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She was smiling, looking at something on a flashing screen. Her face lit up. She was actually enjoying this conference.
He hated being this far away from her.
Fuck. How could she affect him this much? She was under his skin. In his damn blood.
He didn’t let anyone get to him. Ever.
There’s only ever the mission objective, boy. He heard the grizzled voice in his head.Never let people matter too much. You can’t trust them. They’ll betray you, or move on.
Cain had already learned that lesson when he was young. Max hadn’t had to teach him that.
He’d been the son of drug addicts, born in Washington D.C. He’d ended up in foster care for a bit, and then finally landed with a decent family. The father had played catch with him, the mom had cooked good meals.
Until they’d gotten a newborn they could adopt. Then, they’d dropped him like a live grenade.
He’d bounced around a few other foster homes, then gone his own way. He’d ended up on the streets.
Cain hadn’t minded it. He got to look out for himself, make his own choices. For a fourteen-year-old, he’d been pretty street-smart, and had quick reflexes.
Then, he’d picked the wrong pocket. Usually, he’d targeted tourists. That day, he’d picked the pocket of a retired CIA agent.
Max had been as grizzled as hell, with a temperament to match. But he’d seen something in Cain. Taken him in.
For a while, Cain had been sure the old man was a pervert. But the hot meals, a real bed, and piles of books, had been worth the risk. Slowly, Max had gained his trust.
Then, he’d started to train Cain.
Cain had ended up with an education and the skills to become the best deep-cover agent the CIA had. Max had always told him to stay alone. To steer clear of entanglements.
If the old bastard was still alive, he’d be very unhappy with Cain about Jet.
Yeah, well, Cain wasn’t sure he had a choice anymore. He wanted her. He couldn’t seem to make it stop.
Every minute he spent with her… He loved watching her smile, frown, loved pushing her buttons to get a sharp retort or an eye roll.
Ahead, a man approached her, and Cain had to force himself not to tense up. He picked up a leaflet.
“Can I help you?” A blonde woman approached him, but he waved her off. He kept his gaze on Jet and the man.
Who are you, asshole?Cain noted the man’s details. About six feet tall, one hundred and seventy pounds, salt-and-pepper hair. He looked to be around fifty, and wealthy. His suit was tailored—Cain guessed Brioni—and his watch was a Rolex. Definitely a businessman of some description.
Cain lifted his phone like he was texting. He took a shot of the man and quickly sent it to his team. Was this their buyer?
The guy had started a conversation with Jet. She was smiling, and gestured at the high-tech drone on a pedestal beside her. She was relaxed. The guy wasn’t worrying her.
Cain edged closer so he could hear them.
“You know a lot about drones.” The man had an American accent.
“They’re my thing. I use them at work.”
“Where do you work?”
“Dynathon.”
“I know the company well. I own Brink Aerospace.”
“Oh, right. You supply parts for our drones.”
