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Jonas held open the door of the coffee shop for Kate to precede him. She hesitated on the threshold, scanning the interior even as he did, proving anew the experience she claimed to possess. Knowing that didn't make it any easier to have her around, any more than having this partnership forced on him.
Or having her breast brush against his arm as she slipped past him.
Grinding his teeth together, he stared past her, focusing on the eating establishment. It was bigger than he'd expected, and busier, given the motel's location on the outskirts of what wasn't a big town to begin with. That was a good thing, making it less likely anyone would pay attention to them.
A scattered few tables sat empty, including one near the back with access to the kitchen—and an emergency exit, should they need it. Jonas opened his mouth to direct Kate to it, but she'd already started in that direction, and he clamped his lips together again as he followed.
To his surprise, Kate left the seat facing the restaurant's entrance for him, taking the one opposite. He stood beside the empty chair.
"You should take this one. You're the one carrying the—" he broke off, glancing at their surroundings. Not the best place to be discussing weapons, if one wanted to keep a low profile.
"And you're the one who knows who to watch for." She plucked a plastic-coated menu from beside the napkin holder and sent him what he could only term a sardonic look. "This is what partnership looks like, in case you were wondering."
"I know what—" He jerked the chair out from the table as the waitress stopped by with a coffee pot. He slid his mug across the table to be filled. "What's fastest?" he asked the waitress.
"That would be the morning special, hon." The frizzy-haired woman, who appeared to be the sole waitress in the place, slopped coffee into first his cup, then Kate's. "Bacon, ham, or sausage. Your choice of eggs. Toast. Home fries."
"Bacon," he said. "Over easy. Whole wheat."
Kate tucked the menu back into its holder by the napkins. "I'll have the same."
The waitress set the coffee pot on the table and tugged an order pad from her apron pocket. After noting their orders in a scrawl decipherable only to her—and, hopefully, the cook—she retrieved the coffee, slanted Jonas a smile, and departed.
"I think she likes you," Kate murmured.
Still smarting from his lost battle and in no mood for humor, Jonas ignored the remark and reached across the table for the sugar and two creamers. He dumped them into his coffee and stirred, watching Kate massage her shoulder.
"Sore?" he asked grudgingly.
Her hand stilled, and she glanced at it as if surprised to see it there. Then she dropped it into her lap. "A little, I suppose. I hadn't really thought about it."
"You gave it quite the workout with that driving stunt last night." He set the spoon on the table. Kate shrugged.
"It is what it is at this point. At least it's usable."
Jonas felt certain there was more to it than that, but he reminded himself—for the four thousandth time—that he didn't want to know. Didn't want to care. And sure as hell didn’t want to be any more involved than he already was.
He looked past her, studying the other patrons without seeing them, mentally testing and discarding a dozen different topics of conversation as the silence stretched between them—again. Impatience threaded through him. He might not be the world's greatest conversationalist, but something about Kate seemed to shine a spotlight on that particular shortcoming. He shot her an irritated look, then clenched his fists to keep from reaching out to smooth the tumble of blond curls.
And that wasn't helping.
"You need a hairbrush," he growled.
Kate put a hand to her hair, grimacing. "That bad?"
No. That good. That sexy. That damned unsettling.
He shoved aside his libido's response. "Too memorable," he said instead. "We don't want to attract attention."
Nimble fingers raked through curls, dividing them into three sections, and a few seconds later, a not-quite-tidy but far more discreet braid hung over one shoulder. Kate patted at first one, then the other of her jeans pockets. She made a face.
"No elastic, but it should hold for a while."
Jonas set his jaw and went back to staring over her shoulder, abandoning any attempt at small talk.
If the wait for breakfast had been strained, the meal itself was even more so. Kate made a handful of attempts at conversation, but by the time Jonas mopped up the liquid yolk from his plate with the last of his toast, she’d given up and was ignoring him as studiously as he tried—and failed—to ignore her. Jonas shoved the toast into his mouth, chewed without tasting, and swallowed.
