“How did your date go, little brother?” Patrick asked.
“Good,” I replied, eyeing the food Ian was cooking. Sampling deli meat and cheese wasn’t enough when the kitchen was starting to smell like a steakhouse. “I’m trying not to think about her too much.”
“Why’s that?”
I shook my head, fingers drumming against the kitchen bar. “I thought she’d be fucking timid.”
Emilia Porter was the opposite. Wary and easily frightened, sure, but that was understandable. Her quick wit and feistiness, however…? I’d had no clue I’d crave it like an addict. I was already looking forward to our next date, which she’d agreed to reluctantly.
I had her in the palm of my hand, though she took every opportunity to bite my fingers.
It was sexy as hell.
Something far less sexy was her comment about her own mother. “She said something weird last night,” I admitted. “She thinks her mother is dead.”
“That’s fucked up.” Patrick frowned. “Did her pop make her believe that?”
“I guess so. I’ll do some digging.”
One way or another, I was going to use this to my advantage.
“Anyway,” I said, “hand me that, will ya?” I nodded at the box farther down the counter.
Patrick complied, and I dug out the new phone. It was a gift to Emilia. I just had to prepare it a bit before sending it to her. For one, I wanted it synced with my laptop so I could access her texts and phone history and see what apps she downloaded. For two, I had to install a call distorter so our friends at the NSA and the FBI didn’t get any ideas.
*
Someone rudely interrupted me by knocking on the door and then entering before I could even tell them to fuck off. It was Patrick and Kellan with snacks and a couple six-packs of beer.
“Have you done anything?” Patrick stared at the state of my living room.
“I’ve been busy,” I said defensively. Closing my laptop, I left it on the coffee table, something I’d actually assembled earlier.
“The plastic’s still on the couch, mate.” Kellan snorted and crossed the living room to reach the kitchen.
“That’s ’cause you spill, Agent Caldwell!” I called after him, and he laughed. Then I faced my brother. “The stalking has paid off again. The girls are texting, and Sarah mentioned being in the mood for Chinese.”
His forehead creased. “So?”
For fuck’s sake. “So take her out, numbskull! Call her and say you want Chinese. Bond or some shit.”
“Good idea.” He nodded firmly and pulled out his phone.
So did I, ’cause I’d waited long enough. At this point, with a phone she’d had less than a couple hours, Emilia had communicated more with her best friend and a fake FBI agent than me, the bloke who’d given her the damn thing.
I wanted some attention now.
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