Chapter 8
EIGHT
Mason found her exactly where he knew she’d be—hunched over the computer, fingers flying across the keyboard like she could solve all the world’s problems if she just typed fast enough. She didn’t even look up when he approached.
He stepped up beside her. “Come on,” he said quietly. “Time to take a break.”
“I’m not leaving.” Her voice was flat, exhausted but determined. “There are eleven more handlers out there. Eleven more people who probably don’t know they’re part of this.”
Mason moved closer, close enough to catch her scent, clean and familiar. His chest tightened. “What are you going to do? Chain yourself to the leg of the desk?”
That got her. She bit back a laugh, the corner of her mouth twitching, and her cheeks flushed pink in the monitor’s glow. The sight hit him low in the gut, a punch of desire so intense he had to clench his fists to keep from grabbing her.
Christ, even exhausted and stressed, she was beautiful. The way she tucked that strand of hair behind her ear, the determined tilt of her jaw, the way her whole body leaned into her work like she could will the answers onto the screen… Everything about her called to him.
Before he could say anything else, Con entered the lab. His commanding presence filled the space, and his assessing gaze swept over them both, missing nothing.
“Did you get all that?” Con asked Elin, nodding toward the monitors still displaying data from the interrogation.
“Got it.” She straightened in her chair. “I plan to work until I find every single one of the handlers. But I think you can agree Silverton appears to be innocent.”
Con’s expression remained neutral. “That’s yet to be determined. But good work.”
He looked her over, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders, the way she gripped the edge of the desk like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Then his gaze fixed on Mason. A look passed between them that he read as an order.
“Take a break.” Con’s tone left no room for argument.
She seemed to deflate at his words, shoulders sagging with either frustration or relief—Mason couldn’t tell which. Maybe both. She pushed back from the desk and stood wordlessly, not looking at Mason or Con as she headed for the door.
He watched her go, her shoulders hunched like she was barely keeping it together.
He stepped into the corridor to watch which direction she took and was relieved to see she was heading to her room.
If he attempted to follow her, she’d probably just shut him out, but he wasn’t walking away this time. He was going to take care of her.
He made his way to the kitchen first. Kennedy was at the counter, working on a laptop. She looked up when he entered, her gaze sharp and assessing. “Everything okay?”
“Yes.” He started putting together a tray filled with a sandwich cut into triangles, fresh fruit, a couple of protein bars and a large bottle of water. She’d need the calories and hydration after pushing herself so hard.
“Need any help with that?” Kennedy was one of the sweetest yet misunderstood women he’d ever met. She carried herself like a queen, but she was so giving with her time, always jumping in where she was needed—and sometimes when people didn’t know they needed it.
He arranged the fruit so it didn’t roll off the tray. “Just getting food for Elin. She doesn’t know when to quit. She’ll work herself until she’s sick.”
Kennedy’s expression softened, a knowing in her eyes. “I’m glad she has you then.”
The words stopped him cold. He looked at her, wondering what she knew. What any of them knew. Sophie said not all the women had met Elin yet, but Kennedy did.
Did Elin tell them about their history? About how he’d left her with nothing but a flag and a broken heart? Would Kennedy judge him if she knew the truth—that he’d chosen Blackout over the woman he loved?
The weight of that choice pressed down on him, as heavy now as it had been two years ago. He’d told himself it was for the greater good, that he was saving her.
But standing in this kitchen, preparing food for the woman he’d abandoned, he wondered if he’d just been a coward.
Kennedy had already turned back to her open laptop, dismissing him without another word. Mason shook off his thoughts and headed for Elin’s room.
He knocked softly. “Elin? It’s me. I brought food.”
Silence.
“I know you’re in there. And I know you haven’t eaten since…” He tried to remember when he’d last seen her eat. “Yesterday, probably.”
The door opened a crack, and she peered out at him. Her eyes were rimmed with the strain of staring at screens nonstop, and his heart clenched at the sight.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Too bad.” He shouldered the door open gently, not forcing it but not backing down either. “You need to eat.”
She retreated into the room, and he followed, setting the tray on the footlocker at the end of the bed.
She curled up in the stiff-backed chair by the window. The mansion might be filled with expensive finishes, windows and floors, but the furnishings were all military-issue, cold and uncomfortable at best.