A bloody fine partnership this was going to be.
Across the table, Kate’s slender hands spread strawberry jam over the last of her own toast. Even white teeth bit into the morsel. The tip of her tongue emerged to flick a crumb from her lip.
Jonas dropped his fork onto the empty plate with an unnecessarily loud clatter, and she looked up, one brow raised. Jonas shook his head in response, taking a swig of coffee that threatened to choke him. Beneath the table, his free hand clenched into a fist on an equally tense thigh.
Christ. If he intended to survive the next few days, he really, really needed to stop noticing Kate Dexter the way he did. Even if there was some kind of attraction going between them—which he wasn't admitting to—he had no room for someone like her in his life. And she had less room in hers for someone like him. The sooner they were done with this whole mess, the better.
Jonas pushed aside his plate and looked around for the waitress and her coffee pot. With breakfast out of the way, it was time to hear Kate's idea on how to—
He glanced across to find Kate watching him, her golden eyes narrowed. He bit back a groan. Hell, he was beginning to recognize that look of hers. She had more questions. He headed them off with one of his own. Or tried to.
"So about this plan of yours—"
"How did you get to where you are?" Kate interrupted.
"With the Bureau, you mean?" When she nodded, he shrugged. "I just sort of fell into it. They were looking for people at the same time I was looking for work."
"When did you join?"
"Fifteen years ago, right out of college."
Kate traced a fingertip around a spoon on the table, but her gaze didn't leave his. "The ATF doesn't just go looking for people. Someone must have pointed you their way. Your dad?"
Jonas snorted at the suggestion. "He would have been the last person to refer me to a life of law enforcement, believe me. Last I heard, he was doing time somewhere in California. I haven't seen him since I was three."
He watched her bite her lip. Knew she held back an I'm sorry. He opened his mouth to divert her from the topic, but she wasn't done yet.
"Who, then?" she asked.
Jonas sighed, knowing she wouldn't be sidetracked until she had the full story. "A Chicago cop who got tired of busting my butt when I was a kid," he replied. "I think he figured the best way to keep me out of trouble was to get me on his side."
"What about your mother?"
"Damned if I know." Jonas shrugged again. "She ditched me and my sister when I was six and Lizzie was four. We went into foster care, separate families."
Kate’s frown deepened, tugging at her brows. "Not together? No aunts or uncles?"
None that wanted us. “No."
"Did they at least keep the two of you connected?"
With the ease of long practice, Jonas detached himself from the memories. "Lizzie stayed with the same family until she graduated from high school. I was a pretty angry kid, and her family didn't consider me a good influence. I don't blame them. I got bounced around a lot, then spent a year on the streets before Mike Callahan straightened me out."
Distress clouded the golden eyes. "That must have been hard for you, losing your sister as well as your mother."
"It was a long time ago. I survived."
The gentle gaze didn't waver, however. If anything, it intensified. "I know," she replied. "And I know you're not looking for sympathy, Jonas, but that doesn't stop my heart from breaking for the little boy you used to be."
For a long moment, Jonas said nothing. Could think of nothing to say. Hell, couldn't think, period. He stared at the butter knife his fingers had curled around. Kate's words echoed in his skull, battering at the shell he'd so carefully constructed around himself over the years.
He knew his background had left its mark on him. He never denied that it had made him who he was and shaped how he'd chosen to live. He'd never kidded himself about any of that. He'd just always thought himself satisfied with it. Until now.
Until his own heart ached at the thought of the little boy he'd once been—and hollowed in the face of a life that suddenly stretched out so emptily before him. His gut twisted. Damn it. One way or another, this partnership with Kate was going to be the death of him.
He shoved his plate to one side and unfolded the map he'd purchased earlier, spreading it across the table between them.
"You said you knew how to get us out of here," he said. "Show me."