Page 96 of Blind Prophet

I can hear the defensive tone in my response. Can she? But since the beginning, this investigation has been a series of throwing theories at a wall.

The analyst in me can’t ignore the pattern, but something doesn’t track. Why would someone controlling 80 percent of global satellite infrastructure need burner phones? And the technical documents—if they were really from Dorian, they’d be exponentially more sophisticated. He thinks in quantum computing terms, not infrastructure vulnerabilities.

SF

Are you back with him?

SF

Is your judgment skewed?

It was only a matter of time before she asked.

Is my judgment skewed?The CIA trained us to separate emotional attachments from analysis, but they also taught us to trust our instincts. And everything about this evidence feels too neat, too perfectly arranged—like intelligence crafted to tell a specific story rather than raw data pointing to a conclusion.

Dorian fills the doorframe, his dark eyes watching me. But this time, instead of girlish glee or lust, nerves erupt.

CHAPTER23

CAROLINE

“What’re you doing?”

His tone is icy. Or is that my imagination?

I close the lid on the laptop.

His gaze falls to my lap, then flits to my face.

Corded tension connects us, spanning the space between us like a deadly live wire.

Stop it. Your imagination is spinning out of control.

Sophia’s grasping at straws. She’s off base.

This is Dorian.

“I want you in my bedroom.” He places his hands in his pockets.

A Langley trainer would say to be alert if the hands are hidden, but this is Dorian. What am I afraid of? That he’s got a weapon shoved in his sweatpants pockets?

“Why are you in here?”

He scans the ceiling and then the windows. It’s dark outside, pure black through the window now that the floodlights have clicked off.

His questions slowly filter through my conscience. He wants me in his bedroom. This isn’t an inquisition. He didn’t magically read my computer screen.

“Ah, this is where I had my things.”

He rocks back on his heels. With those observant eyes, he reads me too well. He’s picked up on my unease. That’s the reason he’s standing by the door, giving me space. My oxygen.

“When I said I want you in my bedroom, I meant it. Did you doubt me?”

He’s focusing on the bedroom. And he’d only do that if he has no idea what accusations are being torpedoed his way.

Do you believe he’s innocent? Because if you do, it’s time to stop playing games and get the information you need to prove his innocence. Otherwise, Luke or others from Arrow are going to blast their way in to save you from the imagined monster.

With that thought, I flip open the laptop.

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