“Don’t be. It wasn’t my idea, and I’m not proud of it. There are a million other ways to do it, though. Shadow-walk into one of the older courthouses, where they still keep physical copies of birth and marriage certificates. Steal someone’s wallet. Break into the bloodmobile while everyone’s gone to lunch.”

“And you don’t feel guilty about that? About taking blood meant to save someone’s life?”

I shrugged, hoping he couldn’t read the thoughts behind my next words. “Guilt is one of those concepts that has no practical application.” And the truth was that the blood I took did save someone’s life. It kept Jake—not to mention my own body—from killing me for disobeying orders.

“So, what would I be doing, specifically. What did the last Blinder do?”

“Not as much as you’ll be able to do, that’s for sure.”

“Because I’m stronger?” He looked vaguely uncomfortable as he spoke, like he wasn’t used to honking his own horn.

“That and because you’re…um…” I made a vague gesture at his face, reluctant both to admit the truth and to understand that reluctance.

“I’m…um…left-handed?” Ian grinned. “A democrat? A nonsmoker?”

I huffed in irritation. He was going to make me say it. “Because you don’t smell like cheese, jiggle when you walk, or snort with every other breath because you refuse to get your sinuses flushed out. Also, you’re not…horribly offensive to the eyes.” I mumbled the last part, hoping he wouldn’t hear, yet wouldn’t ask me to repeat.

“Ms. Daniels, unless I’ve misinterpreted that colorful description of everything I’m not, it sounds like you just paid me a compliment.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what I did.” In fact, I’d gone out of my way to make sure that’s not what I was doing.

“Oh, I think it is. I think you just said that I’d be better at the job than Tower’s last Blinder was because I’m not unattractive. First of all, thank you. Compliment accepted.” He bowed his head slightly, like I’d just offered to crown him king of the universe. Then, in the next second, he pasted on a frown. “Second of all, I am offended on behalf of pretty people everywhere. I’m not just a chiseled jaw and eyes you could get lost in. I am worth more than the sum of my defined biceps, sculpted pecs and a six-pack you could scrub laundry on.”

I nearly choked on an ice cube. “You have a six-pack?”

“Okay, maybe a four-pack. At least a carton of hard lemonade. But my point is that you have no right to judge my potential as a crime lord’s lackey by my looks alone.”

I nodded solemnly. “Don’t hate you because you’re beautiful. Got it.”

His brows rose and I knew what was coming before he even opened his mouth. “You just called me beautiful.”

“My point was that you’ll be able to blend in when you need to and stand out when you need to, and Ray Bailey couldn’t do either of those. You’ll be able to flirt your way into secure spaces, then open the door for a Traveler to bring in the rest of the crew.”

“You’re saying that Tower will exploit me for my looks?” Holt asked, and at first I thought that was another joke. It seemed too obvious a statement to be serious.

“He’ll exploit everything you are and everything you have. Your job description will read something like, ‘whatever the hell Jake Tower wants from you.’”

Someone cleared her throat next to our table, and I looked up to see the waitress standing there with nothing in her hands. “Is there anything else I can get you two?” she asked, and I realized she was hinting at the check, which meant her shift was probably over.

“No, I think we’re fine.” I set my credit card on top of the bill—the syndicate would reimburse me after I filed the receipt—and she slid both into the pocket of her black apron. Then she picked up my empty short glass and when she turned to say something to Ian, the glass she held slammed into Ian’s full glass of water. Which then slammed into mine. The water from both glasses poured over the edge of the table and onto my lap like a miniature waterfall. An ice-cold waterfall that splashed all the way up to my chin and soaked through my jeans so fast I may as well have been sitting on a glacier.

The waitress stared, frozen. And for a moment, I was too stunned to move.

Then that moment was over.

“Son of a motherfucking, ass-reaming, shit-eating, hell-dodging soulless bitch!” I stood too fast and my head swam, and the water poured down my pants to form freezing puddles in my boots.

Ian burst into laughter, the waitress burst into tears, and more profanity exploded from my mouth so fast I couldn’t even tell what I was saying. But the whole damn bar heard it.

“I’m so sorry!” the waitress blubbered. “Here, let me help.” She pulled off her grease-stained black apron and started wiping at my crotch until a growl rumbled up from somewhere deep inside me.

“Get. The fuck. Off me,” I said, so soft I barely heard the words. She backed away, clutching her apron in one shaking fist.

“I’m so sorry. Let me take care of the bill.” She set my credit card back on the table.

“It’s coming out of your check,” the bartender called from across the bar, and the waitress flinched.

“That’s not necessary.” Ian dropped a fifty and a twenty on the table, then grabbed my credit card and reached for my arm. But he stopped just short of touching me and held one hand out toward the back of the bar instead, gesturing for me to go first.