Page 55 of Lethal Deceit

He shakes his head at her as he places the tiny keys on the countertop. “There are plates.”

She shrugs and finishes the last bite of the first pastry before reaching for a coffee mug and pouring herself a cup. “No time for manners. I’ve got to be out of here in an hour.”

With a subtle disapproving look, Luke refills his coffee and departs without another word.

As she slurps her coffee, my eyes stay on the keys. My arms are starting to ache, and watching her eat is making me wish I’d eaten one of the bagels too.

Thankfully, she finishes quickly, dusts her hands off, and picks up the keys. As she approaches, she narrows her eyes into a half squint. “Keep still. You move suddenly, I’ll assume you’re attacking me, got it?”

I smile as sweetly as I can. “I understand.”

She pushes the key into the lock and twists, and the cuffs slide off, catching my wrist bone and making my eyes water. I rub my arm as she jerks her thumb at the bedroom door.

“So we can talk in private,” she says.

Since she’s hardly the type to want “girl talk,” I’m not surprised when she elaborates. “I want to see your passport and any papers you have.”

“Why?”

She smiles faintly, almost as if my company doesn’t unsettle her. “I want to see how good they are.”

I’m not in a position to deny her, so I shrug and trail into the bedroom.

“And put the ugly clothes I got you back on,” she says.

I whirl around, my hands sliding to my hips. “Why would you do that to me?”

She jabs a finger an inch toward my partially exposed breasts. “Exhibits A and B.”

My exasperation mounting, I throw my hands in the air. “Fine. Not like I’m getting anywhere with him anyway.”

She snorts. “That’s not what I heard, but glad to hear he’s got a line he won’t cross. Get changed, but don’t drag your heels. And bring me your IDs.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I grumble.

Wow. This woman could have been a drill sergeant.

To save my energy, and to not waste any more breath, I relent and change back into the hideous clothes that I now know she’s responsible for purchasing. With more than a little hesitation, I remove my passport from my bag and exit the bathroom, ready to part with it.

In my absence, she’s grabbed an apple and a can of soda from the kitchen. She casts both aside as she rips the passport out of my hands.

I sit on the edge of the bed. I’d been positive she was going to take my passport from me. What I didn’t expect was for her to pull lots of gizmos out of the bag she dropped inside the door. Even more perplexing is when she pulls out a magnifying glass and hovers over the serial number at the bottom of the passport.

Slowly, a smile forms on her face, her posture relaxes, and she seems to be relieved. “It’s good. Not as good as I can make. But not bad.”

“You’re aforger?” These people get weirder and weirder.

“Only for Hightower. Andonlyunder certain circumstances.”

“What circumstances?”

She ignores me, too busy looking at my passport. Then she says, “Let me guess—Irina in South Beach made this for you?”

Mutely, I nod, stunned.

“She still exploiting illegal immigrants?”

This time the words tumble out of my mouth. “How could you know that?”

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