Page 13 of Code Name: Reaper
“You’re going to burn them.”
“I’m not going to burn anything.” I turned the heat down anyway, which earned me a look indicating she’d noticed the concession.
She didn’t move fast enough when I reached around her for the eggs. For a moment, we were inches apart. Close enough for me to see her pulse jump in her throat and feel the heat radiating from her skin.
“Couldn’t you have asked me to move?”
“Could you not hover?” I shot at her when she continued supervising my every move.
“Could you not burn the place down?”
“I’m making breakfast, not conducting chemical warfare.”
“Debatable.”
I fought a smile despite the tension. Her dry humor caught me off guard, making me remember why I’d been drawn to her in the first place. She was brilliant and difficult and absolutelyinfuriating, but she was also funny as hell when she allowed herself to be.
The eggs overcooked while I was distracted, watching her lean against the far counter. She raised a brow but didn’t comment as she reached past me to turn down the heat. This time, she was the one who invaded my space when her arm brushed mine.
Neither of us moved away immediately.
“Better?” Her voice was quieter than it had been.
“Getting there.”
We weren’t talking about the eggs anymore.
She cleared her throat and retreated two steps, putting distance between us again. But the awareness lingered, electric and dangerous.
“This kitchen is surprisingly well equipped.”
“Blackjack took care of it.”
She raised a brow. “He stocks safe houses better than most five-star hotels.”
“He reminds me of our mother.”
Amaryllis chuckled, a sound I hadn’t heard very often. “Not something he’d take as a compliment, would be my guess.”
“You’d be right.”
We ate at the small table, forced into close quarters by the layout of the cottage. The meal became a work debrief that kept getting derailed by our physical proximity.
“So, your message…” I began.
“What about it?”
“Prism. What I don’t understand is how someone who created an organization designed to combat the very kind of treachery she’s doing could turn into the type of person she fought against?”
“Greed? I don’t know what else it could be, other than someone forcing her.”
“What about Mercury? Any leads?”
“Nothing confirmed,” she admitted. “But I’m not the only one looking. It’s unclear what the other parties’ motives are.”
“Protect or—” When she winced, I stopped myself. She wasn’t ready to accept Mercury might already be dead. I wouldn’t be either, in her shoes.
Her cell chimed with an incoming alert, and her brow furrowed as she read it.
