At Any Cost by Cara Ellison Page A

she wanted to jog and they were right behind her or when she went shopping with Gwen and they were just out of her peripheral vision. She didn’t feel like anyone’s “protectee,” though she was amused to find herself in that role with Tom. It felt like an act. Antoine Campbell’s death might have been wicked, but she felt too far removed from it to be in any actual peril.
    â€œIt’s my job to decide when you are in danger,” Tom said sharply.
    She was taken aback by his seriousness. In that moment she saw a glimpse of his real life, the life she had not been able to see in Paxos. He cared about his job, obviously, but so did all of her other agents. Tom cared somewhat uniquely, she thought. He cared with a particular intensity, and it stoked her curiosity.
    He was very near. His green eyes were intense, concentrated full of distances and heat. Yep, I am in danger. Code Red. DEFCON 5. But it had nothing to do with Antoine Campbell. It had to do with the man whose job was to protect her.
    She felt herself becoming dangerously close to overstepping her boundaries and asking him straightforwardly what he remembered about her in Paxos, if she ever meant anything to him. It was a curse, her inability to hide her emotions—or even control them very well. But to ask would be to open herself to the possibility she really did not want to face: that he had simply not cared about her the way she had about him.
    She looked away, suddenly frustrated with herself and with Tom Bishop. How absurd that she should feel guilty for wanting some clarification about what happened between them.
    â€œMiss Hughes …”
    â€œStop it,” she said with sudden force. Adrenaline pumped through her. “Stop the Miss Hughes and Avalon and Ma’am stuff. You know who I am.”
    He looked surprised by her outburst, and it gratified her. His stoicism had a crack.
    â€œI want you to relate to me as a human being, not a protectee,” she continued in a rush. “This is weird for me and I’m sure it is for you too. There aren’t any social rules for this territory. But it would be easier if we just acknowledged that we know each other from … from before. You don’t have to pretend you care about me … you just …”
    A wash of pink appeared under his cheekbones, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t from embarrassment though she couldn’t tell what he was feeling. His jaw tightened. A cord in his throat twitched. She’d slalomed right over the line. Touched that sensitive bruise that existed between them. The Past. Paxos. It was her chance though. If she didn’t just get it out in the open it would antagonize her forever.
    â€œWe should at least be … friends,” she finished lamely.
    He did not reply. His gaze was cold and level. Back to the stoic Robot Man, his de facto state. He couldn’t even stomach the thought of being friends? Stunned, Fallon forced herself to mimic him, remaining perfectly still, looking back at him with what she thought was proud impassiveness to disguise the acute disappointment that caused her heart to accelerate and tears to pinch the corners of her eyes.
    He glanced behind her, then met her gaze again. “I cared about you back then.” The words came out in a halting whisper. Everything about him seemed reluctant, restrained. “I still do. I have to … maintain … some sort of …” His voice trailed off and he looked out toward the dramatic spire of the National Cathedral in the silky gray sky. Fallon stood quite still, watching him, trying to ignore and control the welling wave of expectation that was struggling to break through her feeble emotional ramparts. He swung his gaze back to her. “I have to maintain some formality. For work.”
    â€œWhy?”
    His green gaze met hers levelly. The Siberian wilderness flickered with signs of life. “You know why.”
    Shots of light