Page 57 of Hunt Me, Daddy

His gaze stayed on mine, pale and steady behind the glasses. “Because you were about to give me a less interesting answer.”

I should not have laughed. It came out anyway, quick and surprised and almost immediately swallowed. I did not laugh loudly. I did not give the hallway that much of myself. But it was there, and he saw it, and his expression warmed by the smallest possible degree.

Damn him.

“So this is what Mara meant by useful,” I said.

“I suspect she meant argumentative.”

“She knows me too well.”

“She respects you.”

“She respects good work,” I said.

“So do I.”

My mouth went dry for no reason I accepted.

A man with arrogance would have made that sentence about himself. Ivan made it about the work, and somehow that was infinitely more dangerous.

“What exactly do you do, Mr. Morozov?” I asked.

“Ivan.”

The correction was smooth and my brain noted it, filed it, circled it twice in red.

“Ivan,” I said.

His name felt strange in my mouth. No, not strange. Familiar. That was impossible.

“I work in surveillance, attribution, and financial threat intelligence,” he said.

“Independent security research.”

“Sometimes.”

“That’s vague.”

“Yes.”

“Intentionally?”

“Yes.”

I narrowed my eyes. He looked faintly amused.

“You understand,” he said.

“I understand that vague answers are usually where people hide liability.”

“And do you always object to liability?”

“No,” I said. “Only when it’s boring.”

His mouth curved again. He was a dangerous man, then, because he listened.

Really listened.