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As they spoke, Piper’s smile was bright, but her posture had an edge.

This was play-acting.

He’d seen this in CIA agents new to undercover before they’d learned how to melt into their roles. It was a plastic veneer of overcalculation and self-protection.

Sure, he was looking at this through the lens of someone who dealt with spooks in the field.

But could that be right?

Could she be cross-pollinated with intelligence? Her cover would get her into places where she could rub elbows with the rich and powerful. That could make sense, especially if she were posing as Amanda Harcourt. If she did a body double of Amanda, no one would ever know.

Even without the resemblance, Piper had a solid profile as the head of her own laboratory studying some rare syndrome. It was a perfect setup for a spook. Nobody would know enough to challenge her expertise, and she could fly around the world to consult with lead scientists.

Or, she could be exactly who she said she was.

Something about her was a distraction.

Ethan had spent way too much time researching her last night.

The resemblance between her and Amanda Harcourt was too similar not to make him curious, he told himself.

And though Piper looked like Amanda, Amanda didn’t buzz his sensibilities the way this woman did.

So it wasn’t about looks.

Something else made him want to keep her in his line of sight.

Ever since he saw her with that “nervous but determined’ cape she’d wrapped herself in yesterday at Alabaster, Ethan’s protective instincts had been turned to full volume.

Chapter Eighteen

Piper

The waitstaff were serving alcohol far too liberally for the middle of a workday.

Piper appreciated the tarot spread that Chanti had done after she’d seen this dress.

This dress!

Piper looked like a flamingo doing flamenco.

No, a flamenco shirt had ruffles down the front; this was …

She pushed her spoon through the puddle of green froth on her dessert plate, trying to recall what the dress reminded her of, and she landed on a man’s rumba shirt.

She could use a drink.

She would have accepted a drink.

But Chanti had warned her to keep her guard up, saying a car accident might be in the cards.

Chanti might be right.

If Piper drank to get through lunch and drove herself home, that could have gone badly. So she’d powered through on ice water.

Piper’s gaze rested on the twisted piece of glass that was her trophy, the brass plate at the bottom engraved with her name, missing one L in Phillips.

Piper had no idea what to do with this thing.