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Declan rolls me onto my back, props himself up on an elbow, and looks at me. Even in the dark room, I see the soft shine of his blue eyes. “You’re talking about your mother.” “How did you know that?” When he doesn’t answer, I say, “Oh. Right. The background check you ran on me.” “Aye.” “It must’ve been pretty extensive.” “Aye.” I study his face. In the shadows, he looks very serious, his expression intent. Hesitant, unsure if he’ll tell me the truth, I say, “Was it through a detective agency, something like that?” “No. Through the NSA.” “What’s that?” “The National Security Agency.” When I only lie there looking at him with a frown, he elaborates. “It’s the intelligence agency of the US Department of State.” “Wait. You mean the people who spy on us? Who record our phone calls
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