Chapter 16 #2
“Domineering jerk,” I say, possibly a little too smug.
His brows lift. “That’s what you’ve been calling me?”
“Among other things.”
“And here I thought it was something romantic.”
I can’t help that my chest feels gooey when I admit, “It is when I say it.”
The smile he gives me is soft enough to be dangerous. “Then I’ll allow it.”
“You’ll allow it?” I repeat.
He grins. “Can I kiss you?”
I stare at him, heart pounding. More than anything in this world, I want to say yes.
“Asking for medical reasons,” he adds. "Restorative purposes. I have documentation.”
“You do not have documentation about kissing me.”
“Marcus could write something up."
“Marcus hates me.”
“He does not.”
“He basically threatened to kill me if I break your heart.”
“In that case.” He smiles like a cat that ate the canary and crawls closer to me. “You’d better kiss me. Wouldn’t want to piss off Doctor Marcus.”
And even though it’s dumb and reckless and I’ll likely regret it, I do, in fact, kiss him. And he is, in the end, restored.
The rest of the day disappears into interviews, reports, and pretending I’m not checking Nash’s color every time he walks into a room.
When I finally get home, my apartment is quiet in the way it gets only after midnight; the city sounds dropping to a low hum, the lights across the skyline thinning to scattered embers.
I’ve showered. I’m in my oldest, rattiest pajamas.
Echo has claimed the center of my pillow with the territorial confidence of a creature who has decided this is his bed now and I’m welcome to the edges.
It’s good to be home. Okay, that’s not entirely true. I might have stayed with Nash if Doctor Marcus hadn’t kept coming in to check on his patient. Awkward.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Dad.
I pick up before the second buzz. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” His voice is warm and slightly gravelly the way it always is this late. He’s a morning person by nature, always has been, and anything past ten costs him. “Just checking in. You never called me back.”
“Shit, I forgot. Sorry about that. Long day.”
“I heard about what happened out there.”
I sigh. “Sorry, I meant to call you earlier.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Dad.”
“Did you eat today?”
“I had…” I try to remember. Somewhere between the blood oath and Nash passing out and the interview structure and driving home, there was probably food.
“Mia.”
“I’ll eat a big breakfast tomorrow. Speaking of which.” I pull my knees up and lean against the headboard. Echo opens one eye at the disruption and closes it again. “Are we still on? Seven o’clock?”
“Of course. I’ll make eggs," he says.
“Or you could pick something up.”
“Hey. I make good eggs.”
“You make adequate eggs."
He laughs, low and easy, the laugh that used to fill our whole house when I was small. It still does something to me, that laugh. Probably always will. “Seven o’clock,” he repeats. “Don’t be late.”
“It’s my apartment.”
“Still. It’s late.”
“Eh. I can sleep when I’m dead,” I say, repeating a phrase he used to give me all the time when I was a kid.
It earns me a chuckle. “Goodnight, Mia."
“Goodnight, Dad.” I pause. “Lock your doors tonight. All of them. And set the alarm.”
A beat. He knows better than to ask why. “My babysitter already took care of it,” he says.
I groan. “Don’t start. It’s late.”
That gets me an outright laugh. “I’ll save it for tomorrow.”
“Deal,” I say.
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
I hang up and sit for a moment with the phone in my lap. Echo has migrated from the pillow to my feet, and I reach down and scratch between his ears without thinking about it. He leans into it with his eyes half closed.
Normal. Everything is completely normal, and tomorrow I'll have breakfast with my dad and adequate eggs, and everything will be fine.
I reach for my pack on the floor beside the bed and find the hidden pocket. I unzip it. Reach in.
My fingers find nothing.
I sit up. Reach deeper.
Empty.
I open the bigger flap. Push aside the folded papers, the granola bars, the emergency kit.
Nothing. I pull the pack into my lap and go through it properly; every pocket, every zipper, every folded corner.
Outer left. Outer right. The other small hidden one along the spine.
The front mesh pocket I never put anything in.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
My heart pounds.
Panic threatens.
I upend the pack onto the bed.
Everything tumbles out. Snacks, a folded tactical map, three of Echo’s stolen earrings. No vial. I sort through everything twice. Push it aside. Check the pack itself again with my hand all the way inside every compartment.
Empty.
This is not happening.
Blackness threatens the edges of my vision.
I get up and check my jacket. Both pockets, the interior breast pocket, the back. I check my dirty pants pockets. I check the bathroom counter, the nightstand drawer, the table by the front door where I sometimes put things when my hands are full.
Nothing.
I stalk back to my bedroom.
Echo watches me from the pillow. His tiny hands are folded together like he’s been wringing them. His expression is the one I've started to think of as his I know something face, which is somehow worse than if he just looked confused.
“Did you take it?” I demand.
He blinks.
“If you took it, I’ll—”
He chirps once, loud and urgent, then darts to my pack and shoves his nose into the hidden pocket.
I grab it and check again.
I take it and warily check the hidden pocket one last time.
My fingers brush something so subtly I almost miss it.
When I reach in again, I realize it’s nothing more than a torn slip of paper.
I snatch it free and smooth it open between my fingers, scanning the messy handwriting with a growing sense of horror.
Ramsey’s scrawl is one I’d know anywhere.
I think it’s time you let fate decide who you belong to, don’t you?
I sink down on the edge of the bed, struggling to breathe.
Echo looks back at me with a mournful expression. I wonder, fleetingly, if he’s sorry, too, but mostly because another pickpocket got the jump on him.
I swallow hard against the bile in my throat as reality sets in. Ramsey stole my Null. Which means he knew I was taking it in the first place. More inside information he’s managed to glean. Except this secret was known only by me. So how the hell did he find out?
As if echoing my thoughts, Echo chitters and jumps away, tail swishing like he’s ready to fight on my behalf. I stare after him, trying desperately to calm down and think clearly about what to do next and failing, failing, failing, failing…