“His name came up in some articles,” she said, too calm. “Local. Went to high school here. Ties to the Bellerose operation.”
“You don’t go looking for Nico Mercier,” I said flatly. “Not alone. Not ever.”
She met my gaze. “I’m not asking you to come with me.”
“That’s not reassuring,” I scoffed.
She opened the door and stepped out of her car, standing her ground like she’d done it a hundred times before. “Asher, I know how to take care of myself.”
I laughed once, sharp and humorless, then my gaze raked over her body. She was wearing a tight white tank top that showed off part of her stomach and a pair of baggy jeans. That hid her slender figure. She looked beautiful. I blinked. “You went asking about backroom poker your first night in town.”
“And I walked out just fine,” she shot back.
“That doesn’t mean?—”
“I’ve been doing Krav Maga for years,” she explained. “This isn’t me wandering into danger blind.”
That stopped me cold.
“You what?”
“Krav Maga,” she repeated. “Self-defense. Situational awareness. I’m not helpless.”
I studied her then. Really looked. The way she stood. Weight balanced. Chin lifted. No nervous fidgeting.
Dammit.
“That doesn’t make you invincible,” I said.
“No,” she agreed. “But it makes me prepared.”
I dragged a hand through my hair, frustration knotting tight in my chest.
“You don’t understand who you’re dealing with,” I said. “Nico’s not someone you corner with questions.”
“And Sophie wasn’t just someone who disappeared,” she fired back. “So forgive me if I don’t sit quietly and wait for answers that never come.”
Silence stretched between us. The night pressed in. Crickets. Leaves shifting in the breeze.
“You’re not going,” I said finally.
Her chin lifted. “I am.”
“Then you tell me where,” I countered. “And when. And you don’t go alone.”
“I don’t need a handler,” she snapped.
“No,” I agreed. “You need someone who knows this town.”
She watched me for a long moment, searching for something. Control. Motive. Maybe weakness.
“Fine,” she said at last. “I’ll tell you where I’m going. But I don’t promise to stop.”
I exhaled slowly. I hated that answer. And I hated even more that I respected it.
“You’re a very frustrating woman, Claire,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.
“You aren’t the first person to say that to me. I’m just determined. I thought you of all people would understand,” she finally said.