turning away from him, her gaze sweeping the café.
The men’s restroom was clean and compact. He opted to head into a stall to make the changes she’d requested rather than have an awkward moment if someone walked in to see him changing his outfit. It took only a few minutes but he paused to wash his hands and splash his face with water. Now that they weren’t on the move, his hands had begun to shake with delayed reaction.
There’d been shots fired on part of his security detail. That was all he’d learned so far. And it’d been Isabelle who’d acted quickly, calmly, and gotten him out of the area. He’d been right to hire her.
What if he hadn’t?
Any number of possibilities blossomed in his mind but the recurring image in every scenario had him dead. Shot full of holes. There were no second chances unless a person managed to stay alive.
He needed a second chance, not for himself but for people who would be depending on him. Soon.
He stared at himself in the mirror. A part of his brain still narcissistic enough to care noted he was looking somewhat haggard. Dark circles were forming under his eyes. Coffee would help. A full night’s sleep would help more. But he hadn’t had one since he’d cut his deal and gone into protective custody.
The events of today only served to convince him there was something completely irregular about this trial. Perhaps Isabelle Scott would have insight he hadn’t considered yet. She’d certainly exceeded anything anyone else had accomplished so far when it came to his situation.
He found her physicality extremely attractive and he was about to see if she proved to be equally remarkable in terms of intelligence. The anticipation was enough to gain control of his earlier panic for the moment.
When he exited the restroom, he found Isabelle seated in a booth tucked far away from the front windows of the café. She sat with her back to a wall in a position to see anyone entering the establishment or approaching the booth in specific. As he walked to meet her, keeping in mind her earlier warning about staying away from the windows, she stood and had him slide into the booth beside her.
Not the seat he’d have chosen for himself but when he spotted his requested coffee flight sitting on the table, he decided to meet her halfway.
As he sat, Isabelle reached across him to stick Post-it notes on each of the French presses. “The guy behind the counter offered to come over. If you really wanted the super detailed description of your coffees you’ll have to be disappointed. We don’t want him over here making a show out of it.”
He chuckled at her dry tone. Perhaps he might’ve been irritated if someone else had been making decisions for him but he suspected she preferred to avoid being the center of attention in any place, regardless of the situation. Besides, her reasoning made sense. “I’m happy knowing what each coffee is, thank you.”