Page 55 of The Spy
"Yeah. It's interesting. You see the world in a completely fascinating kind of way."
"Do I now?"
"Yes, I think so. I could use a little bit of that in my life all the time."
I chuckled low. "Well, I find that some people don't want that. They need to see things exactly the same way all the time; otherwise, they can't move forward with whatever they're doing, you know?"
"Yeah, I know. I generally call those people stuck in their ways, relics."
"But maybe they're not relics. Maybe they're just trying to make sense of a world that's not quite what they expected. Sorry, I’m rambling.”
When our dinner was served, he placed his phone on the far right of the table. My job was to get mine as close as I could to his and clone it. It should have been easy, except a heavy hand suddenly settled on my shoulders. I immediately palmed my steak knife with my right hand, ready to twist and slice right through those tendons if needed.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw Kevin Tate, Jennings’s father, standing behind me, and his hand was like a meat cleaver on my skin. I purposely widened my eyes to feign surprise, because while Tabatha Smith might know exactly who he was, Tabatha Bracknell did not.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here? This looks nice. You're enjoying a date."
I ping-ponged my gaze between the younger and older Tate. Jennings looked nothing like his father. While the son was long and lean, the other was short and stout. Very stout. Where the younger Tate was handsome, with light gray eyes, dark hair, and a strong jaw, his father had a large chin matched with an even larger nose, ruddy cheeks, and small beady eyes. Thank God, Jennings probably looked like his mother.
"Father, what are you doing here?"
"Imagine my confusion when I went to the house to see you and you weren't there. I was informed you were on a date. Of course, I know this is your favorite restaurant, so I thought I'd come and meet the woman who has captivated my son."
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to my feet so I could shake his hand. "Mr. Tate, it's a pleasure. Tabatha Bracknell."
I pulled my clutch off the table and said, "If you gentlemen will just excuse me, I'll let you two talk."
But the older Tate stepped in my path. "Oh no, don’t let me run you off." He slid his gaze over me, and I felt it like a slimy wet caress. I swallowed a shiver.
Jennings pushed to his feet. "Dad, that’s enough."
The old man put up his hands. "What? Can I not meet my son's date?"
I slid my gaze over to Jennings. He looked furious. I could see the barely checked anger in his eyes.
"Honestly, it is lovely to meet you. I'm just going to the loo for a moment."
The older man shook his head. "No, I insist you stay. I can't stay long, but I’d like to get to know you a bit."
Thankfully, he sat next to his son. Unfortunately, that meant he had an unfettered view of me. He plopped on the seat, his broad body seeming to widen even more as he leaned back in a full-on man spread, taking up as much space as humanly possible. And he stared at my tits.
What I wanted to do was palm my knife and play with it. I could do so many things with that knife.
No, we're not stabbing the terrorist.
Alleged terrorist.
Instead, I sat back and laid my clutch on the table, placing my phone right next to both of theirs. Two for the price of one.
When his eyes finally returned to my face, he asked, "What do you do, Tabatha?"
I glanced over at Jennings before answering. "I work for the art authenticator's office. Your son had me authenticate a couple of pieces that have been called into question."
The old man blustered. "Nonsense. I have the best art purveyors in town. They wouldn't have bought something fraudulent."
I squared my shoulders and folded my palms into my lap. "Yes, sir. That's the hope. But these days, as I was just telling your son, thieves are getting smarter and smarter. It makes my job more challenging."
"Ah, it's your job to catch thieves?"
