Page 3 of Blind Prophet

I follow my friend through the stairwell door. She stops mid-flight.

“How’d your date go last night?”

The stainless-steel banister digs into my back as I lean against it. I’m on the higher step, and the advantageous position gives me the opportunity to study my friend. Her assessing eyes are slightly bloodshot, and small wisps of hair frame her face, evading the band she’s used to pull back her blonde hair. Wrinkles mar her white button-down blouse, and it’s not even nine in the morning. Her lipstick is long gone. The tilt of her head, the crossed arms, her pressed lips—she didn’t pull me out here to ask me about last night’s dinner.

My dinner date was with a colleague, and I never would’ve agreed to a date with him if it weren’t for Sophia’s urging. Sophia and Stella, our human resources director, of all people, kept prodding me to give the tall, dark, and handsome former military man a chance. They applied all the adjectives. Pushed and prodded.Give him a chance. You never know…

Still, Sophia’s not vested in Luke. And even if she’s curious, she could just text me—without leaving the conference room.

“You didn’t call me out here to ask about my date,” I say, insistent we get to the reason we’re in a stairwell.

“No, I didn’t,” she admits, stepping back until her back presses to the opposite railing. It’s classic Sophia. One arm crossed over her stomach, fingers still. “You know I value your intelligence and believe you are a strong addition to Arrow based on your merits, right?”

My personal history prevented me from ever being considered for field work, so from the very get-go, I focused on becoming an analyst. Does my consistent focus make me better than other analysts? No.

“What’s going on?”

She tucks an errant wisp behind her ear.

“Sophia, just say it.”

“I want to bring you in on a project. Or, well, it’s an investigation.”

“But?”

“There’s no but, it’s… You have to be okay with it, and I wanted to ask you in private.”

I scan the stairwell and the eaves. “There’s got to be a security camera in here somewhere.”

Her exhale sends a strand of hair northward. “Probably. But at least I can ask you away from the others.”

“Ask me what?”

“We’re investigating Dorian.”

My chest squeezes. It’s the only physical warning sign from the mention of my ex. I can believe Dorian broke the law. He’s a man with a high disdain for regulation and billions to pay a legal team. But why would the CIA care about an American breaking the law in the US? That’s not their territory. If the CIA didn’t hire Arrow, who did? Arrow only takes projects with a client attached.

“Why? What did he do?”

“He’s a person of interest.”

So they don’t have anything on him. They won’t find anything either. If he broke the law, he’s too smart to get caught.

Sophia’s quiet, thoughtful. Purposeful.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You were married to him. Your perspective is valuable.”

“Do you want to ask me questions?” I haven’t seen Dorian in seven years. “Or do you want me to join the project team? Is this a project?”

“Yes, it’s a highly confidential and critical project, and we want you to join the team. But I won’t mention your connection to Dorian unless you feel comfortable.”

“But if I am comfortable?—”

“Your input would be of high value.”

“How would I even join the team without—” I wouldn’t. She’s not really asking. This is my heads-up so I’m not blindsided in a room full of men.

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