Page 61 of Perfection

Which suddenly struck her as a little selfish, given the way so many parents only yesterday had been forced to place their children in cryo units.

As she headed to answer the door, her insides began to churn, the tension of the day ahead setting in. Prepared to tell him to go on without her, she was surprised to find him holding two cups of coffee.

He flashed a grin. “Morning.”

Goodness, he looked like a dynamic adventurer ready for whatever came next. Showered, well-rested, eager. Even so, she thought she detected a shadow of the grief he must be holding in check, focusing on the case instead of the death of his partner.

And she was still wearing her outfit from yesterday.

His brow furrowed. “Sorry if I’m too early. We didn’t set a time, but I figured you’d want to get right to it this morning.”

“Um, yes, you’re right. Come in.” She stepped back, allowing him entrance. After closing the door, she accepted the coffee he offered. “Thank you.”

“Mommy, aren’t you going to eat your pancakes?” Brianna called out.

“I’ll be right there.” Kindra welcomed the interruption. The exchange with York seemed far too much like an interested woman noticing and conversing with a man, not simply colleagues working on a project. Althoughprojectwasn’t the right description.

“We were just eating breakfast,” she said. “Would you care to join us?”

He smiled. “Certainly.”

* * *

York slid into a chair across the table from Brianna while Kindra ordered another plate of pancakes from the culinary robot behind a counter window. To Brianna, he said, “Those look delicious.”

“Oh, they are.” She licked her lips. “I love syrup.”

He winked. “I do, too.” He eyed the perfect place setting and luxurious kitchen with its high-endeverything. He tried to imagine Kindra’s reaction to his home. There was no robotic chef there. He actually enjoyed cooking.

Kindra smoothed her hair as she returned to the table. “Sorry, I’m a bit behind this morning. Go ahead and eat. I’ll be ready shortly.”

“That’s fine.”

As she retreated to the hall, York forced his eyes away from her hips and legs. She wasn’t sexy in the same hot-blooded way many Coder women were, with her sophisticated mannerisms, yet she ignited unwelcomed attraction within him nonetheless. This sleepy-eyed, rumpled-looking Kindra should not make him want to draw her into his arms. He exhaled a tight breath.

Keep it controlled, man.

He turned to his food.

Brianna propped one elbow on the table and set her chin in her palm. “Mommy slept in the chair in my room last night.”

“Does she do that often?”

“No. Never.” She leaned closer to him, her little voice laced with a mixture of bewilderment and concern. “I don’t think she slept well. She made noises. It was so bizarre to wake with Mommy in my room.”

“I imagine it was,” he agreed, suppressing a grin at her mature tone.

With a nod, she returned to eating, as did he.

York suspected Kindra’s unfamiliar behavior hinged on fear. She had to be concerned that Brianna might contract the virus. Any parent would be. He understood that all too well. Unexpectedly, he longed for her to let him in, to share the complex feelings surrounding the death of a child, the distress she felt for the lives of so many, and the apprehension for her own daughter.

His train of thought lingered as he finished the last bite on his plate. A pall washed over him as he remembered Isabelle, and his gut tightened to think the deadly virus could touch the sweet child seated across from him. Her delicate features were such a contrast to the grown-up things she said.

“Are you worried about something, Lieutenant Richmond?”

“Uh, no. And you can call me Mr. York.”

She nodded. “There are two little lines between your brows. That expression has been used as a sign of distress in books I’ve read.”