She stood at the curb, watching the car disappear down the busy street.
A black SUV pulled up where the car had stopped. A tall man wearing a dark suit climbed out of the passenger seat and held open the back door. That was when she noticed the silver star badge on his belt. A US marshal.
He looked at Kira. “Dr. Torres would like to speak with you, if you’re available.”
Seven
Luca knocked on the door to Kira’s apartment, more nervous than he should be. Juggling the cardboard tray with two kinds of juice and two coffees and the paper bag of food he’d brought. Sure, it was five in the evening, but if she’d slept all day like he had, she would be ready for breakfast.
He was about to knock again when the door swung open and she stood there staring at him.
“Hey.” She blinked at him, either thrown or still a little sleepy, or both. Wearing loose blue-and-white-striped pajama pants and a formfitting tank top that accentuated the curves of her waist, with her hair in a messy bun on the top of her head.
“I figured you might want breakfast right about now.” He tried to keep it casual. “I just woke up an hour ago.”
She said nothing.
“So can I come in?” A horrible thought crossed his mind. “Or do you have a…guest.”
She almost flinched. “I don’t have anyone in here. I actually never invite people over. Ever.”
Ah, so she was just unaccustomed to having someone in her personal space. “I can give you this and take off.” He didn’t want to, but he would if she asked him.
She shook her head. “It’s fine.”
Not super excited, but he’d take it.
She held the door open, and he didn’t go too far into her space, letting her set the pace of his invasion and take the lead on where they went next. He knew she’d had a rough night last night, and it looked like she’d slept some but not much.
How she managed to still be gorgeous in pajamas, no makeup, and a thrown-together hairdo was a mystery to him. He had to fix his hair all the time, or it looked like he’d been dragged through a hedge.
“I brought passion orange guava juice and apple juice. Coffee and a bunch of pastries. Egg bites, things like that.”
She led him through the apartment, past a low couch that looked like it was too nice to sit on unless you had freshly cleaned clothes. Over by the dining table and four chairs, he could see into the kitchen. The whole place gleamed spotless. Maybe she was the kind of person who stress cleaned. Or she simply hired an excellent service to keep her space tidy.
“What’s your poison?” He set the bag and the drink carrier on the table.
“Unrealistic expectations.” Before he could ask what that meant, she said, “But I’ll take the passion orange guava. I had it on vacation last year, and I loved it. I’m more of a tea than coffee kind of person.”
“Me too. But joining the military got me hooked on coffee, and now I feel like I can’t live without it.” He handed her the clear plastic cup and a straw and took a sip of his coffee.
She pulled out a chair on the other side of the table. “You can have a seat, if you want.”
So they’d graduated from her reluctantly admitting him into her space to him actually being invited to sit. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself, but that was a kind of victory on its own.
“This is a gorgeous apartment.”
She sipped the juice, then lowered the cup to the table. “Basically everything was new when I moved here. I didn’t have much stuff when I emigrated to the US, so I kind of overordered furniture, not really knowing what I would need. Some of the stuff I sold later, and this is everything I liked and what’s functional left over.”
“I rent an office a couple of streets over, and it came fully furnished. Otherwise I would’ve been doing the same thing.” He tried to relax in the seat, like he fit here. Like she didn’t have to worry about him and she could let down her guard.
Not only because he wanted to know more about who she’d been before she moved to Renegade. But also because he was the kind of person she could do that with. A safe place for her to open up.
Luca opened the bag and spread the contents across the torn paper so she could see what he had brought. He laid the napkins beside the bag while she selected a chocolate croissant.
He grabbed an egg bite and tossed it into his mouth, eating it whole.
“This is good.” She wiped a thumb at the corner of her mouth. “I’ve had pain au chocolat in Paris, so in a lot of other places, they don’t seem quite as good. But this isn’t bad.”