Chapter 30
Arthur
Gwen was asleep against my chest, her leg hooked over mine and her breath warm on my collarbone.
The harsh fluorescent light remained on because neither of us had gotten up to do anything about it.
At some point during the night, we must have thrown off the thin sheet, leaving her gorgeous naked body uncovered beside me.
My ribs ached under her weight. The butterfly strips on my forearm pulled when I shifted, and my knuckles throbbed. Everything hurt.
And every part of my body wanted to stay exactly where it was.
My father’s voice whispered in my ear, right on cue: Emotional connections are dangerous.
He hadn’t used the actual words, but the message had underscored every single day of my thirty-five years. He’d shown it in every calculated handshake, every public performance with my mother, and every fake smile he tried to pass off as love.
Gwen stirred, her fingers twitching against my chest. She’d wake up soon.
I couldn’t be here when she did. Not like this. Not naked, not holding her, and sure as hell not lying in a bed where I’d fucked her.
Fucked her? Was that really what happened last night?
I’d slept with plenty of women, but this was… it was fucking different. I’d wanted to stay wrapped around her. Not because I’d blown my load and needed a nap, but because some foreign thing had lodged deep in my chest.
It was not right.
That feeling was going to screw everything up.
So I slid my arm out from under her, inch by inch. She groaned and rolled toward the warm spot I’d left, while I stood there, unable to move. The foreign thing in my chest nudged me back to the bed.
That’s your dick, Penn.
But was it? Or was it something else?
Check the perimeter.
First, I draped the sheet over her, since she didn’t have my body heat any longer.
Second, I grabbed my clothes from the concrete floor. The shirt was caked with dried blood in areas, and the right sleeve was shredded where my arm had been cut open. The pants were torn at the knee. I dressed without a sound, eased the jacket over my forearm, and found my shoes by the door.
Outside, the morning was cold and overcast. The tree trunks and bushes screened the building from passing vehicles, but the dirt road showed through the bare branches. The Land Rover was tucked behind the building where I’d left it, and there weren’t any new tire tracks on the driveway.
I walked the perimeter. No footprints, no disturbances.
I stayed outside and took out my phone. Three messages.
The first was from Merlin, timestamped around four this morning.
It included coordinates for a vehicle exchange in a town about twenty minutes south.
A gray Peugeot would be waiting in an abandoned amusement park lot.
The keys would be under the mat, with a duffel of fresh clothes on the rear seat.
I was to leave the Land Rover with the keys in the sun visor, so it would be scrubbed and returned to its original rental location.
A weight lifted from my shoulders. I hadn’t doubted Merlin would come through for me, but having every detail arranged was a relief.
The second message was a follow-up from him: Don’t do anything stupid before I wake up.
The third was from Lance, checking in. His message gave no sign of how furious he must have been over my not calling last night, so Merlin may have briefed him.
I pocketed the phone and went back inside.
The supply shelf held a mix of canned goods, none expired. Behind a box of crackers, I found a kettle, a couple of mugs, and a jar of instant coffee grounds. I filled the kettle from the bathroom tap and plugged it in.
While I waited for it to boil, I stood at the table and glowered at the mess we’d left on it last night. My only other option in the little room was watching her sleep. One look and I’d want to climb back into that fucking bed with her.
So instead you’re making her coffee like she’s your girlfriend? Like this is a Sunday morning, and you’re going to bring her breakfast in bed?
I spooned grounds into the mugs. Before the kettle made enough noise to wake her, I shut it off and poured. I hadn’t spotted any milk, creamer, or sugar, so I drank the disgusting coffee black.
It was mission coffee. Fuck, it was worse than MRE coffee.
Galahad’s girlfriend would’ve had plenty to say about it. Grace would have explained which beans had been used to achieve the distinctly burned flavor and suggested life was too short for bad coffee.
Truer words, Grace.
Behind me, the bed creaked.
“Hey,” Gwen said, her voice soft and drowsy.
“Coffee’s on the table.” I gestured to her mug with my own, but didn’t turn around. I started piling up the first-aid wrappers. We’d have to clear the place before we left.
She padded across the concrete floor, and her arms slid around me from behind, her cheek pressed against my back between my shoulder blades. Her body fit against mine as it had all night.
I put my hand over hers and closed my eyes, that thing in my chest warming.
