24. Gwen
Gwen
I’m ready to slam my head against Jerry for the second time today, but I refrain since there are nine witnesses in my presence, eight of whom will worry about me.
Oliver, Mya, and Mason joined us two hours ago, studying their own screens. Then there’s Zoey, Carter, and Julian working on leads as well. Gideon—the brooding one who’d probably not give a damn whether I bop my head against my rig—is next to Zoey, pointing at something on her screen.
But most importantly, Dad’s and Easton’s watchful eyes are on me, and I’ve spent the last four hours doing my best to act chill so they don’t stress out. Like the world is spinning exactly as it’s supposed to.
When Gideon abruptly leans closer to Zoey to view her screen and bites out, “They were ADF,” chairs scrape softly as Dad and Carter step behind them, the space around the table suddenly too tight.
Easton’s sitting across from me on the other side of Gideon, so he has a clear view of the screen. He tips his head back toward the ceiling, his tanned throat tightening. He’s not even grinding his gum. There’s just barely contained rage there.
When Dad’s gaze shifts to me, I catch the fire in his eyes, and it clicks.
“The men from that room . . . You found out who they really are. And they were Australian military?” I swallow. “Both the blue-eyed one and the blond guy?”
“They were, yeah,” Gideon confirms, then looks to Dad. “Do you think your path crossed with theirs at some point?”
Right. A memory I’d prefer not to bring up, but now I have to. The blue-eyed one wanted to stick it to Dad. He must’ve known Dad, or knew of him, and didn’t like him.
Dad drags both hands through his hair. “I worked with ADF a few times, but these guys are too young to have served alongside me back then.” His hands drop to his sides. “Does one of them have an older family member who also served?”
And I can’t do this. I thought I could, but that man’s face is on his screen, and I’m going to be sick if I stay here a second longer.
“I need a minute.” I stand to make my exit. “Excuse me.”
I walk into Easton’s living room, passing by the gray couch we’ve sat on a dozen times watching movies together.
I used to clutch one of those midnight-blue accent pillows in front of my face during the gory or scary scenes until the inevitable happened, and I curled up against him for protection from fictional monsters.
Turns out, only real-life ones are an actual threat.
I stop in front of his balcony door, another view we’ve shared plenty of times. This entire room is one big reminder that he left me.
But . . . he came back. He’s here now.
“You okay?” Mya asks, joining me and resting her back against the door beside me.
The conversation behind us fades into a dull hum as I stare at the twin icy peaks rising against the sky. When the sun hits them just right, they glint a deep, impossible blue—like sapphires thrust up from the earth, beautiful under pressure.
I wish I felt half as unbreakable as the place built in their shadow.
“Distract me,” I say instead of answering her. “Talk about anything but why we’re here.” My voice fractures as I add, “Please.”
Those men are dead. They can’t hurt me.
So why does it feel like they could reach through Zoey’s screen like the girl from The Ring and grab me anyway?
“Gossip,” I suggest fast. “Got any good girl talk?” I twist away from the glass and peek into the kitchen as Mason heads over and starts up Easton’s Nespresso machine. “Anything new with him?” I ask, and she follows my line of sight. “He ever ask your sister out?” I blink back to her.
She sighs, resting her hands on her barely showing bump. “I think they’d make a cute couple. But you know him. He thinks it’s too weird that he’s . . . um . . .”
“Been with you both?” I keep my voice low. “He didn’t know you were sisters back then,” I say as if she doesn’t already know that. “Not his fault.”
“Try telling him that.” She exhales, rubbing her belly.
“I didn’t even know I had a sister, so.” Her gaze shifts back toward the table, and I follow it to Easton, then to Julian hunched over his rig.
“I just want them to be happy. Goes for you too, missy.” Her eyes linger on Easton again. “Do you . . .”
“Do I what?” I ask louder than I meant to, drawing Easton’s gaze.
He removes his cap, rakes a hand through his hair, then swivels it back on, brim forward—his shield against me getting a good read on him.
Mya steps away from the glass door so her back is to the kitchen, blocking my view of the man I know she’s about to ask me about. But then she throws me for a loop. “Are you caught in the same kind of situation I once was?”
Like how you were with Mason? Mason was Mya’s on-and-off-again friend with benefits awhile back—before she met Oliver—but from what I understand, Mason caught feelings she didn’t return. A solid reminder to keep friends firmly out of the sex zone.
