“Is he one of us?”
“No,” she admitted.
“Then lose him. He’s not our responsibility.”
He was right. She was stil new to her duties as Seeker, but the Rule of the community, codified over centuries, was clear about their obligations to keep and preserve their own kind. And the dangers of getting involved with those who were not their kind.
Yet . . .
“Give us a minute,” she said.
Gideon’s face set, cold and rigid as marble. “Five minutes,”
he acceded. “I’l wait for you outside.”
Where he could guard the entrance and scan for danger.
She nodded.
With another glare at Justin, he left.
“Are you okay?” Justin asked.
“Fine,” she said firmly, whether it was true or not. Why had she felt the pul of his presence if she wasn’t meant to find him?
“Listen, it’s none of my business,” he said. “But if this guy is giving you a hard time . . .”
His wil ingness to look out for a stranger shamed her.
Especial y since she was about to abandon him to his fate.
“Nothing like that. We work together,” she explained.
He looked unconvinced.
“What about you?” she asked.
F o r g o t t e n s e a 17
He frowned. “What about me?”
“Wil you be al right?” she asked.
“I think my ego wil survive being ditched for another guy.”
The glint in his eye almost wrung a smile from her.
She bit her lip. Their enemies would be circling, drawn by that unexpected snap of energy. She already had to account for one mistake. She couldn’t afford another.
Besides, he was not one of them.
He would be safe. He had to be.
“Right. Wel .” She slipped her purse strap onto her shoulder. At least now she didn’t have to drug his beer.
“Take care of yourself.”
“Take care of yourself.”
As she slid out of the booth, he stepped back, lean and bronzed and just beyond her reach. “You, too.”
She walked away, reluctance dogging her steps and dragging at her heart.
*
*
*
Justin watched his plans for the evening walk out the door with more regret than he had a right to. Her tight butt in that slim skirt attracted more than a few glances. Her fal of dark brown hair swung between her shoulders. The woman sure knew how to move. He shook his head. He’d known she was slumming when she came on to him that afternoon. Presumably she was going back where she belonged, with Mr. Tal , Blond, and Uptight.
He hadn’t lost anything more than half an hour of his time.
So why was there this ache in the center of his chest, this sense of missed opportunity?
He took a long, cold pul at his bottle, his gaze drifting 18
V i r g i n i a K a n t r a
over the bar. He’d been in worse watering holes over the past seven years, before he got his bearings and some control over his life. Worse situations, in Puerto Parangua and Montevideo, in Newark and Miami. He drank more beer.
He fit in with the surly locals and tattooed sea rats better than pretty Lara Rho and her upscale boyfriend ever could.
But he didn’t belong here. He belonged . . . The beer tasted suddenly flat in his mouth. He didn’t know where he belonged.
He set down his bottle. He didn’t want to drink alone tonight. And he didn’t want to drink with the company the Galaxy had to offer.
