I shrugged. “I know.” I couldn’t explain it to her any more than I could explain it to myself, my inability to leave her alone. The strong protective instincts I had towards her had started at first sight and had only grown more intense over time.
She took the bottled water and grilled-chicken salad out of the bag and placed her napkin neatly across her lap before picking up her utensils. She chose the Italian dressing from the four choices I had picked out, tore the package, and spread it over the fluffy green leaves and perfectly grilled chicken.
“Thank you for lunch. I didn’t notice how late it was or how hungry I was,” she confessed, appearing grateful. “You can have a seat while you tell me what this visit is really all about.”
She wasn’t going to let me off the hook with my unscheduled visit. I took a seat on the old-time couch sitting in front of her desk. The old leather crunched under my weight as loudly as the lettuce she was munching on.
I was perfectly content sitting there watching her eat. Was a grown woman supposed to be cute, sexy, and fuckable all at the same time? Distracting myself, I dragged my eyes away from hers because she had no problem meeting my gaze and probably reading where my thoughts were leading.
Behind her desk was a large abstract painting of something you would never identify unless you met the painter. It could have been anything from bubbles to people’s heads set against hues of purples, blues, and whites.
“I think I fucked up,” I blurted out, getting her attention. “You remember I asked you about your tattoo?”
She stopped chewing and shoved her fork into the salad. Obvious stress instantly caused tiny creases to run across her forehead.
“I sketched it, using the part I envisioned from memory. My tech guy, Rhino, pieced together a composite sketch and his inquiry triggered an alert that stopped his search.”
She sat still and in unblinking silence. A hard swallow broke her anxiety-induced trance. She picked up the napkin and tossed it over the salad.
“I asked you to forget what you saw, to leave it alone, Tywin. I don’t know what this tattoo means or why I have it and that’s the truth,” she told me in a tone verging on irritation. The notion that my actions were the reason for her frustration caused a deep well of regret to grip me by the throat.
“I apologize for not listening and causing you this stress,” I offered, sincere in my apology.
“But?” she questioned, reading me way better than someone I had only encountered three times face to face.
“If there are answers to the questions you have or a danger out there that can hurt you, aren’t you interested in figuring out what and why? You’ve never attempted to investigate your tattoo or what it means?”
She reached up and rubbed her temples before adjusting in her seat and causing the wheels on her chair to slide noisily along the plastic carpet pad it sat atop. She stared at the black leather desk organizer holding various office supplies. Was she thinking or avoiding eye contact?
I stood and stepped closer before taking a less defensive position, stooping next to her chair. Glancing up to her now, I asked, “Will you let me know whatever you know?”
She didn’t answer but held my gaze while considering my question.
“If checking into something as simple as a tattoo triggered a warning that shut down our search program, then I believe there may be a threat out there attached to you. We need to know more, so we can confront any potential problems.”
She stood, walked to her door, and closed it before taking a seat on the couch I had just vacated. She patted the seat next to her, and I took it without question.
“I saw my mother get shot and killed when I was five years old,” she whispered.
This wasn’t starting out good at all. She had mentioned losing her mother in the half secret she had given me. The draining sadness that flooded her then was here with her now. I reached out and took her hand and she let me.
“Days after my mother was killed, I was taken from state custody and placed in foster care.” She paused, raking her fingers through her hair before taking it in a tight grip.
I hadn’t missed the way she made the words “foster care” sound suspect.
“Even back then, I never believed I was in a normal foster-care situation, the kind that you’re appointed guardians until you become an adult. I was in a home with two women and one of them was with me at all times like they were keeping guard over me or something. I was home schooled, but they would let me have play dates with other kids so I wouldn’t grow up socially isolated.”
She glanced up with worry crinkling the corners of her eyes, unsure about telling me anything more. I gave a reassuring nod and squeezed her hand.
“We changed locations every year, sometimes twice a year, state to state. The one thing they drilled into my head above anything else was that I was to always play dumb or defend myself by any means necessary if approached by government agents and anyone associated with the Ferali Syndicate.”
This news sent my hackles up and caused my mind to race with all sorts of dangerous scenarios, but I kept a cool demeanor so I wouldn’t upset the calm nature she was maintaining.
“I didn’t know who the syndicate was, but the foster ladies I called them ‘my keepers’ would point out members to me. They’d make sure I saw first-hand how bad the ones they pointed out were. Most times, I’d be with them when they tracked members and planted bugs in their cars and homes.
“I lost count of the number of times I sat with them like we were on a stakeout so we could catch some in the act of committing a crime. They wanted me to see with my own eyes that the syndicate was bad and their warnings were valid. Hide in plain sight was drilled in my head. I was to never knowingly engage a federal agent or syndicate member. And whatever I did, I was to never make the mistake of letting anyone, regardless of who they were, see my tattoo. The one constant in my situation that never changed was no matter how much I asked, I never got any straight answers from my keepers.”
When she paused, my gaze automatically went to the area of her shoulder where the tattoo was located.