Chapter 6
6
NATHAN
I t was working.
She was upright, smirking at his embarrassing stories, and eating.
If it didn’t make him look so stupid, Nathan would have high-fived the shit out of himself. But she already thought that he had no fashion sense. He didn’t want her to tack on ‘lame’ as well.
But damn, his voice was getting raw.
Water would be good, but Nathan wanted to ration it in case his captors decided against refilling the bucket. He sipped it instead and shoved it towards Quinn. She scowled a scowl that didn’t really reach her eyes, but huffed in annoyance and took a sip.
High-fiving was out of the question, but Nathan was running victory laps in his mind. Seeing as how she seemed to respond to personal stories, Nathan decided that he’d share all of his colorful history if it got her engaged and not thinking about dying.
“All right, let’s see.” Nathan settled beside her and tried very hard not to pat himself on the back.
The man drew a much-needed breath, resettled his ass on the concrete so it didn’t fall asleep, pictured the farm, and dove right in.
It wasn’t hard coming up with topics and he wasn’t really ever gonna run out of things to say about his family or the farm. With six brothers who were all their very own brand of crazy and a pair of loving parents, there was a lot he could talk about.
So he started with a rather, if he did so say himself, great description of the family farm. The names of all the cows, horses, and chickens. The big beautiful house he’d spent a good amount of his childhood in. How he twice jumped off the second-story roof to prove to his nay-saying brothers that he could, in fact, fly. He only needed a good amount of distance from the ground and the right kind of bed sheet tied to his wrists and ankles. The only thing he ended up proving was that he could break the same arm twice and could get maybe three seconds of hang time before plummeting to the garden below.
About how his mother sold the extra produce and such at the farmer’s market and had done it since they’d moved there. How his adopted dad took them all camping at least three times a month during the summer and they’d learned to swim and fish and shoot. About playing war in the woods with his brothers. All the little nooks and crannies on the farm where he could stash firecrackers and odd-shaped rocks.
How Reid, one of his adopted brothers, had gotten himself lost in the woods lining their farm one summer. How when he’d been found, fourteen hours later, the kid had acquired a squirrel friend and didn’t know what all the fuss was about because he wasn’t lost. He had known exactly where he was.
How it wasn’t the stupid chickens that would wake him up in the morning but one of the many strays Kade, another adopted brother, had brought home meowing straight into his eyeball until he got out of bed.
It was odd, talking about his family. Nathan never really had the chance to regale his friends with the humorous and always cringe-worthy tales of his childhood. Because he suddenly realized he had no friends. Sure, there were some high school friends and Navy buddies, but those were all people he used to know.
The Savage family as a whole, except of course for Bobby and Ellen, had never really been good at welcoming strangers with open arms or getting friendly with the locals. They preferred to keep to themselves and the village people tended to regard the Savage family with a wary kind of distrust that was, considering the boys’ combined escapades, understandable.
“You were in foster care?”
He’d been talking so long and planted firmly in his own head that her voice threw him off. For a second, Nathan doubted she’d said anything at all, but she cracked an eye open and peered sideways at him.
“What?” The surprise at her engaging had pretty much pushed all other thoughts out of his head.
“You were in the system—in foster care?” She was staring imploringly at him. Damn, she was pretty. Even all beat to hell, she was pretty.
“Er... yeah.” Nathan tried to focus on her question instead of her lips and forced his mind to pay attention to her words, but it was hard. Foster care. She wanted to know about his time in foster care? That had her asking questions and breaking her silence? “My biological parents weren’t—well, my mom ODed when I was seven and my dad just used me and Holden as punching bags till the state stepped in and took us out.”
Something soft and dark moved in her eyes. Maybe she had a similar experience? Which maybe meant that she was from the States. Nathan knew she had to have roots somewhere, but maybe now he could narrow the range of possibilities. That little bit of information had the man sitting up straighter and leaning in closer.
