27. Gwen
Gwen
“More coffee?” Easton’s deep voice snaps me out of it, and I rub my eyes and twist around to find him standing by me, his U-M mug extended.
I shouldn’t notice the vein in his tanned forearm as he offers me the coffee or wonder what it’d be like to have that hand on me, but here I am, doing exactly that. With my dad on the couch behind us, no less.
My gaze wanders to Easton’s chest as he exhales, and yeah, he for sure clocked that look of mine. Probably remembers what I said on the plane before turbulence knocked us into Carter’s bedroom, too.
I doubt I’m blushing. Let’s be honest, when it comes to making this man have to clear his throat or shove multiple sticks of gum in his mouth, checking out his arm porn is the least offensive thing I’ve done in the last few years.
“You’d think I didn’t sleep last night with how tired I am.” I fake a smile and toss in an innocent shoulder shrug to deflect.
He knows I slept, though. I texted him when I woke up: It’s a miracle, I got six hours of sleep.
I’m pretty sure he was telling the truth when he said he managed about the same. No dark shadows under his eyes to suggest a lie. But something tells me he’s still coping with what happened on that island, and his dreams were more on the nightmare side. Just like mine.
“We’re just exhausted from no leads,” he finally responds, nudging my favorite mug at me.
I steal a quick look at Dad and Natasha working side by side on my couch. It’s just the four of us here, and we’ve been at it since seven in the morning. Aside from the mandatory bites of food both Dad and Easton forced me to take, we’ve spent the last five hours buried behind our screens.
Of course, Easton was a bit more discreet. He texted me his orders to “eat or else” from across the room. If Dad wasn’t in here, I would have pushed him to find out about the “or else” part.
“Gwen.” Easton says my name so low it’s like he breathed it out instead.
The mug. Right. “I should give this back to you at some point,” I say before taking a sip.
“Nah, keep it.” He starts to turn, and that’s when I do something ridiculous and reach for his arm with my free hand.
He dips his chin, eyes falling to where I’m touching him.
My fingers are just a whisper on his skin. But that touch seems to be louder than when Easton said my name, because it gets Dad’s attention.
“Everything okay?” he asks us, and Easton eases his arm away and backs up like we’ve been caught making out.
“Yeah.” I nod at my nosy father, then spin back around toward my rig.
I’ve spent the last hour or so trying to find the connection between Dad and those Aussie mercenaries since my hotel-guest-list search was a dead end.
The results popped up earlier with a flashing NO MATCH on my screen.
Part of me was relieved our security was tight enough to prevent any of those jerks from checking into The Sapphire.
The other part? Well, I was really hoping my program would come up with a lead, then we’d have someone to interrogate for answers.
When Easton heads to the dining room table and disappears behind his screen, I resume my search.
An hour later, I blink in shock at the fact I finally found something. I read and digest the report, then spin around to share, “I’ve got it.” But the second my eyes lock with Dad’s, the next words become hard to get out. “I, um, know why they—”
I abruptly shut my eyes as heat rises up my neck and into my cheeks. Why the heck does the mere thought of those men’s names send me back to that room?
“You okay?” Dad’s voice sweeps through my suite, drawing closer, and, thankfully, also jerks me back to the safety of the room. When I open my eyes, he’s in front of my desk chair.
Goose bumps crawl across my skin as I death-grip the armrests. Dad takes notice and kneels before me, covering both of my hands with his big, rough ones.
I peer over his shoulder in search of the man who somehow grounds me with his mere presence. Easton’s on his feet now. His head is slightly angled, lips parted, and his dark eyes are narrowed, waiting for me to speak.
I want to be on his lap. Sheltered in his arms. Alone with him and away from all of our problems.
It’s not that I don’t love my dad and feel safe with him. But something changed on that island with Easton, and I don’t know if we can ever go back to how things were with us before.
Easton nods, like he knows I’m waiting for him to give me the green light. That it’s safe to continue talking, because I’m here, not there. Not in that room with that woman and her timer, or that man with his belt buckle undone.
“Um . . .”
I need to share what I found out. Come on, come on. Get this over with.
Eyes back on Dad, I rip off the Band-Aid. “Bodhi’s childhood best friend served. He was on an operation that went sideways in Mogadishu in 2011. American SEALs were on the joint op with the Aussies, and based on the files I just hacked—”
“I was one of those SEALs,” Dad cuts in bitterly before I can finish. “And you know that, don’t you? My name is in those files.” He curses. “So much for clandestine shit being clandestine.”
“Nothing written down is ever really hidden, and anything uploaded is always hackable.”
“What are you two talking about?” Natasha asks, her voice curious, and her gaze lands on me when Dad doesn’t answer her.
“Dad was responsible for getting Bodhi’s best friend booted from the op,” I tell Natasha, “and ultimately from the armed forces.”