Page 25 of Shadow

Asher’s laugh came out sharp. “You’re stitching up a knife wound and asking about my love life?”

“I’m stitching up a knife wound on a man who looks like he hasn’t slept in a month and just spent five minutes describing a woman he met during a felony assault.” She glanced up. “So yes. I’m asking about your love life.”

“Don’t have one.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Little busy right now.”

“Being busy isn’t the same as being alive.” She went back to her stitching. “Luca was busy too. Thought he didn’t have time for relationships. Then he met me and realized being alone wasn’t better. It was just…alone.”

Asher had heard this story. Luca—Kira’s boyfriend. The guy had been closed off until Kira had cracked him open.

Good for them.

Asher didn’t have that luxury.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re whatever comes three steps past exhausted and two steps before collapse.” Another stitch. “When’s the last time you ate something that wasn’t coffee?”

“This morning. Eggs.”

“Did you actually eat them or just push them around your plate?”

“I’m fine.”

“You keep saying that. Doesn’t make it true.”

She finished the last stitch. Tied it off. Cut the thread. Started bandaging.

A memory rose—his mother, bandaging one of his childhood wounds. He should call her back, probably.

“There.” Kira stepped back. “Keep it clean. Dry for forty-eight hours. The stitches will dissolve on their own.”

“Thanks.”

“And Asher?” She met his eyes. “I’m not kidding. Find this woman. Ask her out to coffee.”

Coffee.

Right.

He didn’t even know her name.

Asher sat there on the exam table, staring at his bandaged arm.

The woman’s face kept surfacing. Green eyes with gold in the center. Auburn hair escaping from her ponytail—the kind of rich color that caught the light, making it hard not to notice. The scattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks that should have made her look young but somehow just made her look real.

Honest.

And for thirty seconds, that’s what he wanted.

Not the corrupt agent. Not the FBI liaison. Not the guy who couldn’t call his mother back or spread his sister’s ashes.

Just Asher Morrison. Doing his job. Protecting people.

Being the kind of agent he’d signed up to be before everything got complicated.