“Were they... I mean, how did they treat you? Your foster parents.” Her head cocked to the side slightly and her hands were fidgeting with her shirt.
“They were nice. They actually ended up adopting me and Holden after about six months.” Nathan didn’t particularly like talking about his life before Ellen and Bobby, but if it got her to talking and got him even a bit of info on her, he’d write her a book. “It was terrifying at first. I mean eleven years of walking on eggshells, of being in constant fear of triggering an episode, of getting beat on... then getting put with Ellen and Bobby. It was like waking up on a different planet—like we had to relearn how to interact with other humans.”
She nodded absently at him with her brow furrowed, like she wasn’t comprehending what he was saying.
“Can I ask you about your family?” Maybe he was shooting himself in the foot, but he had to ask.
There was a beat of silence. Her eyebrows jerked upwards in surprise and furrowed once again in suspicion. She stared him down and Nathan tried to not make it too obvious he was still staring at her lips. He had to stop perving on a woman who was so incredibly tortured and bloody that she shouldn’t have even been appealing to a fucking zombie. Maybe there was something wrong with him.
Finally, her fists unclenched and her eyebrows smoothed.
“You can, but there’s not much to say.” Her head settled against the wall and her eyes closed. “They’re all dead.”
“I’m sorry.” He frowned, another two beats went by and Nathan couldn’t stop himself. “Okay, so tell me about you, Caden Quinn.”
Nathan scooted closer and watched as she found his face in the gloom. A sardonic little smirk pulled at her busted lips and her dark eyebrow arched at him.
“You want my back story?” There was only amusement in her tone, but her eyes shot to his and she regarded him like she was looking at an alien. Like he was some foreign thing she’d never be able to comprehend. Or maybe she was deciding on which way was best to kill him.
“Well, why not?” Nathan was nothing if not persistent. “Seeing as how you’re not gonna be leaving this prison—I feel it’s only fair.”
“Fair.” Snorting, she rolled her eyes and smirked again. “How is that fair ?”
“What—how is it not ?”
She did a little jerk of her head and her eyes took on that ‘slightly amused but mostly just thinking that he was a special kind of stupid’ look she saved special for him.
“Caden—I chased your ass for two years. Two. In those two years, I’ve arrested you twice. Both times ending in your escape and my being forced onto a ‘vacation’—which thanks for, by the way. Oh and also you’ve shot me twice , whereas I’ve only fired warning shots at your ass.”
Ass, good word choice, really. She had, in fact, shot him in the ass. Nathan hadn’t been able to properly sit for weeks after. His brothers, aside from Reid, had themselves a grand ol’ time coming up with butt jokes and making fun of him.
“Oh, and I guess taserin’ doesn’t count?” Dark eyes narrowed, and she shoved a finger in his direction. “Don’t go pretending like you’re the victim here—you’ve tased me like seventy times.”
“Okay, exaggeration.” Nathan was starting to feel like a girl in his tone and head motions. “I’ve tased you three times— three . Once in Cairo. That one time in that Burger King in Korea, and then in Manhattan. That’s three .”
“Yeah, well, I only grazed you.” The smirk pulling at her lips curled wider. “Warning shots, you could say.”
Grazed? Grazed. She had freakin’ sniped him. Sure, it hadn’t hit bone or anything fatal, but the scar on his left shoulder was proof enough that she hadn’t just grazed him. Her eyes flicked to his shoulder for half a beat and Nathan was pretty damn sure he saw something like guilt flit through her eyes before it was quickly pushed out and replaced with an ‘I’m not impressed’ look she’d obviously spent lots of time perfecting.
“Point is that I know nothing about you—aside from the very basics. Do you wanna know what was in your file when I first started trackin’ you? A sketch of your face, a list of sightings, jobs that you may or may not have done, and a list of possible contacts.”
“Sounds... like a file?” Caden quirked an eyebrow at him again.
