Page 44 of Zorro

He was about to ask something deeper, something he wasn’t sure had words, when she added, cool and professional now, “But I’m not here for you.”

He didn’t wince, but the words settled into his chest like frost on bone. “Didn’t think you were.” She said it like she meant it. He heard it like a lie.

She smiled faintly, but it didn’t touch the hollows of her eyes.

“There’s a gathering,” she said after a beat. “The Atlantic Coalition Security Forum. Private political roundtable. Off the books. Held here in the hotel.”

“That’s news to us,” he murmured.

“That’s good. It’s hush, hush, and invite-only,” she went on. “Brazilian Ministry of Defense, a few high-level European intel advisers, two US State Department liaisons. The kind of summit that doesn’t exist. Not officially. Not on paper.”

His jaw flexed. “Yet you’re here.”

“I monitor ghosts. It’s what I do.” She glanced down at Flint, whose sharp eyes had never left her. “The forum’s being hosted in a sealed executive suite. BOPE’s got perimeter security. Brazilian intelligence is overseeing the internal sweep. My job is simple: eyes and ears for our DSS guys.”

“You cheating on us with another agency?” he asked.

She looked away. “I watch where I’m told to watch.”

“You ever get tired of that?” he asked softly. “Of staying on the edge of things and calling it duty?”

That made her falter. Just a flicker. A shift in her balance. But she caught herself.

“I serve differently,” she said.

But it didn’t ring true. Not all the way.

Bear didn’t press.

Their eyes locked. A man approached, Brazilian, tall, with dark curly hair. “Bailee?”

She turned toward him. “Hello. It’s time?”

He nodded, sparing Bear a glance before extending his hand. Bear clasped it, the grip firm. “Carlos Braga.”

“Dakota Locklear.” The man studied him for a beat, then looked back to Bailee.

“I’ll be right there. Give me a minute.”

Braga nodded at Bear before looking over at Bailee. “See you up there.”

Bear watched him go. Most Brazilians were cordial and warm, but something about this one snagged at his instincts like barbed wire beneath silk. Not jealous—he didn’t entertain that emotion. This was tactical. A whisper of dissonance that hummed through his bones.

Bailee must have felt it too.

“Always thinking like a SEAL,” she murmured. “DSS is in force. Brazilian operatives, BOPE too. I’m covered.”

Still, Bear kept his gaze on the hallway. The hum hadn’t faded.

“Your real team is a call away,” he said quietly. “Don’t hesitate.”

She looked away, and something in her face softened. Vulnerability in profile. She took a breath, let it anchor her. When she met his eyes again, the armor was back.

He let her have it.

Then he inclined his head, quiet as dusk. “Dinner one night?”

She bit her lip, but didn’t look away. It was the only sign she wanted to say yes. That he wasn’t a fool for asking.

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