He thinks he’s reading me, I thought. He’s just reading his own script.

My phone vibrated in my purse. Two short pulses, a pause, one long. Priority alert.

“Are you expecting someone?” Adrian asked, his gaze drifting to my bag. “Phones are rude at dinner.”

“So is ordering for a grown woman,” I countered.

I slipped my hand into my purse and checked the screen under the table. A message from Jonas, my senior intelligence analyst.

Unknown female photographed you and Target at 19:42. Facial match pending. Separate development: junior officer from his ship requested emergency contact with us.