Chapter 31 The Safe House
THE SAFE HOUSE
QUINTON
“Are we there yet?” Emery whines from the back seat of the SUV as Damon takes yet another turn down an isolated road through the Colorado mountainsides.
My suggestion to stay in Europe was outvoted, not only by Emery and Damon but by Vivienne as well. Her contacts at the FBI deemed America to be a safer place to ride out this nightmare. I sure hope they were all correct.
“Almost there,” Damon replies, focused on the winding backroads.
He rolls his neck, fatigued, as he shifts uncomfortably in the driver’s seat beside me.
We decided driving would be more strategic than flying or taking a chopper.
Less chances of being tracked. But we’ve been driving for what feels like days.
He’s exhausted. She’s exhausted. And I’m ready for solid ground.
Emery grumbles, crossing her arms like a grumpy child. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
Damon and I exchange sighs.
“We've already stopped four times, darling. We're almost there,” I assure her. “A few more minutes.”
She huffs but doesn't complain any further. I reach into my bag and pull out my iPad. The encrypted satellite signal flickers to life as I open the device, and I begin reviewing the limited information we've managed to gather on Simone and Toni.
“Any updates from Red?” Damon asks, stealing a quick glance my way.
I nod, scrolling through the data. “Yeah, she’s working on putting together a dossier. The more we know, the better.”
“What do we know?” Emery mutters from the backseat. “I mean… Who are they?”
I clear my throat. Emery’s strange attachment to Toni is worrisome.
She’s made it clear multiple times that Simone is the real danger and that Toni, whether she’d admit it or not, was merely a pawn.
In my eyes, they’re both equally guilty but whatever relationship Emery established with Toni has the potential to be the true danger.
Given what Emery’s told us, I fear Toni may be equally attached.
“The information so far is limited,” I say, scrolling through Red’s files.
“Simone Laurent is a French national. She and her family immigrated to the US several years ago through the diversity lottery. Since then she’s been working odd jobs here and there.
Her employment record is rather spotty. I assume that means whatever she’s been doing to support herself isn’t IRS-friendly.
Her last known residence is outdated, and her contact information leads to dead ends. ”
I slide the screen to Toni’s information which is a bit more extensive.
“Antonia Mancini was born in Albany but spent most of her childhood in Sicily before returning to the States for school. She’s got a computer science degree from MIT but strangely works as a freelance graphic designer, according to her tax documents.
” I frown at the information. “Honestly, there’s nothing incredibly incriminating about Toni.
She’s never been arrested, not even a parking ticket—”
“Probably because she could just wipe it from the system if she wanted,” Damon interrupts me, scowling. “Fucking hackers.”
“She’s a gray hat,” I add, reading Red’s notes. “Apparently, she’s not completely amoral. Only partially.”
Damon scoffs. “Kidnapping and extortion, Q. Need I say more?”
I sigh. “Don’t shoot the messenger, I’m simply relaying what Red has told us about her.”
“What about,” Emery’s voice cracks, but she covers it up with a small cough. “What about her family? Is it true? Everything she told me? About her… About her sister? And the, uh…” I can see her wince through the rearview mirror. “And the Diazenix scandal?”
My jaw tenses. “There is a death certificate for a Lucia Mancini dated two years ago. The cause of death…” I swallow. “The cause of death was a stroke, most likely due to lack of preventive care.”
The color drains from Emery’s face. “So she wasn’t lying.”
“That’s enough.” Damon slams the steering wheel.
“Put that shit away. The why doesn’t matter, Emery.
She hurt you, and she was planning to fucking kill you.
How can you have sympathy for a person like that?
” His voice strains, the tips of his ears burning up.
“Losing family is not a green light to exact revenge, to fucking kill an innocent person.” He grips the wheel, staring out into the winding road.
“My entire family died when that chopper went down. Did I go and fucking slaughter the company that made the helicopter? Or the engineers? Or the salespeople that sold us that model?”
“Damon, please.” Emery reaches through the center console, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine,” Damon grunts, turning sharply onto a paved driveway. The car jerks when he slams on the brakes. “We’re here.”
The cabin, our safehouse, is surrounded by towering trees. Completely off-grid. Hydro and solar operated. We've chosen it because it’s remote, isolated. Harder for anyone to track us. To find us. Find her.
Damon turns off the engine, and we spill out of the car, stretching our cramped muscles.
Finally.
“Let's get inside,” Damon says, storming toward the entrance. “Emery can shower first.”
“Is he going to be okay?” Emery whispers as we hang back for several seconds.
She crosses her arms over her parka, expression pained and weary as she stares at the cabin.
“He just seems… He seems so angry.” She slowly cranes her neck toward me, tilting her head up, her voice soft, almost afraid. “Is he angry with me?”
I let out a small breath and sling my arm over her tense shoulders before pulling her into my chest. My chin rests on the top of her head. I close my eyes, holding her tightly, giving her the reassurance that we’re here, that we won’t go anywhere.
“I don’t think he’s angry, darling,” I whisper. “I think he’s scared. He’s scared to lose you again.” I kiss her forehead. “We both are.”
Emery pulls away from me, and she nibbles on her bottom lip. “Do you think we’re in danger, Quin? Is he right to be afraid?”
“We’re safe here,” I assure her, yet my gut turns with unease. “Go shower, darling. You’ll feel better after a shower.”
Emery nods with a small smile. “You're right. A shower sounds good.” She lifts herself up on her toes, pressing a quick kiss on my cheek, and then we head up toward the cabin.
