Page 98 of Hunt Me, Daddy
He was looking at the screen.
Coward.
“This is correct,” I said.
“Yes.”
“You are very bad at being less suspicious.”
“I was not trying.”
“Ivan.”
He looked at me then.
“What?”
“How do you know how I take my coffee?”
“Observation.”
“From when?”
He did not answer. I stared at him for a long second, then turned back to the computer. I filed it away. This felt different though.
More personal.
More dangerous.
More like something I did not want to open until I was sure I could survive what was inside.
Around six, he corrected me. I had found a route into the Orlov shell layer that looked clean enough to use without much noise. It would let me validate the document timing, possibly tie it to one of the old firms connected to Daniel’s case. It was narrow, but it was there.
Ivan saw where I was going before I finished laying it out.
“No,” he said.
I looked up. “No?”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to?—”
“I do.”
“Do not do that.”
“Do not take that route,” he said more firmly than ever, and my body went still before my brain had any interest in cooperating.
“That route is usable,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Then why not?”
“Because usable and safe are not the same.”
“I’m aware.”
