Page 65 of Hunt Me, Daddy

“Because our conversation was unfinished.”

“All conversations are unfinished if you leave strategically enough.”

“Then have coffee with me and accuse me of strategy in person.”

She looked at me for a long second. Her gaze dropped once to my hands, then back to my face. Her weight shifted onto herleft foot. Her thumb pressed against the strap of her bag. Her mouth softened by one degree before tightening again, as if she had caught some part of herself leaning before the rest of her had approved the movement. Decision made before acceptance spoken.

“Yes,” she said.

The word moved through me with more force than it should have. I kept my expression calm because I was not a boy and because if she saw what that single syllable did to me, she would run statistical analysis on it until morning.

“Eight-thirty,” I said. “There is a café two blocks from here. Not the hotel lobby one. Their coffee is terrible.”

“All hotel coffee is terrible.”

“Some sins have degrees.”

Her mouth curved. “Fine. Eight-thirty.”

“I’ll send you the address.”

“I didn’t give you my number.”

“No,” I said.

The silence after that was pointed enough to cut glass. I had made an error. Her eyes cooled.

“How were you planning to send it?” she asked.

I reached into my jacket and took out a business card. I didn’t grab the pen. Thank God.

“A professional courtesy,” I said, offering it. “You can decide whether I earn the number.”

She studied the card before taking it. Then she looked back at me. That pause was longer, almost like she was testing me.

“Useful,” she said finally.

“Mara’s word.”

“Maybe mine too.”

“Good.”

She slipped the card into her bag. “Eight-thirty.”

“Eight-thirty,” I repeated.

She turned to leave, then stopped after two steps and looked back.

“Don’t be late.”

The command in her voice was mild, but it was there. My body responded with immediate, unreasonable satisfaction.

“I won’t,” I said.

She left and I watched only until she reached the door. Then I forced myself to turn away because control had to begin somewhere, even if it was several weeks too late.

Outside, the light was fading over the waterfront, turning the hotel glass dark enough to hold reflections. Kit moved through those reflections automatically, scanning, checking, watching the world behind her without ever turning fully around.