But that thing in my chest wouldn’t keep her safe. It was a liability I had to crush.
So I stepped forward, out of the embrace, and turned around, clutching my coffee mug in front of me like a shield.
She wore her shirt from yesterday, complete with my blood splatter. Only the shirt. Fuck me. The thin fabric clung to the natural slope of her palm-sized breasts, and her nipples were hard, which brought back visions of my mouth on her tits.
Had she pulled on her little black panties?
Stop it. Right now.
Too late. My dick was weighing in, and it was pretty sure she hadn’t.
“Instant.” I picked up her mug and held it out to her. “It’s terrible.”
She took it, but didn’t drink. She stared at me, her initial warmth fading into confusion. Her brows drew together as her gaze slid from my face to the table.
Did your father ever notice that look on your mother’s face, Penn?
He must have. He’d been married to her for thirty-nine years. He’d watched her smile for cameras and go quiet in private. He’d watched her light dim, year by year, and he’d never stopped performing.
I knew exactly what I was doing to Gwen, and I was doing it anyway, because the alternative was letting her all the way in, and letting people in was too dangerous. People who got all the way in did stupid things like picking up stone planters instead of running to safety.
She sipped the coffee and winced. “You weren’t kidding.”
“I wasn’t.”
She sat in one of the chairs and pulled a leg up beneath her, giving my dick the confirmation it was wrong. She was wearing her underwear. I shouldn’t have been relieved, but I was, because my brain was barely functional.
“Merlin sent a location for a vehicle swap,” I said. “New car and fresh clothes. We can head out whenever you’re ready.”
She set the mug on the table. “I’m still planning on going to Tintagel.”
“I told you last night, it’s too dangerous.”
“And I told you, I’m going. Whether you’re with me or not.”
I blinked at her. How the hell could I convince her this was foolish?
“Whatever they’re protecting, it’s at Tintagel,” she said. “If we don’t go, we’re just waiting for them to find us again.”
“If we go, we’re walking onto their ground.”
“I know.”
“Rick might not even be the most lethal person working for whoever this is. They have money behind them, and he knows my operational patterns.” I lifted the mug to take another mouthful, but the scent put me off.
“Tactically, the best option is to stay hidden and let Merlin work the intelligence angle.”
“You also thought splitting up and sending Lance to Malta was the smart idea, so I think your tactical instincts may be wrong.”
Fuck. Fucking fuck.
“Arthur.” She set her leg down and faced the table. Because she couldn’t look at me anymore? “They want to take my research.”
My arms wanted to reach for her, but my brain kept my fingers locked around the mug where they belonged.
Her voice dropped like it did every time she was dealing with a blow from the universe. “That’s the same thing Lionel did, and I’ve spent so long—”
She stopped, and I had to close my eyes and breathe. After last night, after I’d confessed how I felt, after I’d made love to this woman, I should have been next to her, holding her, comforting her. But I had to keep her safe.
If I kept her hidden, she’d be physically safe. But her heart might break for good.
Your father would keep her hidden. He’d deploy his resources, buy off the problem, and tell her it was for her own protection. And he wouldn’t bother to ask what she needed. Let alone what she wanted.
My father was right. That was the way to keep her safe.
Lose the battle to win the war.
But what war would this win her? I’d sworn to get her a win, not a pause.
I couldn’t stop them from taking her research and burying the connection she’d found. That was a fight I didn’t have the tools to win.
But I could protect her body. I could put myself between her and every physical threat from here to Tintagel and back. And maybe she’d get the win she deserved…
And maybe if she was right about Tintagel, she was also right about me. Maybe I wasn’t my father. Maybe I wasn’t the man the Crécy Defense Review article accused me of being.
Maybe I had to stop following my father’s playbook.
“Okay.” I nodded. “We go.”
She spun toward me so fast, she almost knocked her coffee mug over. “Really?”
I tried not to smile at her excitement, but probably failed. “But we do it my way. I control the approach, the timing, and the exit.”
“Absolutely.”
Not trusting myself to touch her, I pointed at her messenger bag.
“Before we go anywhere, I need you to draft an email with your research, details of both attacks, and everything we suspect about Dr. Hopkins. Schedule it to send in forty-eight hours. Make sure you include the BBC, American networks, blogs in your field, universities, wherever you think it might make a difference. If something happens to us, the evidence gets out.”
The color left her face. “If something happens to us?”