“Bathroom is upstairs,” Damon calls out from the living room as we cross the threshold. “Everything you need should be in there.”
Emery hesitates for a moment before disappearing up the stairs. I join Damon in the living room. He stands before the liquor cabinet, scanning the bottles.
I approach him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You can have one, Damon," I say softly. "After the stressful week we've had, you’ve earned a stiff drink.”
He glowers at the assortment of bottles, his jaw clenched. Instead of reaching for a whiskey, he opts for soda water.
"I'm fine," he grumbles, taking a sip before heading to the fireplace.
I follow him through the log cabin, taking in the rustic design.
It’s cozy in here. Almost makes it feel like there isn’t a storm brewing on the outside.
Damon attempts to start a fire, but the man has little experience.
When he’s about to lose his shit, I offer my help.
He grumbles, but accepts my assistance. Together, we start the fire. We coax the flames.
The fire crackles but it’s quiet. Too quiet. The silence between us is loud, uncomfortable, and unhelpful. We can't continue like this. We can’t continue in a constant state of awkward pauses and hums. This won't work unless we communicate.
"Is something bothering you, D?" I finally break the silence, placing a log on the fire. "If there is, you’ve got to tell me. We need to be on the same page. We need to be open with each other."
Damon remains quiet for a moment, staring into the dancing flames. "We’ve done this before, Q," he says, his voice gruff. "It didn’t end well."
“Emery is not Alison,” I say, her name bitter on my tongue.
Damon winces, and I don’t blame him. Despite our different accounts of history, she hurt us both.
“This time will be different, Damon. We can’t punish Emery for our failures.
She… She’s told us what she wants. Now it’s our job to make it happen. ”
Damon's tensed shoulders sag, and he finally meets my gaze. "I wanted to marry her, Quinton.”
“As did I.” I grip his shoulder, my hold pleading for a compromise.
Another chance to get it right. "Which is why I think this time failure’s not an option.
” He glances at my touch but doesn’t shrug it off.
“I know it’s been a long time, Damon, but try to remember how it was before everything went south.
It wasn’t all bad, D. You know it wasn’t. ”
Damon licks his lips as he recalls our glory days. “We go slow, Q,” he says, tone stern. “She… She needs us to go slow.”
A smirk clips my upper lip. “I think we should let Emery tell us what she needs. From what I’ve seen,” I perk a brow, “she’s more than willing to experiment.”
“She’s injured, Quin,” Damon says, taking a step away from the fire. “Until all her bruises fade, you and I will be operating at fifty percent. Is that clear?”
I let out a playful sigh. “What about—”
I'm cut off by a startling crash from upstairs, a loud bang that rattles the cabin. Damon and I exchange a worried glance before sprinting up the stairs, calling out for Emery.
"Emery!" Damon's voice is strained, panic seeping through. “Em!”
When we reach the bathroom, breathless and anxious, we find Emery freshly showered. She's bent over, picking up a fallen vase.
"I accidentally knocked this over," she says, looking up at us, blinking innocently as she holds the white towel wrapped around her body.
“Jesus…” Damon sighs in relief, his shoulders relaxing. "I thought—"
"I'm sorry," Emery coos, standing up straight. "I'll be more careful next time."
“Good,” I say, mouth dry as Emery accidentally loosens her hold on the towel, revealing just enough skin to render me hopeless.
“Why are you stare—” She frowns, gaze flicking between me and an equally stiffened Damon.
And then realization dawns on her, and the skin around her chest flushes with patches of pink and red.
She glances down, noticing her bare breasts taunting us.
Instantly, a coy, playful smirk spreads across her face, and without hesitation, she drops the towel completely, saying, "Oops. "
Damon's eyes widen. “Emery…”
She laughs, the sound so light and carefree, and walks past us toward the bedroom. "I'll be in there if you need me," she says over her shoulder, leaving Damon and me in stunned silence.
Shaking my head, I turn to Damon, woefully amused. "I don't think your plan to operate at fifty percent is going to pan out, mate." I nod toward the executive bedroom. "But go ahead, be the one to let her down."
Damon glowers at me. "She's going to give me a fucking heart attack, I swear. She's injured and she's acting like nothing is..."
"Maybe she needs a distraction," I say, shrugging. "Maybe she wants to forget about how she got hurt in the first place."
“Fuck.” Damon closes his eyes and releases a labored sigh. "Fine," he grunts. "But we go gentle."
I grin. "I'm always gentle, D. You're the one that usually needs restraints."
Damon rolls his eyes and reluctantly exits the bathroom. I follow him into the bedroom, and when we enter, I can’t help but release a hushed chuckle.
Sprawled across the bed, damp and naked, is Emery. Completely passed out and lightly snoring.
"I guess we'll have to distract her tomorrow," I quip with an amused smile.
Damon huffs, more relieved than disappointed, as we carefully cover Emery with a blanket.
“Should we let her rest?” Damon asks, glancing down at Emery as she curls into a ball under the blanket.
“She wouldn’t want us to leave,” I say, kicking off my shoes and climbing onto the left side of the bed. I motion for him to join me. “Just sit down, Damon. She wants you here.”
"I never thought you and I would ever share a bed again," Damon confesses, running a hand through his hair as he sits beside Emery and rests his head against the headboard. “I can’t say I like it.”
“I don’t either.” My gaze lingers on Emery's peaceful face as she snuggles against the pillow. "But she does. And that’s all that matters.”