If Easton and I ever hooked up and it didn’t work out, my heart would shatter into a million freaking pieces. I couldn’t handle him leaving a second time, especially knowing that time it would be for good.
“What kind of situation would that be?” I ask, fully aware I’m faking ignorance.
She rolls her eyes.
Well deserved.
“I don’t think he’ll ever—” Wait! How’d the gossip talk manage to circle back to me? “As for the other one,” I add quietly despite the shoutiness happening in my head, “I don’t feel that way about him.”
She lifts both brows. “You never said how you feel about the first guy.”
Before I can think of how to answer, I turn to see Carter letting Diana into the suite.
I whisper to Mya, “We’ll talk about this another time. When both men in question aren’t around.” Maybe.
I do my best to pull myself together and become mission-focused again before we rejoin the group that’s hovering around our makeshift command center.
“How are things going?” Diana asks.
Carter slings his arm around her. “Not great.”
“Did you already check whether there’s a possible military tie to the .
. .?” Mya doesn’t finish her sentence, and I don’t blame her.
Who wants to mention those assholes from my nightmare?
She shoots me an apologetic look while placing her hands on Oliver’s shoulders.
He reaches back, covering her fingers with his own.
“We did while you were in the living room, and there’s not,” Easton shares, shaking his head as I sit.
“The men”—his voice catches on that word, as if he’s having trouble labeling them as anything other than monsters—“have no family in the military. No connections to any of us that we’ve found. Not yet, anyway.”
“But there has to be one. Why else would anyone want to hurt Gwen? To hurt me.” Dad turns his back to me and hangs his head. His hands settle on his hips as his back muscles pinch tight beneath his black tee.
He needs Natasha or one of his best friends from Echo Team here to help walk him back from the cliff he’s staring down.
Anger, guilt, blame, and all the things that come with being both a father and a good human being are hitting him hard.
I would try and calm him down myself, but I’ll make it worse, I just know it.
Easton knocks the brim of his hat up, giving me a better view of his eyes. He tips his head toward my dad, a quiet ask if he should talk to him.
“Please,” I mouth, and he stands and goes over to him, and Dad follows him into the hall without protest.
“He just needs time,” Carter says once they’re out of earshot.
“Yeah, I know.” I wish so much I could code my way out of this whole feelings thing. Just make it stop. Make all the bad shit go away with the stroke of a few keys.
“I’m just so sorry.” Zoey’s soft tone has me looking at her. “This is all my fault.” She grips hold of the chair’s armrests.
“You were following a lead about your fiancé, and no one blames you for doing that,” Gideon reassures her in an almost gentle voice, his words and tone taking me by surprise. He’s always all hard edges, and an eleven out of ten on the brood scale.
Julian stops typing, and the room falls dead quiet.
“We spent half the flight here poring over the intel package Molly provided you,” Gideon says, “and it was a solid lead. You did the right thing in going. You hoped to find out new information about Preston’s death while also taking out a trafficking ring. It’s what we’d all have done.”
Props to him for being a voice of reason for her. Maybe she’ll finally listen and stop mentally beating herself up about this.
“And if The Chechen really didn’t kill Preston,” Carter interjects, realizing Zoey’s not ready to let that go, “there’s still a chance whoever Jezebel reports to is tied to Preston’s real murderer and they—”
“Baited me there to screw with me,” Zoey finishes for him, her voice sharp and still plagued by guilt.
Her green gaze flicks to me, remorse solid and thick.
I don’t want her feeling that way, but something tells me she won’t shake it until the case is closed and the enemy is behind bars. Or, you know, dead.
“I also pulled up the CCTV footage of your meeting in London with Molly when she gave you the intel last month,” I share, and Zoey’s gaze cuts to me beneath thick, tight brows as if I’m suggesting I don’t trust her.
So, I clarify, “I was hoping to see where Molly went afterward, but I lost her. That also happens to be the last time she ever showed her face on camera.”
Zoey lifts her chin a touch like she’s trying to nod but can’t fully commit to it.
Mason saves me from the awkwardness by turning in his seat toward her. “We’ll figure this out.”
Her gaze bounces back and forth between Mason at her left and Gideon at her right, like she’s unsure who to turn to. Looks like she’s not ready to welcome sympathy from anyone.
“Well, what do you all know so far?” Diana asks, offering her a reprieve, which is pretty nice of her, especially considering the past Zoey shares with her husband.