Chapter 11 #2
Irish ignored both of them. “The van hasn't headed toward Blackridge or any known Order property. It's traveling south, but slowly enough that we can keep eyes on it without getting close.”
“Who is following?”
“Maverick has someone on the motorway ahead of it. We stay here until we know whether it matters.”
“And if Isla is inside?”
“Then we know where she's going.”
I stared at him, furious because he was making sense when I desperately wanted him not to.
“You could have told me.”
“Aye.”
“Why didn't you?”
His eyes held mine. “Because ten minutes ago you weren't listening to anything except the part of you screaming to go back.”
That hurt because it was true.
I looked away first.
Nobody said anything.
I walked toward the window instead of the door and folded my arms tightly enough to hold myself together.
Edinburgh's lights stretched beyond the glass in wet streaks, ordinary people moving through an ordinary night while Isla sat somewhere inside a nightmare I could finally see but still couldn't reach.
I had spent twenty-three days believing the worst part was not knowing where she was.
Now I understood there were worse things than uncertainty.
Knowing exactly where someone was and still having to wait could carve a person open just as easily.
Footsteps stopped behind me.
I didn't have to turn.
“You can say it.”
Irish remained silent for a moment. “Say what?”
“That I was reckless.”
“I've already said it.”
I almost smiled despite myself.
“Then tell me you were right.”
“I'd rather live.”
That brought the smile out fully, though it lasted only a second.
He moved beside me but left enough space that nothing touched.
For once, I was intensely aware of that absence.
“I hate this,” I said.
“I know.”
“I don't mean waiting.”
“I know.”
I looked at him.
His attention remained on the street outside.
“I hate that you're becoming someone I listen to.”
That finally earned a glance.
“That sounds serious.”
“It is. I generally make a point of ignoring men who tell me what to do.”
“I noticed.”
“And now I'm standing here because you gave me evidence instead of an order.”
“Terrible precedent.”
“I may never recover.”
His mouth curved.
The warmth of the moment lasted until my thoughts returned to the SUV, the kiss, and the way Irish had pulled back afterward as though putting a few inches between us might somehow undo what had happened.
Irish's expression changed as if he followed the direction of my thoughts.
I could have spared both of us.
I didn't.
“And we're not pretending that didn't happen.”
His shoulders went still.
“I wasn't planning to.”
“Really? Because ‘that can't happen again’ sounded suspiciously like the beginning of a denial.”
“It wasn't denial.”
“What was it?”
“A bad idea.”
“The kiss?”
“Wanting another one.”
The answer settled low in my stomach.
I kept my face composed with considerable effort.
“Those are different things.”
“Aye.”
“Good.”
He stared at me.
“You aren't going to argue?”
“No.”
“That worries me.”
“It should.”
A quiet sound escaped him that might have been a laugh.
I turned back toward the window.
“I won't chase you, Callum.”
The amusement disappeared.
“I don't need you to decide tonight what this is. I don't need promises, and I certainly don't need some dramatic declaration because we nearly got caught. But I'm not going to pretend I didn't want you to kiss me, and I'm not going to let you pretend you didn't want it either.”
He was silent long enough that I finally looked at him again.
Something dark and complicated lived behind his eyes.
“I wanted it.”
The words came without hesitation.
My pulse accelerated.
“Good.”
“And that's the problem.”
“Why?”
He looked toward the room behind us, where the others had deliberately become very interested in computers and maps.
“Different conversation.”
There was another one of those closed doors he kept carefully between himself and the rest of the world, but this time I recognized it without immediately trying to force my way through.
I only nodded.
“Fine.”
His brows lifted slightly.
“You really are learning.”
“Don't ruin it.”
A chime sounded from Cipher's computer.
We both turned.
The van had stopped.
Cipher enlarged the map.
“Service station outside Sheffield.”
Eli pulled up another traffic camera.
The rear doors opened.
One man climbed from the van, followed by another, but no woman appeared behind them. When Isla failed to emerge, relief struck so sharply that I had to grip the windowsill until the sudden weakness passed.
Cipher watched the feed for another minute. “They're changing drivers.”
Irish moved back toward the table.
“So Isla's likely still at Croft.”
“Likely,” Cipher said.
I followed him.
This time the word didn't make me angry because I finally understood that Irish and Cipher used likely not from weakness or hesitation but from precision, refusing to promise something the evidence couldn't yet prove.
“We wait until we confirm the van's destination,” Irish said. “Then we plan the Croft extraction with the information we have instead of walking blind into whatever door they haven't shown us yet.”
I looked at Isla's blurred face still frozen on the second screen.
Everything inside me wanted to reject the delay.
Instead, I sat.
“Show me the western wall again.”
Irish's gaze met mine.
Trust worked both ways.
That was the part I was only beginning to understand.
For the next hour, we studied Croft House until the building stopped looking like the place holding my best friend and became a problem with edges, measurements, access points, and weaknesses.
I still hated every second we weren't inside it.
I still imagined Isla waking somewhere behind those locked doors and wondering whether anyone knew where she was.
But now there was evidence on the table, people around me who believed she mattered, and a man standing close enough that I could feel his presence without him trying to control the space I occupied.
The kiss had changed something between us, though I wasn't foolish enough to name it yet and Irish probably wasn't ready to try.
Still, when his hand brushed mine as we reached for the same photograph and neither of us immediately pulled away, I knew whatever existed between us had already moved beyond something either of us could dismiss as adrenaline.
Whatever happened next, pretending there was nothing between Callum O'Brien and me was no longer going to work.