Page 57 of Her Mercenary

“Yes.”

“Ah, that’s right, from your intel package on me.”

“Right.”

“So, how old are you?” I asked.

“Forty-two.”

“You seem older.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean, in an experienced kind of way.”

“Thanks.” He rolled his eyes.

I grinned.

Roman regarded me closely. “You’re an inquisitive creature, you know?”

“I ask a lot of questions. It’s one of my worst qualities. I get it from my mom. She likes to know about people, to understand them and what makes them tick. This is why she was such a great teacher—and why I became one, for that matter. She ...”

I stopped mid-sentence, feeling that damn knot rise in my throat.

“Emotions make you messy.”

“I’m sorry for what you’ve been through,” he said.

“Thank you, but I’m not the only one. I’m not the only victim. There are so many, Roman, so many innocent—”

“I know.” His voice was suddenly sharp, a nerve within him struck.

A moment passed between us.

“How long have you been undercover?” I asked.

“A while.”

“How long, Roman?”

“Thirty years.”

“Thirty ...” My jaw dropped. “Wait—so you would have been a child when you started working undercover. Why?”

Roman pulled the knife from his boot and began sharpening it against a rock. I got the sense it was a nervous tic.

“Why, Roman?” I pressed, wanting to know more about the man who attracted me in so many ways. “Why have you tethered your life to this horrible, vile world?”

“Because someone has to,” he said, avoiding eye contact.

“There’s a story here, isn’t there? Please tell me.”

No response.

I leaned forward, following my gut intuition. “Tell me about your mother. It’s something to do with her, isn’t it?”

His jaw twitched.