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“Conor.”
“You’re the only person who says my name that way, Riggs. Did you know that? I don’t need Caller ID for you.”
“You say the sweetest things,” she cooed in my ear, making my lips twitch.
“I work hard to be charming,” I agreed, scratching my temple where there was an ever-present itch since the fist that had collided with my face a few days earlier had cut skin.
“I remember that conversation.”
Agitated, I crossed my arms over my chest. “The one where you told me that people wouldn’t like me if I remained a robot?”
“That’s the one. It’s a life lesson you should have learned before you reached seventeen. With your family, I’m surprised they didn’t point it out sooner.”
My brow puckered, pulling on the dissolvable stitches on my forehead. “Did you call just to insult me? Because I have enough on my plate as it is.”
Her chuckle was infectious enough that it made the corners of my lips tug into a smile. Riggs,whenthe urge struck, always laughed from her belly. I wasn’t sure she knew any other way.
“I have a job for you,” she said lightly once she’d finished finding amusement at my expense.
“I’m busy.”
“You’re always busy. But this is Uncle Sam,” she reminded me—as if I’d forget my deal withthatdevil. “You can’t be too busy for him.”
“I’ve done Sammy Boy enough favors for him to leave me alone for the rest of my damn life. You owe me for finding that bug in the NSA servers. You were begging hackers to come in and explore.”
She tutted. “You know how it works.”
“I do, but I think it’s time to renegotiate.”
“You don’t renegotiate with the United States,” she retorted, tutting for a second time. “Do I need to remind you of what happened when you were seventeen? The reason I told you that you needed a personality transplant?”
I huffed.
“You were the one who decided to go exploring NASA. You were the one who decided that a single visit to a top-secret agency’s database wasn’t enough.”
I grimaced at the memory. At the time, I’d needed to access a satellite.A now obsolete satellite. It so wasn’t worth the punishment.
Deciding to play hardball, I stated, “I need to leave the country.”
Her voice grew sharp. “Why?”
“Not for good. Just for a short period. Maybe a few weeks.”
“You know you’re not allowed to leave the continental US—” She sighed. “Ah. You want to do a deal.”
“You catch on quickly.” I rocked back in my seat and stared at the footage one of my monitors played on repeat.
Star sitting right where I was.
In my home.
It was the nearest I’d ever gotten to her. The nearest, sometimes, it felt like I’d ever be.
“For a woman?” she guessed, sounding bored by the idea.
“Thewoman,” I corrected.
“They always are,” she dismissed.