“Yeah, a very nice file. Except it’s not like you fell outta the sky. No matter where I dig or who I question, there is nothing on you.” It had been frustrating as hell.
Thieves, good thieves, were not at all like their Hollywood and cartoon depictions. They were highly intelligent and highly organized beings. But that did not exempt them from having social security numbers and families. There was never, in all the cases he’d worked, zero on the criminal.
Except, of course, for Caden Quinn.
“Really?” Surprise colored her tone almost bordering on shock, which had Nathan all ears.
“You sound surprised?”
Had there been some secret file with her name on it that he hadn’t found? Was his government secretly keeping tabs on her? If that were the case, why would they send him in practically blind? Maybe it was a departmental thing no one, even though they all swore under the same flag, purposefully tipped their hand.
“Well yeah,” shrugging, she settled against the wall again with only a little wincing, “but I guess I really shouldn’t be.”
“I can’t tell if that’s a jab at the government or you’re genuinely surprised that they didn’t have more on you.”
Her face closed off and Nathan’s spidey senses were screaming. There was something. Something she thought the government had on her.
“You can’t?” Eyes blank and head tilted like she didn’t purposefully just evade his question.
Frustration. The woman was frustration itself. But Nathan was retired now, so secret files or no, he wasn’t ever going to see them. So instead, he carefully filed away that little tidbit and went back to his original intent.
“So how bout it?” Eye contact made and breath held, Nathan waited as patiently as he could.
She regarded him for a moment, bit her bottom lip, and narrowed her eyes at him.
The thing about Caden was not that she was the only criminal who had gotten away, but she was the only one who consistently had him tied in knots. Mostly because he had and could get nothing on her. But she was also one contradiction after another.
Other thieves he could understand because they made sense. Their pieces fit together. Even if he didn’t have the whole story, he could still make sense of them. But with Quinn, it was frustratingly different. Every time he interacted with her, she gave him a whole new jigsaw puzzle piece that didn’t fit with any of the ones he already had.
Where other thieves were tightlipped and angry when Nathan popped up, she was all eager smirks and very verbal. The fight in her, the thing that kept her crawling through ditches, razor wire, and bullets with what was left of a dead man handcuffed to her and shrapnel logded in her hip, was like nothing he’d seen. But there she was, half dead already and not giving a piss about it.
“And what exactly do you want to know?” Shoulders relaxed slightly, fingers uncurled, palms turned up.
“How ‘bout your real name?” It was one of those top-of-the-list questions.
Lips pursed and those dark eyes were on him again. Her arms folded across her chest and Nathan, once again, held his breath. Finally, she let out a long sigh, and her arms unfolded.
“Ava.” It was soft and heavy with all manner of unsaid things behind that one word. “My name is Ava.”
“Ava. That’s pretty. Where’d you get Caden from?”
“It’s my middle name.” Her shoulders relaxed, and she kept her eyes on him.
“So if by some miracle we—” her eyes narrowed on his and Nathan rolled his eyes, “— I got outta here and looked up Ava Caden Quinn I’d find you?”
“Nope. Quinn’s not my surname. It’s Collins.”
Nathan did not like the fact that she’d told him so casually. A first name wasn’t bad—there were probably a million Ava’s in the States alone, but a surname added to it made it that much easier to find her. And she’d given it to him without even so much as twitching.
The mercenary was obviously set on dying.
“Ava Caden Collins, huh?” Nathan kinda liked the sound of it. “Well, where’d you get Quinn from?”
The smirk fell from her lips and Nathan watched as fists formed.
“Somebody dead.” Her face closed off and her eyes got cold. Those thick lips pursed and her eyes strayed to the ceiling.
“Oh.” He decided to change the subject. “How ‘bout that scar on your chest? How did you get that?”
“You’ll have to be more specific.” A small smile pulled at her lips and her hand fluttered abstractedly towards her chest.
“The long one between your...” Nathan was no blushing virgin, but Caden tended to bring a color to his cheeks. “Your breasts.”
