Chapter 6 #2
His expression didn’t change, and her smile widened.
“Maybe both,” Blake allowed.
“Mm.” She tapped her glass, eyes dancing. “Well, at least you’re better company than the man who sat next to me on the tram earlier. He tried to convince me paprika cures jet lag.”
Blake chuckled. “Does it?”
She drawled, “Only if you sprinkle it on enough goulash to put yourself into a food coma.”
Her wit was effortless, disarming, and threaded with a sharp edge.
Blake studied her across the table, reminding himself of Guardian’s directive.
She wasn’t just another curious journalist. She was already in too deep.
And he suspected she was sharper than anyone realized.
Add that to the fact that she was far too close to Zajac’s carefully hidden world, and it spelled disaster.
And now, he had to convince her to stop.
Elise swirled her wine lazily, eyes fixed on him over the rim. “So, mystery man with a briefcase, are you going to tell me who you really are, or do I have to start guessing?”
Blake gave her a half-smile. “Guessing sounds dangerous.”
She leaned in, her expression brightening with mischief. “All right, let’s play. Banker? No. Your watch is too plain. Lawyers usually flaunt their salaries on their wrists, too. Diplomat?” She shook her head. “No, you’re too guarded, and you actually listen when people talk.”
He lifted his brows, impressed despite himself. “Seriously? Is listening a strike against me?”
“A strike? No. It’s a clue,” she said, tapping her glass. “And no offense, but you don’t move like an accountant. You moved us through that crowd outside the hotel like …” She trailed off, her gaze narrowing. “Like you knew exactly how to get to where you want to go.”
Blake stilled, the faintest pause, which he covered with a sip of whiskey. “I’m a very boring man,” he said at last. “Here on very boring business.”
“Uh-huh.” She propped her chin on her palm, clearly not buying it for a second. “Boring men don’t tail people. And before you deny it, I’ve had that prickling between my shoulder blades all evening. You were following me. The question still remains if you’re a danger to me.”
That caught him off guard. Sharp instincts. She hadn’t seen him, but she’d felt him.
Blake leaned forward, dropping the charm just a fraction. “To you? No. But maybe that’s exactly why we’re sitting here. Because sometimes curiosity gets people into trouble.”
Her brows arched, her smile faltered for a moment. “Ah. The warning. I knew it was coming. And what am I supposed to do? Stop asking questions? Close my laptop and pretend I haven’t seen what I’ve seen?”
He didn’t answer immediately, and that silence told her plenty. Elise sat back, shaking her head. “You really are terrible at small talk. But you’re excellent at dodging. Which makes me think my mentor wasn’t crazy after all.”
Her words landed heavier than she probably intended. Blake’s chest tightened, and for a moment, the mission directive—make contact, tell her to stop—felt woefully inadequate. She wasn’t some reckless reporter. She was sharp, relentless, already threading the needle where others would have stopped.
And Blake knew in that instant that convincing her to walk away would be far harder than Guardian realized.
He set his glass down with care, the clink against the table softer than the weight of his words. “Some things aren’t worth the risk, Elise.”
“I didn’t tell you my name.” Her eyes flicked up, quick and wary. “That sounds exactly like something my editor used to say, right before reminding me how replaceable I was.”
He shook his head. “This isn’t about your editor. This is about staying alive.”
“Finally getting to the point,” Zane said in his ear. “And she’s right. You suck at small talk.”
He wanted to pull that damn earpiece out and stomp on it, but he didn’t move.
Instead, he watched as her lips parted, just enough to show surprise, before she caught herself.
Then she leaned back, folding her arms, her tone teasing but her gaze cutting straight through him.
“Now, we’re getting somewhere. Mysterious Suit isn’t just a bad flirt; he’s also a prophet of doom. ”
Blake’s mouth quirked. She had no idea how close she was to the truth. “Call it whatever you want. But people who dig too deep into certain names …” He let the pause hang. “They don’t get to finish the story.”
That sobered her, but only for a moment. Elise tilted her head, studying him, and then her smile returned, a bit sharper. “And you know that how? Because you read it in a report? Or because you’re part of the reason those stories never get finished?”
