Chapter Three | NOA
Chapter Three
NOA
Halo City in the late afternoon looked like it had been built for bad decisions.
Torin drove without a destination, one hand on the wheel and the other moving over his phone like he could bully a safe location into existence by sheer nerve.
He probably could. He had the kind of confidence that made a woman want to hit him and the kind of competence that made the same woman check whether she had leaned toward him while she was deciding where to aim.
I watched the passenger-side mirror instead.
The safe house was gone. The fire was behind us. Torin’s laptop was in his go-bag, because of course he had grabbed that too. The drive was in his jacket because he had yanked it out before the front room went up, and I had let him keep it for exactly as long as getting out alive required.
That time had expired three blocks ago.
“Give me the drive,” I said.
Torin didn’t look away from the road. “That’s an interesting start to a conversation.”
“Good thing I wasn’t asking.”
His mouth twitched.
That mouth was a problem. It looked too pleased with itself, and worse, it had earned the right.
“You’re fond of the word my,” he said.
“I’m fond of people not taking things out of my bag, my hands, my apartment, or my life without asking.”
“I took it out of a burning laptop.”
“Congratulations on your situational awareness.”
“Thank you. It’s one of my better qualities.”
“That wasn’t praise.”
“I decided to take it that way.”
The vehicle cut through three empty blocks, past shuttered storefronts and dark office towers with night crews glowing in the upper floors.
Fog dragged low between buildings, silvering the streetlamps.
The bay smell came through the vents, salt-cold under the smoke still trapped in my hair and jacket.
Torin glanced at the mirror, then at me. His eyes were bright even in the dash light, blue enough to be rude about it.
“The drive stays secure,” he said.
“The drive stays with me.”
“You’re in my vehicle, under my protection, while people with accelerant and ambition are looking for you.”
“And somehow I’m still not your storage unit.”
He laughed once, low and quick.
It went through the small space between us like a struck match.
I held out my hand.
Torin looked at it. “You’re serious.”
“I usually am.”
“That’s part of your charm, is it?”
“I’ve never advertised charm.”
“No, sweetheart, you weaponize it.”
The word slid under my skin and stayed there.
I kept my hand out.
He shifted the wheel with his wrist, reached inside his jacket, and pulled out the drive. He didn’t hand it over immediately. Of course he didn’t. Men like Torin Dempsey believed every object in reach was theirs until someone proved otherwise.
I took it from him before he could make a ceremony of surrender.
His eyebrows lifted. “You steal from bodyguards often?”
“I only steal back.”
“Good to know you’ve got principles.”
“I’ve got several. Most of them involve not letting armed men decide what’s best for me.”
“That must make your life difficult.”
“It keeps my life mine.”
That should have ended it. Instead, the silence after it sat between us too hot and too aware, because he heard more than I had meant to say, and he didn’t miss things for my convenience.
I slid the drive into the inner pocket of my jacket and zipped it. The small weight settled against my ribs.
Better.
Torin saw exactly where it went. His jaw tightened once.
“Happy?” he asked.
“No.”
“That would have been too easy.”
“Pull over.”
His eyes flicked to me. “You do like giving orders.”
“I like giving good ones. There’s a difference.”
“We don’t have a location yet.”
“We have a deli.”
I pointed ahead and left.
Mercy & Rye glowed at the corner through the fog, yellow-white sign buzzing above the windows.
Inside, the counter ran the length of one wall, the booths were cracked red vinyl, and the coffee station looked like it had survived several wars and one health inspection by bribery.
The griddle was on. I could smell butter even through the closed window.
Torin looked at the sign, then back to the street.
“We’re not sitting long,” he said.
“We’ve been living on protein bars since this morning, and your driving personality isn’t a meal.”
“My driving personality got you out of a burning building.”
“My legs helped.”
“Your legs are impressive. I noticed.”
Heat snapped through me fast enough to make me furious.
“Pull over, Dempsey.”
His grin came quick and lethal. “Grand.”
He cut the wheel and brought us to the curb.
***
The deli was nearly empty, which was the only reason I went in.
A man at the counter stared into his phone like it owed him money. A woman in scrubs sat at a window booth with soup, coffee, and the hollow-eyed focus of someone between shifts. The woman behind the counter looked twenty-three and exhausted enough to be honest.
I chose the booth farthest from the door.
Torin slid in across from me, back to the wall, facing the room.
I looked at him. “You were going to take that seat even if I got here first.”
“I was.”
“At least you admit it.”
“I’m many things, Noa. Shy isn’t one of them.”