Seeing her with her knees drawn to her chest, looking smaller than he’d ever seen her, made him ache in ways he couldn’t put words to.
“I ruined his life.” She stared out the window, but he knew she wasn’t seeing the vast yard. “Charles Silverton. He was just doing his job, following orders, and now his family doesn’t know where he is. His kids are probably terrified.”
Mason crossed to her, crouching down so he was at eye level. Christ, he wanted to touch her, to comfort her. But he sensed she would withdraw further inside herself.
“You didn’t ruin anything. You saved lives.”
“Did I? Or did I just traumatize an innocent man?”
“Elin.” He kept his voice gentle but firm. “That innocent man was unknowingly part of a network that would’ve blown up a significant chunk of Canada. You’d feel a hell of a lot worse if you hadn’t stopped it.”
She looked at him then, really looked at him, and the pain in her eyes nearly undid him. “Would I? Because right now I feel pretty terrible.”
He stood and retrieved the tray, bringing it over to her. He set it on a small side table. “Eat first. Then we can discuss your guilt complex.”
“I don’t have a guilt complex.”
“Says the woman who’s blaming herself for saving lives.” He held out half a sandwich. “Come on. One bite.”
She took it reluctantly, and he watched her eat. With each bite, some color returned to her cheeks, and the tremor in her hands eased.
When she finished the sandwich and most of the fruit, he moved to sit on the floor beside her chair, his back against the wall. Close enough to touch, but giving her space.
“He’ll be okay,” Mason said quietly. “Silverton. Once we verify he’s not knowingly involved, he’ll go home to his family.”
“After we terrorized him.”
“After we saved him from being an unwitting accomplice to mass murder.”
She was quiet for a moment, then slid from the chair to sit beside him on the floor. Not quite touching, but close enough that he could feel her warmth.
“I hate this,” she whispered. “I hate that Cipher uses innocent people. I hate that we have to traumatize them to stop it. I hate all of it.”
Without thinking, Mason put his arm around her, and she leaned into him, her head finding that spot on his shoulder that seemed made for her. They fit together like they always had, two pieces of a puzzle that had been separated but never stopped belonging together.
“I know.” His lips brushed her hair. “But what you’re doing—finding these handlers, uncovering the network—is going to save so many lives.”
She was quiet for so long he thought she might have fallen asleep. Then she shifted slightly, adjusting but not pulling away.
“Elin…” He stopped.
He wanted to talk —about them, about why he left, about what they were doing now. But she was exhausted, wrung out from the interrogation and the weight of Silverton’s innocence.
This wasn’t the time.
He had so much he wanted to tell her. How leaving her was the hardest thing he’d ever done. How he thought about her every day. How being with her again felt like coming home and being torn apart all at once.
They could clear the air with one conversation, finally put everything on the table. It might not fix things, but she could begin to heal.
But not now. Not when she was barely holding herself together.
“You should rest,” he said instead.
She nodded against his shoulder, and he felt her body relax incrementally as the fight went out of her. That small surrender made his chest tight in ways he never wanted to forget.
She needed him to be strong for her right now, not to bring up his own guilt and regret.
“Will you stay?” Her voice was so quiet he almost missed the question. “Just until I fall asleep?”
“Yeah.” His voice was rough. “I’ll stay.”
Her breathing gradually evened out, her weight growing heavier against him as exhaustion finally claimed her. Mason held her while she dozed, memorizing the feeling of her in his arms, knowing that when she woke, she’d retreat behind her walls again.
They needed to have that conversation. They needed to address the anger that blazed in her eyes every time she looked at him.
Even if she didn’t trust him during her waking life, she trusted him to guard her dreams, and he wouldn’t let go of that.
He would wait as long as it took for the right moment.
But what if that moment never came?
* * * * *
Elin woke alone in her room, the late afternoon light slanting through the blinds. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen asleep in Liam’s arms. Again.
At some point, he must have carried her to the bed and tucked her in. She couldn’t fathom being so exhausted she didn’t even wake up.
She looked at the floor where they’d sat together, with his arm around her and her head on his shoulder. Somehow it always felt like the perfect pillow even though it was chiseled muscle.