Page 86 of Shadow

Felt, in a way, that Ruthie could see through them, maybe knew the truth.

In fact, standing there doing a threat assessment while string lights twinkled overhead and the band played something cheerful and the smell of apple cider and cinnamon filled the air—this was the opposite of covert. This was a neon sign.

His biggest threat was standing beside him in a dark-green dress that made her eyes look impossibly bright.

Daphne.

Wow, she was pretty. With her auburn hair down, easy around her face, and just a hint of makeup, and curves—he’d seen them under her yoga pants, but that dress slid over her body in a way that suggested she’d left her holster at home.

Hence he’d worn his tactical pants, his weapon tucked away in a back holster.

So maybe she was trusting him too. Felt like it, ever since the interrogation two weeks ago.

The community center was decorated for fall. Hay bales stacked near the entrance created rustic seating. Jack-o’-lanterns lined the windowsills, candles flickering inside. Long tables covered with orange tablecloths held potluck dishes—casseroles, salads, desserts, all labeled with names on index cards. The band—four older men with guitars and a keyboard—played on a small stage. Country music mostly. Upbeat.

Cool November air drifted through open doors. The smell of woodsmoke mixed with cinnamon and apples and coffee. Outside, the sun was setting, painting the sky orange and pink through the windows.

“This is nice,” Daphne said quietly beside him.

“Yeah. It is.”

The community center was packed. Approximately seventy people. Everyone he recognized from the neighborhood. He spotted Ellen and Craig near the punch bowl. Dean and his wife at a table. Mark Sullivan—arm still bandaged—sitting with Renee.

No one suspicious. No one who didn’t belong.

Roger stood against the wall. Arms crossed. Scowling. Destiny was already socializing. Elegant in a burgundy dress, talking to one of the single men from the next block over. Wayne Price, former lawyer. Widowed.

Good. The cover was working.

So yeah, this was a good night. Maybe he’d just calm down and take a full breath and try and enjoy this.

Frankly, it wasn’t a hard leap.

This should be tedious. Something you endured for cover. Smiled through. Got through and moved on.

But walking into the community center earlier with Daphne beside him—her hand resting lightly on his arm, dress swirling around her legs, hair down, soft around her face—Asher realized something unexpected.

He was looking forward to this.

Not because the operation required it.

Because he wanted to dance with Daphne. Wanted to see her smile. Wanted to spend an evening pretending they were just a normal couple.

When had that happened? When had the cover story stopped being performance?

He’d learned more about Daphne Cross in three weeks than he’d learned about most people in years.

She yelled at the television during The Terminal List. Not just at James Reece, the protagonist, either—who she said broke too many rules—but at the corrupt officials who’d forced him into vigilante justice. “Just do your jobs!” she’d shout at senators and administrators on screen. Her face would get flushed. Her hands would gesture. She’d be completely absorbed.

The first time it happened, Asher had stared. The second time, he’d smiled. By the third episode, he’d started adding his own commentary, and she’d laughed and agreed.

She also knew every Jeopardy! answer. Every single one. Before the contestants even buzzed in. She’d murmur them quietly, almost to herself, even before Destiny shouted them out. (And usually out of Destiny’s earshot.) History, science, literature, pop culture—didn’t matter. She knew.

“How do you know all this?” he’d asked one night after she’d correctly answered an obscure question about Byzantine architecture.

She’d shrugged. “I read a lot as a kid. Felt like a safe place after Dad died.”

She played Scrabble with Destiny every night after dinner. Patient. Never letting Destiny win but never making her feel stupid. Teaching her strategy. Laughing when Destiny tried to pass off fake words as real.