“Broadsword.” Her left hand touched her chest, and that smirk returned.
“Are you serious? A broadsword? I mean how?”
“I was commissioned to retrieve a...” She slanted her eyes at him and her lip curled. “Certain object. The dude in possession of said object had himself a broadsword and some skills. Ended up shooting that fuck-head in the leg and the arm and the other leg—he wouldn’t stay down.” She shook her head. “Got it, got out again, went home to sew myself up, and learn some fencing.”
“Wow.” He sat back and watched the smirk go soft a tiny bit.
A smile small pulled at the corner of her mouth and Nathan suddenly got the impression that those stories, the ones of how she narrowly escaped death, how she ingeniously stole a priceless artifact, how she walked away the victor in a death match, was her ‘I jumped off the roof of my house cause I was a silly kid’ stories.
“I know, it was crazy. I mean, I’m good with knives and daggers—they’re small and practical. A broadsword is not. Why would that be his weapon of choice? What was he thinking?” She shook her head ruefully and smirked wider. “What about you? Any weird scars?”
“Uh,” he jerked his attention away from her lips and focused on answering the question “not really. Mostly just combat scars. Actually, I was once attacked by an angry flock of chickens. I’ve got like little dots all over my legs from their beaks.”
“Damn.” She smiled at him and Nathan could only stare blankly at her. “What’d you do to the chickens?”
“I was using them as target practice.” Nathan felt a niggling of guilt at the confession and the sudden urge to explain himself.
“So you deserved it.” She smirked again and folded her arms across her chest.
“Yeah, I did.” He couldn’t have her thinking that he was some heartless chicken killer. “I was like twelve and stupid. I don’t shoot at chickens anymore.”
There were a few questions the ex-agent in him was burning to ask. Like how old she was. Where she grew up. Why the hell wasn’t she in the system? And could he maybe have some of her DNA? Where had she received her training? How exactly had she robbed a thousand-pound statue of a naked guy in the middle of the damn day in Cairo?
But Nathan didn’t want to burn any bridges by spooking her, so he decided to keep them subtle and as non-threatening as possible. Although, she had thrown out her last name all willy-nilly, so maybe, she’d happily give up more information.
“How’d you get into... I mean... why are you a mercenary?” Nathan watched a rat squeeze under the door and briefly tried to imagine the rat tail friendships bracelets.
Gross was the only thing that came to mind.
“What else should I be, Savage?” Her voice turned tired and her palms turned up. Like there had never been any other option, and it was impossible to fathom being anything else.
“I don’t know... a businesswoman... an astronaut—just why a merc? I mean, there ain’t many women in that line of work. It’s dangerous and violent and I don’t see the allure—especially for a civilian.”
Honestly, he couldn’t see her as anything else, but he needed to know how she’d gotten there. How she decided to skip everything else and go straight for the thieving and killing.
“I had bills to pay.” Knuckles turned white and that hard something was back in her eyes.
“And you don’t anymore?”
The sound of combat boots stomping down the hallway had her straightening and almost frantically shoving at his arm.
“What?”
“That ain’t dinner—they don’t come for another three hours.” She was hissing and spitting and still shoving at him. “Get on the other side!”
“Why?” Though he was already up doing as he was told.
“Shh!” She was scowling hard and looking pissed off. “Don’t talk to me.”
The boots stopped at the door. He watched as the merc stiffened and carefully kept her eyes off him. A clang of the metal lock being thrown back and the door opened. Two men rushed into the room and forced him up against the far wall with just enough room around his neck to draw shallow breaths.
A third man, Kyott, waltzed with an amused and slightly surprised look on his face.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” He stooped to grip a handful of Caden’s hair and drag her to her feet. “You’re still alive.”
“Walkin’ and talkin’.” Her voice was carefully pain free and mocking, like she was unimpressed with his torturing abilities.
“Well, let’s see if we can’t change that.”