“Farang look sad,” the vendor said in broken English. “Coffee help small bit.”
Skeet nodded, couldn’t speak past the knot in his throat.
Sweetened condensed milk swirled through bitter coffee. He found a bench under a banyan tree, away from the few late joggers and couples enjoying the starlight.
Fool.
Yeah.
He wanted to snatch back his words, all of them, the stupid heated conversation replaying in his head.
You’re dangerous.
He’d meant it, but not the way...shoot,not the way it had sounded.
Dangerous because yes... hewouldrun after her. But he was made for that, wasn’t he?
I can’t trust you.
But she hadn’t betrayed him. She’d just been... well, doing her job, like she’d said. He took another sip of the coffee.
One mistake and we’re done?
Not a mistake, a broken promise, but... but maybe he shouldn’t have asked her to make that promise.
He closed his eyes againstYou make reckless choices that hurt people who care about you.He’d hurt her with that. Hurt himself, really.
“Yeah well, I’m done.”
Nice, Skeet. Real nice.
He pressed his palms against his eyes, but pressure couldn’t stop the slideshow behind his lids. Her laughing at the night market, daring him to eat crazy food. Her in a gorgeous coral dress, taking his breath away. Her running through the jungle with him, having escaped Volkov’s tree house.
The couple’s massage.
The kiss—both of them. One for show and one painfully, deliciously real.
So real it had made him?—
“Thought I might find you out here.”
Ham’s voice cut through the white noise in his head. Skeet didn’t look up as the older man’s shadow fell across the bench, blocking the string lights’ gentle glow.
Of course Ham had followed him. The man never could leave well enough alone.
“I’m fine, Ham.”
“Sure you are.” Ham settled onto the bench. “I heard the fight. Those were some stingers.”
“I was a little rough on her.”
Ham went quiet. Then, “Yeah, well... I’m not sure I would be far off if Signe ran into trouble. And she’s a spy, a real, true-life spy that can handle herself.”
Skeet sighed. “I can’t get past the little voice in my brain that says...” He shook his head.
“Says what?”
He stared at his coffee. “That everything between us...” His throat closed. He swallowed. Tried again. “That it’s all been part of a game we’ve been playing.”