No, it wasn’t.
He filled the booth without trying. Dark hair gone loose from the day, jacket still on, fitted shirt pulling across shoulders built by discipline and bad ideas.
The sleeve had ridden up enough to show the edge of the tattoo on his upper arm, black ink disappearing under fabric.
I didn’t wonder how far it went. I absolutely didn’t wonder what else was under that shirt.
The counter woman came over with a pad in hand. “Kitchen’s limited this late. We’ve got minestrone, grilled cheese, eggs, fries, coffee.”
“Two grilled cheese,” I said. “Two coffees. Black.”
Torin leaned back. “She’s bossy when she’s hungry.”
I looked at the waitress. “He’s worse when he talks.”
The waitress blinked, then smiled like the night had improved by one inch. “So that’s two grilled cheese and two black coffees.”
“That’s right,” I said.
“And fries,” Torin added.
I looked at him.
He looked back, all innocence and blue eyes. “You’re going to steal mine otherwise.”
“I don’t steal fries.”
“You stole a drive from my hand ten minutes ago.”
“I reclaimed evidence.”
“You’ll reclaim fries too.”
The waitress left before she laughed at us.
I wrapped both hands around the mug when it arrived. The coffee was strong enough to sand paint off a wall and hot enough to make my fingers ache. Perfect.
Torin watched the room, not in the twitchy way amateurs did when they wanted to look alert. He simply knew where everything was. Door. Counter. Kitchen access. Window reflection. The man at the end of the counter. The woman in scrubs.
Me.
Especially me.
“You stare at everyone like that?” I asked.
“No.”
“Try again, but less honest.”
“I’m not staring at everyone.”
“That wasn’t less honest.”
He picked up his mug. “You want me to lie to you?”
“I want you to develop self-control.”
“I’ve got self-control.”
“You’ve been provoking me since Claudia’s office.”
“That’s self-control.”
He said it like fact. Like the version of him without restraint would be something the city needed a permit for.
The worst part was that I believed him.
The food came. The grilled cheese was buttered properly, crisp at the edges, molten in the middle. I ate because pride was useless and hunger made people slow. Torin ate like a man who considered calories ammunition.
“You’ve done this before,” he said.
I swallowed. “Eaten grilled cheese?”
“Moved under pressure without wasting motion.”
“Were you expecting screaming?”
“I was expecting most people.”
“I’m not most people.”
“No.” His gaze held mine over the rim of the mug. “You made that clear when you tried to fire me before I’d technically started.”
“I was being efficient.”
“You were being a menace.”
“I can multitask.”
His grin hit again, smaller this time and more dangerous for it.
I looked down at my plate before I did something stupid, like smile at him where he could see it.
“I grew up in places where being noticed was worse than being ignored,” I said. “You either learned how to read a room or you got used by it.”
Torin didn’t soften his face. He didn’t tell me he was sorry. He didn’t reach across the table or make my life worse by being kind in a way I had to answer.
He only went still.
For one breath, the fight between us changed shape.
Then he said, “Irish Defence Forces. Seven years.”
I looked up.
He turned his mug once, thumb moving along the handle. “You learn the same lesson with different scenery. Who’s armed. Who’s lying. Who’s too calm. Who wants out and who wants blood.”
“And you left.”
“When leaving made sense.”
“That’s a very neat way to avoid the rest of the answer.”
“It is.”
“Do you always give half answers?”
“Only to women who’d use the whole thing against me.”
“I would.”
“I know.”
There it was again. That infuriating certainty. He looked at me like he had already seen the knife and admired the grip.
His phone lit on the table.
Torin glanced down, read the screen, and his expression sharpened. The grin went away. Not softened. Removed.
“Landon found a location,” he said.
“Where?”
“The St. Julian. Fourteenth floor. Booked under cover names.”
“The St. Julian.”
“You object to five-star hotels now?”
“I object to anything that makes me easier to find.”
“It was booked clean. Landon’s good at hiding things when the situation calls for it.”
“Almost affectionate.”
“Don’t tell him. He’ll make it unbearable.”
I drank more coffee. “One room?”
Torin’s gaze moved over me slowly enough to be deliberate and fast enough to pretend it wasn’t. “One room.”
“There are always other rooms.”
“Not ones Landon trusts. Not ones he can bury this fast.” His mouth curved. “I’m afraid there’s only one bed.”
I set the mug down carefully. “You sound devastated.”
“I’m a professional. I’ll endure.”
“Touch me and lose the hand.”