Page 27 of The Specialist

I studied him, seeing the worry in his expression. The tension in his shoulders. More than once, I felt his gaze on me, and when I would meet his eyes, I caught a glimpse of such sadness, my heart ached. Something was up. Something big.

And I was determined to know what it was.

I finished my meal and complimented him. I insisted on helping him clean the kitchen, although there wasn’t much. Egan always cleaned as he cooked. But we put the food away, stacked the dishwasher, and took a cup of coffee and sat on the sofa. I was shocked when Egan sat across from me, not beside me. I had also noticed the lack of physical contact from him. Aside from a quick kiss and squeezing my hand once, he hadn’t touched me. That was highly unusual. He normally couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

My stomach felt like it was tied in knots.

Outside, the sky was a dull gray, a slight drizzle hitting the glass.

“I hate this sort of weather,” I murmured.

He met my gaze. “Oh?”

“It’s just enough rain for the roads and sidewalks to be slick. People don’t pay attention. The ER will be full of accidents.”

He nodded silently, sipping his coffee. I put down my mug, the sound of the ceramic hitting the wooden table loud in the room.

“Whatever you have to tell me, Egan, just say it.”

He began to shake his head, but I stopped him. “No. Something is wrong. The way you’re acting, I can see it. Feel it. Talk to me.” I took in a deep breath. “Are you regretting this? Regretting us? Was the idea better than the reality?”

He looked shocked. “No, Sofia. Nothing like that. I love you. That has not—will not—change, no matter what. I am sorry, my love, if I gave you that impression.”

“But something is wrong.”

He paused then nodded. “Yes. I have something to tell you, and your reaction worries me.”

“Why?”

“I am afraid you will decide to stop this. Stop us. And I cannot face that moment.”

I frowned. “Egan, I won’t—”

He held up his hand, cutting me off. “Do not say words you may take back.”

Something in his tone scared me, and I pulled my legs up to my chest, wrapping my arms around my knees. “Tell me,” I pleaded.

He told me about the strange visits he’d had. First, Alex, then the men today. Realizing that the two drop-ins were related. The feeling of being threatened.

He sat down, running a hand through his hair. “Damien is using his resources to see if he can find information.”

“You think this man wants to hire you for some demolition?”

“Illegal demolition, yes.”

“Why would he think you would be willing to do something like that?”

He glanced past my shoulder to the window. His gaze was unfocused for a few moments, then he met my eyes.

“I was not always on the right side of the law, Sofia.”

“You mean Hidden Justice?”

He shook his head slowly. “Unlike Marcus or Damien, I wasn’t brought on board HJ through the normal channels. I didn’t go to the police academy or have military training.”

“What are you saying?”

He scrubbed his face. “My father was a specialist. He defused bombs. Built them. He worked for the government. He was brilliant. I was always fascinated by his work, and he let me sit with him a lot. I learned very early in life how a bomb was made. How to take one apart. We would make small devices and go into the country and blow things up—like a tree stump or whatever. I loved it. My mother hated my fascination with it, but she allowed it because she knew if I was with my father, I was safe. She said more than once if I was left on my own, she was afraid of what I would do.”