him to figure out what some of the same people were up to now.
He had Constantine Dimitrov and Wallace Jagger on his target list and knowing they were on hers, too, was disturbing. He had to figure out how to either help her or get her out of the way.
Getting her out of the way would be the best choice for a lot of reasons, and one of those reasons had to do with the unexpected spark between them. He wasn't just working at cross purposes with her; he was also undercover. He wasn't a bartender; he was an FBI agent. He'd told her she could trust him, but he'd been lying to her at the same time. For some reason, that bothered him, and it shouldn't, because he was used to lying when working a case. He just wasn't used to being caught in this in-between spot where her problems were affecting his case but weren't a part of it.
Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. He needed coffee and a plan. But the plan should probably come first, before he stepped into the kitchen.
There was only one solution. If she wasn't going to quit, he had to help her get to the truth faster. Then she'd have no reason to be at the club.
He would call Flynn, see what the team could dig up on Natasha's death. Perhaps he could steer Maya in a different direction. It seemed unlikely that a conversation she'd had with Wallace at eight o'clock could have set a burglary in motion by eleven. It wasn't impossible, but he suspected someone else she'd spoken to before Wallace might be a better suspect.
It was slightly interesting that she'd spoken to the owner of Freddie's, which was on the same block as Falcon Motors. Was that just a coincidence? It seemed like it was, but in the five years since he'd become an FBI agent, he'd learned not to believe in coincidences.
As his stomach rumbled with hunger, he got up to use the bathroom and throw some water on his face, and then he made his way into the kitchen.
God, she was pretty! That was the first and only thought that ran through his mind as he watched her scramble eggs at the stove. She had on faded jeans that hugged her sweet ass and a sleeveless top. Her brown hair fell over her shoulders in thick waves, dancing halfway down her back. She suddenly turned her head, her green eyes widening with both surprise and sudden awareness.
His body hardened. Damn! She was definitely going to be trouble. He needed to keep her at arm's length, but suddenly all he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and kiss her until he ran out of breath.
She cleared her throat, and he realized he'd been staring at her a little too long, but he couldn't seem to stop. Her face wasn't just beautiful—it was interesting: the smear of freckles across her nose, the slight scar under her chin, a trace of flour across her cheek.
"Good morning," she said, finally getting some words out. "You're staring."
He needed a reason to explain that. "You have flour…" He pointed to her cheek.
"Oh. I made pancakes." She wiped the flour away with her fingers. "Did I get it?"
"You did. Pancakes, huh?"
"And bacon and scrambled eggs with fresh tomatoes and feta cheese. I hope there's something you'll like."
"It's a feast."
"It's a thank-you for saving my life last night."
"I don't know about your life; maybe your purse," he said lightly.
"And you spent the night on my couch so I could sleep without being afraid. It was very nice of you. I'm grateful that Wallace sent you to my house with that envelope. Even though I wish he'd read what was inside, maybe it worked out the way it was supposed to."
"Sounds like you believe in karma."
"You don't?"
"I prefer to be more proactive in making things happen the way I want them to, not leaving it to fate."
"Well, I try to do that, too, but sometimes life throws me a curveball, like a burglar or a bartender who shows up at the right time," she said, flashing him a smile. "Do you want some coffee?"
"More than I want anything else."
She laughed. "Help yourself. Breakfast is ready if you want to sit down."
He filled a mug with coffee and took a seat at the table as she brought over a platter of eggs to go with the bowl of fruit, plate of