I had no doubt she could. That was not the point.
“I will walk with you.”
She looked back at me then. Properly. Briefly. “That wasn’t a question, was it?”
“No, Ms. Cordero.”
I worked very hard not to call herlittle spy. I had been within half a syllable of it. I had survived battlefields with less discipline.
A small pause. “Right.” Then she retreated into her room and closed the door.
For half a breath, she leaned against it. I heard the faint shift of her shoulder against the wood, the small, controlled exhale she did not want anyone else to have.
Then she straightened. Her footsteps crossed the room. The closet door opened.
I had nothing to do for the next ninety seconds so I ran the inventory.
Cordero had walked through the corridor briskly but not hurried. She had carried her work bag in her left hand. The watch was wrong for a translator. She had carried herself like a person who knew where every exit was in every room she entered.
She had also carried herself like a person who knew when she was being watched and had decided not to let it bother her.
Translator. Sure.
The door opened again.
She was magnificent.
I straightened off the wall.
We did not speak. I led her down the corridor, half a step ahead and to the right, sightline maintained, body angled to put me between her and the lobby. It was unnecessary. We were the full length of the approach from any threat she could possibly encounter inside a clan compound. I did it anyway.
She walked beside me without looking at me. I, who should havehad more discipline than this, looked at her.
She tracked the corridor with her shoulders. They shifted before her head did, the primary sensor, the head a secondary instrument.
Deeply trained.
I was going to have to write this report carefully.
At the first intersection, she slowed by half a step. Not enough for most escorts to notice. Enough for me.
The corridor to the left led to the library and lower conference rooms. Straight ahead led to the dining hall. She did not look left. She did not need to. Her attention touched the turn and moved on.
I stopped.
She took one more step before she realized I was no longer beside her. Then she turned, smooth as a door closing. “Problem?”
“Dinner is this way.”
“I know.” The answer was too quick.
I let my gaze move to the corridor she had pretended not to study.
Her eyes came to mine. Dark. Patient. Entirely too interested. “Why did you stop?”
“Because you wanted to know whether I would.”
For the first time, something in her face changed. A small internal adjustment occurred, as if she had moved me from one category into another. I did not like how much I wanted to know what she was thinking.
