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Her eyes fall with hesitation. “Archer, I can’t.”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
“Both.” She shakes her head. “We’ve already pictured the more pleasant outcomes here but what we both need is the smart outcome and that’s where the two of us split for good and never speak of this again.”
“That doesn’t sound very smart.”
“I was sent to kill you, Archer. Not capture. Kill.” She squints her begging eyes. “I’ve done that dozens of times before, but I’ve never once been compromised. Not until now.”
“Emotionally or physically?”
“It doesn’t matter which.”
“Yes, it does.”
“Either way, I failed my mission. We both know what happens to those who get on certain people’s bad sides. We’re better off staying as far away from each other as possible.”
“We can protect each other,” I say. “It’s not as—”
“Archer...” She hangs her head. “No.”
I sit back and as she desperately tries to avoid my eyes. She brings her coffee mug to her lips, quickly realizes that it’s empty, but keeps it there to hide behind it for as long as possible. When she finally sets it down again, her eyes glide to the window instead.
I didn’t expect this to hurt. I didn’t expect much at all, really. I’ve been thinking one hour ahead for days now, never knowing where I’ll be until I get there. After last night, it feels wrong to part ways so quickly.
Her hands fall beneath the table and she runs her palms over her knees. “I should go,” she says, sliding out of the booth. “I need to call Elijah and let him know I’m okay.”
I reach out and take her hand as she passes by. “Lilah, this is the middle of nowhere.”
“So?”
“So, you don’t have to leave right this second,” I say. “Let me drive you home. I’ll give you a ride back to Wisconsin and we can talk on the way about—”
Her hand jolts out of my grasp. “What did you just say?”
Oh, fuck.
Lilah takes a step back. “How do you know that?”
I reach for her hand again, but she jerks her elbow back. “Lilah—”
“Archer, how do you know that?”
“I’m a bounty hunter.”
She lunges for the knife next to my plate. I slam my hands down on hers, pinning her wrists to the table and drawing plenty of eyes in our direction.
“Archer, let go.”
“Drop the knife and I will.”
“Tell me how you know that, and I’ll consider maybe dropping the knife.”
We stand still, both of us flexing in an awkward stalemate until the waiter appears beside us.
“Is there a problem here?” he asks, his young voice shaking.
“We’re fine,” we both spit out at once, refusing to break eye contact with one another.
