Toy Soldiers (Helford #1)

(11) Midnight

“You’re a lot more quiet than usual.” Rian hardly ever spoke, let alone started off a conversation, so his voice jarred me back into awareness and set my nerves on end. He was the kind of guy that only spoke when he wanted to be heard, but I had never been more frightened to hear what he had to say. I looked up to find him on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, staring at me, as he had probably been doing for God knows how long. His eyes narrowed on me, appraising me. I suddenly felt like just another mission, and I remembered the target on his back and suddenly felt sick to my core.

In an eloquent response, I merely shrugged.

He rolled his eyes at me and shrugged away from the wall, taking two more steps forward and spreading his arms out in front of him in a nonthreatening gesture, but I saw the handle of his gun in the waistband of his jeans, so he didn’t quite trust me enough. I felt the blade of my knife against my thigh, but I couldn’t help but to be a hypocrite.

“That doesn’t exactly convince me otherwise,” he prompted me, but I didn’t bite the bait. “Is it what’s going on with the target?”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up at the thought of referring to Jonathon as the target, but I kept my head down, not allowing him to see that written across my eyes. I shrugged again and sighed, leaning back against the couch and letting the scarf I had been knitting fall to my lap nice and neatly. I glanced up at him, nervous now that I had nothing to do with my hands, but I didn’t let a thing show.

“I am not even aware what you are referencing, so I’m going to say no,” I told him.

“I mean just in general,” he said, and then shrugged casually. “I didn’t think that you would be used to infiltrating schools and whatnot.”

“Do I look bothered by doing math homework, Blackwell?” I demanded monotonously, not impressed. He grinned, looking amused.

“You shouldn’t be,” he replied simply. “It’s not like you’re actually doing it.”

“School is for pansies,” I told him, and he burst out laughing, his stoic façade broken like a rock thrown through a glass window. He grinned in entertainment as he ran one hand through his hair, his eyes sparkling with his laughter. I felt a tug at my naval and I wanted to scream, because I had gone through so many moments like this one but this is the first time that I have felt. For anything.

This was the first time that the situation had hit so close to home, and I’m going to have to assume that my emotions were coming out to play because of it. It could have been because of the factor of kindness, handsomeness, friendliness, but I felt safer going with an extreme imbalance of emotional stability as my excuse.

Rian was otherwise unconvinced that this was just another mission for me, and I couldn’t blame him in a million years. I’m sure that it wouldn’t take a mind reader to realize that the composed, professional, sadistic girl that was written about in my file was not the girl sitting on the sofa in France playing with her fingers because she was too restless to stay still. I couldn’t exactly blame him for asking.

He came forward still until he sunk down in his usual chair, a dark brown leather Lay-Z-Boy that I have to admit I envied for its extreme comfort. He leaned forward, folding his hands and arms in front of him with his elbows on his knees, his eyes focused and staring me down. I folded my hands on my lap, looking back patiently.

He blinked, breaking the stare.

“Something more is going on, Alastair, and don’t try to convince me that I’m wrong,” he told me, holding up a hand. “I know how to read people the same way that you know how to convince the most untrusting person to welcome you with open arms. Now tell me what’s got you all quiet, princess.”