Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
He sets the coffee filter in place, then pours water into the machine. “We wait for Devereaux’s call.” His voice is calm, but I can sense the undercurrent of frustration—he’s not a man who likes waiting around. “In the meantime, we can dig a little more into any other leads you have on Morris Rolfe. Cross-reference them with what I found yesterday.”
I nod, picking at a tiny chip on the countertop’s laminate. “Right. My contact’s still trying to confirm whether he’s the same Morris from that old hacking circle. There’s some mention of a different alias, but I haven’t pinned it down yet.”
Lincoln starts the coffee machine, the low gurgle filling the silence. Then he turns around, crossing his arms in a mirror of my posture. “We can see what else we can dig up about his possible location. That rumor about him being in Saint Pierce might be a smokescreen.”
“Or it might be true,” I point out. “He could be holed up somewhere, only showing his face when he has a deal to make.”
Lincoln inclines his head. “Devereaux said Rolfe hosts private parties, right? If we get an invite, we’ll have a better chance of catching him in the act.”
“Assuming he trusts us enough to let us attend.” I chew my lower lip, recalling the conversation last night. “And assuming no one blows our cover before that happens.”
His expression darkens, jaw flexing. “We’ll just have to be careful. Stick to the story. Mr. and Mrs. Zane.” He says it like the words taste foreign on his tongue, which they probably do.
The memory of me blurting out his last name makes me cringe and laugh simultaneously. “Yeah. Sorry about that. It just… slipped out.”
He shakes his head. “No, it was smart. Ties us together. We just have to make sure we can pull it off if and when Rolfe checks us out.”
I let out a long breath, the tension in my shoulders easing a fraction. “You’re right. We can do this, though. We have to.”
The coffee machine lets out a final hiss, signaling the brew is ready. Lincoln turns, grabbing two mugs from the cabinet. “Cream, sugar, or do you still take it black?”
“You remember how I take my coffee?” I blurt, blinking in surprise. He’s always seemed so aloof at the office—polite, but distant.
He shrugs one shoulder. “Just something I noticed.”
Warmth creeps into my cheeks. “Right.”
He fills one mug and slides it across the island toward me, then takes a quick sip of his own. The domesticity of the moment is almost surreal, especially after the intensity of last night. But I can’t deny it’s nice, standing here with him in the quiet morning light, sipping coffee like two normal people.
After a few sips, I muster the courage to ask the question that’s been nagging me since I saw him in the living room. “So, about last night…”
He tenses, and I see his knuckles whiten around the mug’s handle. “What about it?”
I resist the urge to chew my lip and make myself meet his gaze. “I just… wanted to say I think we did well. You know, with the cover. We played it up convincingly.”
He nods slowly, eyes flicking to the window before settling on me again. “Yeah. We did.” Then he inhales, his broad chest expanding. “But we can’t forget why we’re doing this. If we get… carried away, it could complicate things.”
I swallow hard. “Right,” I say, stifling the twinge of disappointment in my chest. “All business, no personal entanglements. Got it.”
His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t contradict me. Instead, he circles around the island, leaning against it from the opposite side. The morning light catches on the faint sheen of sweat still clinging to his torso. I want to reach out and wipe it away, which is a ridiculous impulse that has me blushing all over again.
I take another gulp of coffee, scalding my tongue in the process. Wincing, I set the mug down. “Damn.”
“You okay?” he asks, brow furrowing.
I force a tight smile. “Fine. Just impatient, apparently.” My mind leaps to the mission, how we’re stuck in limbo until Devereaux calls. “We should probably do something to keep ourselves busy while we wait.”
He pushes off the counter, standing at his full height. It’s impossible not to notice how the muscles of his abdomen flex with the movement. “Any suggestions?”
“Let’s fire up the laptops,” I say, desperately trying to refocus. “I can see if my contact left me any messages overnight. Maybe check if there’s any chatter about Morris Rolfe on social media or the dark web. If he’s half as cocky as I think he is, there might be some digital breadcrumbs.”
Lincoln nods, draining the last of his coffee in one smooth tilt of his head. “I’ll get dressed, meet you in the living room?”
“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “I, uh, think I’ll do the same. Not exactly dressed for intense investigative work.”