Page 76 of Hacking the Holidays
Chapter Eighteen
ZARA
Sam was calm—too calm—considering he just found out I was an FBI agent. No anger, no fear, no betrayal—just that same thoughtful expression he wore when debugging code. Like this was just another day at the office instead of a threat to his freedom.
As for me, I was a complete and utter mess. Everything I’d worked so hard to keep hidden had imploded in sixty seconds. My future was now in the hands of the man walking beside me, his expression as unreadable as granite.
“Heading out?” Eleanor asked before we reached the front door, glancing at us with that motherly concern she reserved for Sam.
“We’re just going to stretch our legs and get some fresh air,” he said, his tone casual.
“And fresh air you will get—it’s thirty degrees outside right now,” Eleanor said with delight, pointing out thewindow at the temperature displayed on the sign in front of the bank.
“Practically balmy,” Sam said with a straight face.
“You have a disturbing definition of balmy,” Eleanor said with a laugh. “Since you’re going out, would you be a doll and stop by the bookstore on your way back? They have a box of donated books ready for pickup. I’d get them myself, but?—”
“Of course,” Sam said. “No problem.”
“You’re a lifesaver. Thanks, dear.”
The cold hit us like a physical blow as we stepped outside—sharp and clean, the kind that made my lungs burn when I inhaled.
Where was he taking me? I wanted to ask, but the words were stuck in my throat, trapped behind the rising panic that threatened to overwhelm me if I opened my mouth.
Sam walked with no urgency whatsoever.
His hands were in his pockets.
Eyes forward.
I knew with absolute certainty that I wasn’t in physical danger. Whatever Sam was, whatever he’d done or hadn’t done, he wasn’t the kind of man who would do anything stupid or hurt anybody.
We’d barely made it half a block when a woman in a purple parka stopped us. “Sam!” Her entire face lit up like he was the best thing she’d seen all week. “Thanks again for fixing the vent on my wood-burning stove. It works like a charm now.”
“My pleasure, Mrs. Haggerty,” Sam said, the genuinewarmth and care in his response making something twist in my chest.
“I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come over,” she said. “I didn’t have the money to pay for repairs.”
“Glad I could help,” he said.
“Thank you, sweetie. Stay warm.” Mrs. Haggerty smiled warmly at me before hurrying on her way.
Another twenty feet, and two people across the street waved enthusiastically. One of them was on crutches.
“Sam!” they called in unison.
He waved back. “How’s the foot doing?”
“The cast comes off tomorrow!” The woman lifted one crutch triumphantly, her grin visible even from this distance.
“Finally! Be careful on that ice!” he said with a grin.
“You bet I will!”
I watched her go, my throat tight. How many people in this town had Sam helped? How many wood-burning stoves had he fixed, how many problems had he solved, how many lives had he quietly improved while I was busy trying to prove he was a criminal?
Sam’s smile disappeared the moment they were gone.
