Page 98 of Wicked Intention

It hit the tops of her knees, so the length was fine. The crisscross detailing at the waist and the top of her hips drew attention to how closely the dress fit her body, something else that might elicit a comment, but the neckline was up to her collarbone. Hot pink, though—

“Loquita,” Finn called quietly through the door. “Your folks are getting restless. Are you almost ready?”

Her stomach turned over as she glanced at the clock she had atop one of the built-in shelves. She had to wear this. Traffic in LA was always a bitch, and they’d miss their reservation if she spent any more time questioning her clothes. As soon as she had a chance, Zo decided she’d buy at least six more conservative black dresses and get them cleaned immediately after she wore them to avoid—

The door to the closet opened. “Are you okay?” Finn asked.

Zo nearly groaned but managed a weak smile instead. “Yes. I was trying to figure out what I could wear instead of this dress.”

“Why? You look great.” His gaze traveled over her in an exaggerated leer meant to lighten her mood. “Very hot. I’d do you.”

“You want to do me even when I’m wearing sweats, so your opinion is suspect.” Zo shook her head. “But I’m not trying to look hot. I want to look”—she scrambled for the right word—“demure.”

“You’re great. Quit worrying.”

With a sigh, she headed for the door. “I don’t have much choice. I don’t own anything else that’s remotely close to correct.”

Finn didn’t move from the doorway, forcing her to stop. “Zo, they’re your parents. They won’t care what you wear.”

She almost snorted. Right. If her father could point out her yellow slacks, they would definitely notice her bright pink dress. Instead of mentioning that, Zo said, “You’re dressed perfectly.” Men were lucky—dark trousers, a blazer, and a white open-collar shirt, and they were good to go. “We better move before they give away our table.”

Finn hesitated and then stood aside to let her proceed him.

Zo took a deep breath. Maybe she should have put her hair up instead of merely pulling it back with a clip, but it wastoo late for that now. They neared the end of the hallway, and squaring her shoulders, she made her entrance.

Both her parents froze. “Wow,” her mom said at last. “Owen, where are my sunglasses?”

Ignoring the question, her father frowned. “Isn’t that dress too tight?”

“No, it’s not tight,” her mom said as she looked around. “That’s the style.”

The support surprised Zo.

Her mom’s gaze landed on the island. “I found them.” She retrieved her sunglasses. Zo waited for her to put them on, a silent commentary on the color of the dress, but she held them instead. She had on a black sheathe dress—very similar to the one Zo had wanted to wear—with black flats. Appropriate for a night out in Bogotá after working at an archaeological site, or for dinner in Los Angeles.

“Zofia,” her mom said, “grab a sweater in case the air conditioning is too cold at the restaurant.”

She almost never got chilled, but it wasn’t worth the time a discussion would take, and she’d end up with a sweater at the end anyway. “I’ll be right back. Excuse me,” she said before returning to her closet to retrieve a cardigan.

Finn had rotatedthrough a hell of a lot of families during his time in foster care, but he’d never seen dynamics quite like what Zo had with her mom and dad. He kept his head bent over the menu but unobtrusively studied his dinner companions. They were seated in a horseshoe-shaped booth with Zo on the inside to his left, her mother across from her, and her father across from him. Purses and sweaters were taking up space in the U.

His loquita sat close to him but had edged farther away after her mother had frowned at her. Zo’s behavior was anodd dichotomy—she’d continually tried to shield him today, but at the same time, she sought out his presence for reassurance—and it came down to her folks.

They loved her. Finn could see it in the way they looked at Zo, in how protective they were of her. He’d been cornered by each of her parents this afternoon at separate times and interrogated more intently than any questioning he’d ever gotten in the Army. Even the debrief after the mess in Puerto Jardin with Torres and Silva had paled in intensity. But the distance and formality between the three of them left him confused.

The silence felt heavy. It dragged and pulled on Zo—Finn could feel her tension climbing the longer it lasted. Even after they’d given their orders and handed over the menus, it stayed quiet—time to run some interference.

“Zo tells me you were in Colombia. Did you learn anything interesting at the Muisca site?”

“We did, indeed,” her father said. “We found evidence of irrigation and also uncovered a number of goldsmithing tools.”

“Do you know much about the Muisca?” Adelina asked.

“No, ma’am. Zo mostly talks about the Huarona.”

“Of course. It is her area of expertise. Did she tell you they were the subject of her dissertation before she decided not to pursue her PhD?”

His loquita shifted, the motion small enough that he felt it rather than saw it. “No,” Finn said cautiously, “she’s never mentioned her thesis topic.”

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