The jab hit clean and harder than most trained interrogators could deliver. Blake’s instinct was to deflect, to slide sideways, but the truth was there in her eyes. She wasn’t going to accept evasion.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear.
“I’m here because someone made sure your searches didn’t light up alarms today.
That kind of protection doesn’t last. You’re good, but you’re not invisible.
The more you dig, the louder and bigger the target you make. And when they hear or see you …”
“Damn,” Zane whispered. “That should get her to back down.”
Elise’s smile faltered, just slightly. The fire in her eyes dimmed for a breath, enough for Blake to see the flicker of unease. But then she straightened, tossing her hair back as though brushing away the warning like a whiff of smoke.
“You think that’ll scare me off?” she asked, voice light, but her hand was white-knuckled on the stem of her wine glass.
“I’ve already had a mentor die chasing this, and one of his friends, a private investigator, was killed, too.
He died bringing me a letter from étienne.
You think I’m going to stop because a stranger in a suit tells me to? ”
“What? I’ll get Jewell to dig into that as soon as she wakes up,” Zane commented quickly.
Blake studied her in silence, feeling the shift between them. He’d meant to warn her, scare her enough to make her step back. Instead, he’d confirmed what she already suspected—that she thought she was onto something real.
And now, he had to decide. Did he push harder and risk losing her trust, or play along long enough to keep her alive?
Elise’s eyes narrowed, her tone sharpened.
“So, tell me, Suit. Who do you really work for? Because no accountant, no banker, no tourist with a conference badge knows how to cloak a reporter’s search history in real time.
Hell, they don’t know how to find an IP address, let alone know what that identifier is doing on the web. ”
Blake didn’t move, didn’t blink. Years of training had taught him to hold steady under scrutiny, but something about the tilt of her chin, the razor wit in her eyes, made it harder to want to maintain the mask.
“Maybe,” he said, his voice smooth, “I’m just a very resourceful businessman.”
She huffed a laugh, low and disbelieving. “Please. You’re never at rest. Tell me you haven’t counted exits since the moment we came in. You don’t glance at your drink. You look at reflections in the glass. You’ve got the air of a man waiting for a gunshot, not a flight home.”
Blake’s lips twitched at the corners. Sharp didn’t even begin to cover her.
Elise leaned in, lowering her voice. “So, I’ll ask again. Who do you work for?”
He could have lied. He should have. But Guardian’s directive weighed heavy, and her mentor’s death hung between them like a ghost neither could ignore.
“I work for people who’d prefer you keep breathing,” he said finally, measured, deliberate.
“True,” Zane added to his running commentary.
Her brows arched, her smile curling. “Ah. So, you admit it. You’re not here by chance.”
Blake lifted his glass, letting the whiskey roll across his tongue before answering. “No. Not by chance.”
“Also true,” Zane agreed.
Her satisfaction seemed to soften into something else …
wariness, maybe, or the realization of what his presence really meant.
Elise sat back, exhaling slowly, fingers drumming against the stem of her glass.
“Then you already know I won’t stop. Whatever information killed my mentor, whatever he stumbled on, it’s tied to that man. And I’m not walking away from it.”
Blake studied her, heat rising low in his chest, a mix of frustration and reluctant admiration. Guardian hadn’t warned him she’d be stubborn. They hadn’t mentioned she’d be brilliant—and damn near impossible to deter.
Blake set his glass down slowly, his reflection caught in the amber glow. He’d come here intending to warn her, to shut her down cleanly. Guardian’s directive had been clear. But staring across the table at Elise, he knew he was already off script.
If he pressed harder, she’d push back twice as hard. If he tried to scare her, she’d only dig deeper. And if he walked away, she’d walk straight into a bullet meant for someone who asked too many questions.
So, he pivoted.
“Then we have a problem,” he said at last, his voice low, even. “Because if you won’t stop, you’re going to need someone who knows how to keep you alive while you poke the hornet’s nest.”
“Rut Roh, Scoobie. That’s not the plan,” Zane said, as if he didn’t know it.
Her eyes widened, just a fraction. “And let me guess—you’re volunteering? Out of the goodness of your heart?”
Blake allowed the faintest smirk. “Not my heart. I’m told I don’t have one. Let’s call it professional responsibility.”
