Chapter Twelve #3
His teeth were straight and unexpectedly white against the dark stubble, though not perfect enough to look artificial.
One canine sat slightly sharper than the other, something I probably never would have noticed if I had not already been paying far too much attention.
It was such an ordinary detail that it unsettled me more than the scar had.
There was suddenly something human beneath all that black fabric, and I had spent enough time around Wolf that seeing evidence of it felt strangely private.
“Done?”
His voice sounded slightly different without fabric covering his mouth.
It was still low and impatient, still unmistakably Wolf, but clearer now, and watching the words actually form on lips I had never seen gave them an intimacy I had not expected from something as ordinary as eating lunch in a parked car.
Even in the shower, when I knew he had taken it off, the curtain and the rush of water had blurred the sound enough that I had never really heard him like this before.
I looked down at my pastry. “I wasn’t doing anything.”
“You forget how to chew?”
Irritation helped.
I took another bite. “I was looking at your scar.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Never seen one before?”
“Not yours.”
That got a pause.
I glanced toward the uneven scar tissue disappearing beneath the mask. “I didn’t know you had it.”
He gave a small shrug, like the scar was barely worth mentioning, took another bite and looked through the windshield as though that settled the issue.
I studied the portion I could see now. The scar was wider near his jaw than I had realized, rough in a way that made it obvious whatever caused it had not been clean. Most of it was still hidden from me, including where it began, so even now I could not tell how far it traveled across his face.
“Does it hurt?”
He looked over at me. “No.”
“Did it?”
He stopped chewing for a moment.
I immediately wished I had left the question alone. “You don’t have to answer.”
“Then why ask?”
“Because I was curious.”
“You’re always curious.”
“That’s generally how questions work.”
Wolf swallowed and took a drink of coffee before answering. “It hurt.”
I waited, expecting more, but nothing came.
“That’s all I get?”
“You asked if it hurt.”
“I thought maybe you’d tell me what happened.”
“You thought wrong.”
There was enough finality in his voice that I knew pushing would get me nowhere, but I still looked at the scar once more, gave a quick glance at his covered forearm with the snake underneath and returned to my pastry.
“Does it bother you when people ask?”
“Yes.”
“And yet I’m still alive.”
“Day’s not over.”
I glanced at him, but his attention had already returned to the rain beyond the windshield.
“Good to know.”
For a few seconds neither of us spoke. He finished the protein bar while I picked at my icing, still thinking about the small amount he had given me. Wolf rarely answered personal questions at all. Somehow, “it hurt” felt like more information than it should have.
“You are unbelievably hostile for someone eating a bar that probably tastes like cardboard,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
Then I heard the quiet pull of fabric.
By the time I glanced over again, the mask was back in place. The familiar black covering should have made everything normal again. Instead, I found myself staring at it with the irritating awareness that I now knew exactly what was underneath only one small part of it.
Wolf turned to me. “Problem?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He started the engine.
The wipers swept across the windshield as he backed out of the space and headed toward the road. Rain still streaked across the side windows, though it had softened enough that the service station remained visible behind us as we pulled away.
I rested my head against the seat and told myself the whole thing had been curiosity.
Wolf had kept his face covered around me every day since I got here, so of course seeing even a small part of it would hold my attention.
Anyone would have looked. That explanation lasted until we were back on the highway.
Then I caught myself wondering what the rest of his face looked like.
◆
The compound came back into view near dusk, gray concrete behind the fence with the woods darkening around it.
Raven had already sent two messages asking whether Moreau’s handwriting notes were useful, and Jackal had used Raven’s account to send a third that consisted entirely of an inappropriate question about the length of our drive. I deleted that one without answering.
Wolf parked inside the garage and shut off the engine.
When he reached down to unclip the small field pouch from his belt, the retention hardware made the familiar metallic click.
My eyes dropped before I could stop them.
Wolf’s hand paused against the strap while I lifted my attention back to his face.
He pulled the pouch free and opened his door. “Inside, Mercer.”
I got out with the Strasbourg file tucked under my arm and followed him toward the operations room, where Raven was already waiting for the records and the rest of the team would expect us to behave like two people who had spent the day discussing signatures and storage addresses.
That part, at least, was going to require some effort.