“It doesn’t bother me.” He leaned closer, lowered his voice. “Tonight, you became exactly what those people expected you to be—shy and afraid. You could be an actress. And the information you fed me, the way you got that key to us—it was like having someone on the inside. I couldn’t have handled it better if I’d been a hostage.”
“You couldn’t.” She smiled at his surprised reaction, her words a little prick to his ego. “They would have suspected you—the big, strong military man. That’s the thing about being a religious sister. People are hardwired to trust us. Even though I stand out in my habit, I also move below most people’s notice in a way you never could.”
“Devious.” He leaned back in his chair, his gaze still locked with hers, a grin spreading over his handsome face. “I like it.”
* * *
Dylan couldn’t helpbut watch as Sister María took her first bite of her dinner. Her eyes closed, and she moaned, a soft, feminine sound of satisfaction that stirred him in all the wrong ways, making his blood run hot.
She chewed, swallowed, then dabbed her lips with her napkin. “It’s been so long since I’ve hadpasticho. My Abuelita Isabel used to make it when I came to visit. She’s gone now.”
Grief flitted like a shadow through her eyes, there and gone in an instant.
“I’m sorry.” Dylan almost reached out to take her hand but stopped himself. He picked up his fork and knife and cut into his steak. “What did she think of your becoming a nun?”
Sister María smiled. “My abuelita was a good Catholic. She made sure I knew how to pray the Rosary when I was little. She would have been proud.”
The conversation drifted as they ate, the two of them careful to keep their voices down. The work she’d done at the Mission. The desperation so many Venezuelans faced when it came to finding food. The lack of the most basic medicines.
Dylan couldn’t take his gaze off her—those big eyes, the slight flush in her cheeks from the wine, those sweet lips, the tilt of her head when she smiled, the soft purr of her voice. And then he had to ask. “What made you give up everything? What made you decide to be a nun?”
She took a sip of her wine. “Why did you choose to do what you do?”
He grinned, amused that she’d flipped the question on him. “I’ve always been a strong, physical guy. I can do things other men can’t do. I guess I wanted to make a difference.”
“It was much the same for me. I saw a chance to do a job most people can’t imagine doing.”
“But you had to give up so much.”
One slender eyebrow arched. “And you didn’t?”
“I’m free to dress how I like, go where I choose, take lovers, raise a family, quit my job, start something new.”
“Yet, here you are in San Antonio, risking your life, doing your duty.”
She had a point.
Dylan was about to say so when movement near the front door caught his gaze. The hostess was blocking a woman who’d come in from the street, a child in her arms.
“No, please!” The woman tried to sidestep the hostess, then raised her voice. “Leftovers for my child? Anything? Please! He’s hungry.”
Voices stilled, heads turning.
Sister María’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth, a stricken look on her face. She set her fork down. “Madre de Dios.”
Dylan realized what she was about to do and caught her wrist before she could stand. “Don’t draw attention to yourself. Wait. You should finish your supper. You need to eat, too, build up your strength. You’ve been through an ordeal.”
Her gaze met his, distress in her eyes. “I couldn’t possibly eat more. The rest of the arepas—we’ll get a box for them, too.”
Dylan knew there was no changing her mind. He took the last swig of his beer, ate his last bite of steak, and motioned for the server. “Can we get a couple of boxes and the check, please?”
“Sí, señor.”
He paid in cash, called up the location of the hotel he’d booked on his phone, and they walked out together, Dylan’s gaze moving surreptitiously over the other patrons to see if anyone was watching them.
Out on the street, Sister María craned her head, looking for the mother. “There.”
The woman sat against a wall fifty meters ahead of them, her child in her lap.