Page 2 of Shadow Burn

The cat blinked at her, slowly and deliberately. Priss had heard the word off millions of times and had drawn her own conclusions about its applicability.

Katherine lifted her, set her on the floor, and laid out the notebooks. The Vance cross-references were in the navy leather one. The original flag analysis was in the burgundy. The timeline she had built from scratch was in the black one, which was the one she trusted most.

She checked her outfit in the bathroom mirror. She never wore anything but work clothes unless she was done for the day. Today’s outfit was a navy blazer, cream blouse, and dark trousers.

As Priss gave her sad eyes from the floor, she put in the small diamond earrings she’d bought herself the week the Agency hired her, the same ones she had worn the day they toasted her ten year anniversary. These days, they felt heavier than usual.

Priss followed her back to the kitchen and sat in the doorway, tail flicking.

“I need this to go well,” Katherine told her. “If you have any influence over the universe, this is the time to use it.”

Priss yawned.

The doorbell rang.

Katherine opened the door to a man in a hoodie with eyes darker than her pot of coffee.

He stood at her threshold with his hands in the front pocket of a faded gray zip-up, dark jeans, and running shoes that looked like they’d logged a lot of miles.

Tall and lean, he was all angles and quiet control, those warm brown eyes somehow managing to appear cool and aloof. Nothing about him matched the consultant she’d expected, and annoyingly, nothing about him was easy to dismiss.

“Katherine Townsend?”

“Yes.”

“Jasper Perault. Vivi sent me.”

“You’re early.”

He didn’t apologize for it. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all.” She tugged on her blazer’s cuffs, her stomach tensing over the coming minutes. “I appreciate punctuality.”

She stepped aside and gestured him in. He moved past her with the same posture and confidence her father had always had. A former military man, she guessed.

A slim leather bag hung over his shoulder and he pulled a phone from his hoodie’s pocket. The bag was scuffed at the corners and looked like it had been well used.

In the kitchen, he scanned the space, registered the notebooks, and took a seat.

“Coffee?” she asked.

“Black, please.”

She poured for both of them, adding cream to hers. He took the mug, fingers brushing hers. They were warm, dry, and calloused at the ends. An interesting detail for a man Dr. Montgomery had described as a tech consultant and moved like a prowling panther.

Why am I noticing this at all? Katherine snapped her gaze away from his hand and grabbed her own cup.

Priss appeared from the hallway and walked straight to Jasper. She sniffed his shoes and rubbed the side of her face along his calf.

“You have a cat,” Jasper said.

Katherine tried to shoo her away. “Not simply a cat. I’m owned by the queen of cats.”

His mouth twitched.

“Are you allergic?” she asked.

“No.” He set down the coffee, bent, and held out his hand. Priss head-butted it with the enthusiasm of a small drunk. “What’s her name?”