“Your face speaks without words,Craig.” She looks herself over. “All I need is mozzarella and I’d be a caprese salad.”
My alias sounds wrong coming out of her mouth, and I suddenly hate hearing her say it. Especially after she almost said my real name. “I like caprese salad.”
She lifts her gaze to mine, and instead of annoyance, I catch something heavier—defeat. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” She takes the bike from me. “The kid didn’t mention this stupid bike has no brakes.”
I eye the handlebars, then reach over and twist the grips backward. “They’re right here.”
“Great.” She steers it toward the sidewalk. “But I won’t be riding again.”
I fall in step beside her. She stops.
“You don’t have to follow me.”
“I’m not.” I tip my chin toward the main road. “I’m heading back to the villa. Same direction. You?”
Her sigh is all the answer I need. We walk in silence until we hit the piazza. Pedestrian traffic squeezes us to the edge. I scan for the man I saw earlier, but he’s nowhere in sight.
Then I glance at Cybil.
She’s tugging at her tomato-stained jacket, head ducked to avoid the curious looks. I’ve seen this posture before—shoulders curled in like she’s trying to disappear. She wore that same look the first summer I met her at Rex’s ranch. Showed up in jeans too short and shoes with holes.
It wasn’t hard to spot poverty in Cypress Creek, but it wasn’t the worn clothes that burned the memory into my brain. It was the way she wore the abandonment. That and the black eye she gave me when I looked at her with pity.
I’m not looking for another.
I scan the street. Spot what I need.
“Will you do me a favor?”
Cybil pauses, eyeing me with suspicion. “What?”
“Wait here. Just one minute. Please?”
“Why?”
I sigh. “Can’t you just trust me, woman?”
Her brows lift. “I don’t know,Craig. Can I?”
I step close. The move catches her by surprise, and I can see she wants to step back, put space between us, but she doesn’t move. Just glares.
I lean in, close enough to feel her breath catch. “Keep saying my name likethatand you’re going to blow my cover.” She shivers and I pretend I don’t feel it straight to my chest. Pretend my pulse isn’t suddenly pounding in my ears. I reach up, pluck a piece of lettuce from her hair, and twirl it between my fingers. “One minute. Don’t move.”
I jog across the street to a clothing store. A quick conversation with the clerk and I’m back out, scanning for her. She’s still here. Tucked in the shade of an alleyway.She stayed.
But my smile vanishes when I spot him. Same guy from earlier. Iambeing followed.Except...
Slowing my pace, I weave through the congested sidewalks, keepingthe man in my peripheral vision. And that’s when I notice—he’s not watching me. He’s watching her. Cybil.
My stomach knots. Ramirez doesn’t trust anyone. I expect to be watched. Followed. It’s why I cut off all connection with family and friends outside of our FBI office for the last eighteen months. But Cybil? She’s not supposed to be a part of this. Not really. Not like this.
I waste no time jogging back to meet her. “Thanks for waiting.” I lift the bike. “What do you say we ride this back to the villa?”
Cybil gapes at me. “Are you crazy? I nearly died.”
“That’s because you didn’t know how to drive it. I do.” I glance toward the man still watching. Every second she hesitates makes me more anxious to get her off the streets. “Don’t you have a meeting to get ready for?”