Elise laughed softly, shaking her head. “You have a heart. All that flesh doesn’t move around by itself. And no, you don’t look like a man burdened by responsibility. You look like a man who keeps secrets in triplicate and only tells the truth when cornered.”
Blake tipped his head. “That’s not entirely wrong.”
Her gaze lingered on him. She was weighing him, the way he’d weighed her since she’d stepped out of the library. Finally, she leaned back, sipping her wine, her lips curving with that maddening mix of humor and defiance.
“You’re dangerous,” she said.
He wouldn’t deny that, but he countered, “And you’re reckless.”
They sat in silence for a moment the as hotel bar hummed around them. The sound of glasses clinking, the bartender polishing shelves, and muted voices from the far end was a common place thing. The world carried on, oblivious to the war of wills at their table.
Elise set her glass down, her eyes never leaving his. “Fine. You want to play watchdog, Suit? Go ahead. But don’t think for a second I’m handing you the leash.”
Blake felt a grin tug at his mouth despite himself.
She was fire and steel wrapped in wit. She’d never back down.
Which meant he’d have to stay in her orbit, close enough to steer her, close enough to keep the shadows from swallowing her until he could get to Zajac and ensure he was no longer a danger to her.
Guardian had told him to make contact and tell her to stop.
What he’d do instead was far messier. He’d stay.
He’d watch. He’d protect her. Even if she never asked for it.
Because if Elise Serra kept digging, Marek Zajac would notice, and she’d be dead.
Blake didn’t like that idea. She added light to the world.
Elise twirled the stem of her wineglass between her fingers, eyes gleaming. “So, if you’re my watchdog, does that make this”—she gestured between them—“our first official strategy meeting?”
Blake arched a brow. “If it is, you’re late. I’ve been waiting on you all day.”
Her laugh rang soft, catching the attention of a man at the bar. “Not bad. I almost like that line. Careful, Suit, you’re improving.”
He allowed the corner of his mouth to lift. “Almost?”
“Almost.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table, studying him with that maddening, sharp curiosity. “What’s your real name, anyway? And don’t say John Smith. I’d throw my drink in your face for being that cliché.”
Blake smirked, savoring the whiskey’s burn before answering. “What makes you think I’ll tell you?”
“Because I’m good at this.” Her smile widened, sly. “I ask questions until people slip. And I get the feeling you’re not used to anyone pressing this hard.”
He met her gaze evenly. “You’re not wrong. Most people know better.” He let the menace that lay dormant under his skin rise and fill that comment.
That stopped her. She blinked and registered the threat he was. Then she straightened her shoulders, smiled, and leaned forward. “Oh, I definitely know better.” She tipped her glass toward him, as though toasting her own recklessness, before sipping again.
Blake studied her across the table, the dim light catching on the wine’s crimson surface.
Guardian hadn’t prepared him for this part of the mission.
Her humor, her intelligence, her refusal to be cowed.
It would’ve been easier if she were simply naive or terrified.
But Elise wasn’t either. She was clever enough to see the edges of danger and bold enough to lean into them anyway.
“You’re trouble,” he said finally, almost to himself.
“Hell yes, she is. You landed in the middle of it, didn’t you?” Zane asked.
She studied him for a moment. “Probably, but you’re the one sitting here with me, Suit. What does that make you?”
He let a real smile slip this time, slow and dangerous. “Involved.”
“Too involved,” Zane grumbled.
The silence stretched between them for a beat, thick with unspoken things. Elise broke it with a grin, leaning back as though she’d scored a point.
“Good,” she said. “Because I was starting to worry this was just going to be small talk. What’s your name, and who do you work for?”
He extended his hand. “Blake, and I work for Guardian.”
Her smile faltered, but she extended her hand. “Guardian?” He nodded and clasped her hand in his. That’s when he noticed her slight tremble. “étienne told me to trust the Guardian.”
“Then I suggest you do.”
“Right after I see some credentials.”
He reached in his pocket. Something had told him she’d need proof of his association with an official agency. The creds were a mockup, without his real last name, but they were official enough for the job.
She took the wallet, examined the identification and badge on the other side, and then handed it back with a sigh. “Okay. You’re legitimate.”