She looked out the window for a full minute before she continued. “I was pretty much alone always. Lonely, I guess.”
“You were lonely?” It was so hard to envision this strong, confident woman as a lonely creature without friends.
“I mean, everyone’s lonely, right?”
“I don’t believe everyone’s lonely, no,” I said.
She turned to me, clearly startled. “Oh, well. It was just a memory. And it doesn’t matter anymore. Work is more important.”
Was this what my team members saw in me? Was this what my mother and Jeanette feared? Sloane was so much younger than me, yet her life was so similar to mine. Work, focus, ambition, and drive.
When was the last time she’d had fun? When was the last time I’d had fucking fun?
“My father left my mother and me when I was sixteen,” I said, needing to even the scales between us. “My mother was in a catastrophic car accident that left her with a traumatic brain injury. She required four years of intensive rehabilitation. My father decided he couldn’t be inconvenienced by such a massive change of plans, and so he walked right out the door of our giant house in the Main Line and never returned.”
Compassion flooded her features. “Do you want me to find him? Abe, you know I could. That’s my job.”
The protectiveness in her tone, the protectiveness for me, had me reaching for her hands again. It was the farthest thing from professional. I held them, stroked my thumb along the side of her wrist.
“Thank you,” I said, and meant it. “Technically, I could find him now. I don’t think he’s truly hiding, more avoiding. He’s not my real father, and I don’t need him in my life.” The words sounded neutral. The hollow feeling in my gut revealed the truth. Because now I’d lied.
She studied me as the cab raced down the street, and I knew she could see through my bullshit, as always. But she let it go. “It makes sense now. Your mother, what happened. You’re a protector. You don’t sleep until everyone sleeps.”
“Is there another option?” I asked.
Her fingers flexed against mine. “Some people, like Bernard, steal everything when you sleep.”
I chuckled, shook my head. “That is true. I told you because… well, I get it. I saw a lot of my classmates toss their academic opportunities down the drain when I felt lucky I’d made it, given everything that had happened.”
Sloane was looking down, at our entwined fingers. With my other hand, I pinched her chin, turned her toward me. “For what it’s worth, I would have studied with you at NYU.”
Sloane actually laughed. “Oooh, boy. I would not have known what to do with you.”
“With my what?”
She looked me up and down suggestively. “All of that.”
“I beg to differ,” I said, voice soft. “I’m positive I wouldn’t have known what to do with you.”
Against all of my better judgment, I swiped my thumb across her lower lip. Defiance dueled with openness in her pretty eyes. I ultimately let her go, settling back in my corner with only the best of intentions moving forward.
“How did you spot my lie?” she asked. “At the library. And the first night we met.”
I smiled slightly. “This was always a favorite class at Quantico. Lie detecting. Being able to tell if your suspect was being honest. Did you ever take classes on it or receive training?”
“I have a little experience,” she said, voice light, but her spine had gone rigid. “Not formal.”
The night we met came back to me easily. “You over-complimented me. Touched me. Brought me into a private world. Probably told me at least one truth, or a half-truth, which made the lie more believable.” I lifted my brow. “And you too, Ms. Argento, have a micro-expression when you lie.” I pointed to the left-side of my head. “You look here.”
There was nothing subtle about her expression now. She was charmed by this information.
“I’m not saying I’ve never been caught,” she said, “It’s just few and far between.”
“Why do you look like you’re enjoying this?” She was warm, flirtatious, provoking a smile to spread across my face.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. Which was the truth, I could tell. “Maybe I’ve always been searching for the man who’d catch me in my lies.”
We pulled up to a slow stop in front of Midnight Apothecary—a roof-top bar that shimmered on top of a hotel. We exited, and I pulled my jacket tight, re-buttoned it. Right down the street, I could see bold white lettering