28. Gwen
Gwen
“That was before I was recruited to run Echo Team,” Dad reveals, dragging his fingers through his hair. “So I guess it makes sense why those files aren’t as locked tight as my current ops are.”
“Well, since you were there,” I begin, “tell us what happened from your perspective.” Better, and probably more comfortable for everyone, to hear it from the source than for me to third-person him by reading an after-action report.
He nods, slowly and hesitantly. “An Aussie special forces operator disobeyed a direct order and killed three innocent locals. I reported him to his superiors and provided evidence.” He lets go of a deep breath, and his face pinches in frustration, like he’s about to take on the full weight of blame for what happened to me yet again.
Natasha sets aside her tablet and rises to her feet to join us. “So, he was sent to prison?”
I peek back at the files, assuming Dad won’t know this part. “Looks like it was swept under the rug after he was discharged. No jail time. But he did die a couple years back while doing mercenary work.”
“That’s why Jezebel, or whoever is running the show, recruited Bodhi,” Dad grits out. “They told him the job would be a way to stick it to me. Get back at the man he blamed for getting his best friend canned. Probably assumes his friend would still be alive and serving if not for me.”
“I told you I didn’t think he knew you knew you. Just of you and was pissed about something.”
“Bodhi was used. Just like Zoey probably was.” Easton’s been quiet, likely waiting for the right time to join in on the conversation. Sounds like this is it. “Cogs in a machine.”
Dad stands and Natasha leans against him. She probably realizes he’s walking the blame plank for a decision he made over a decade ago.
“You made the right call back then,” I say. “If everyone stops doing the right thing out of fear of consequences, then we’re all screwed.”
Dad grimaces. “He wanted to do that to you because of what I did to his best friend.”
“No,” I rush out, springing to my feet. “He wanted to do that because he’s a piece of shit and a horrible human being.” I poke Dad’s chest, waiting for him to get off that damn ledge of guilt.
“She’s right, and you know it.” Easton flanks Dad’s other side, and I give him an appreciative nod for being there for my dad again.
After a quiet minute passes, I raise another point.
“Now that we know the motives for these guys, and that they truly were expendable, I think it’s safe to say we’re never going to find Jezebel—or anyone with a close tie to her—making direct contact in front of any cameras.
Jezebel wouldn’t risk it. Any leads we have will wind up as dead ends. ”
“Maybe that’s by design?” Natasha proposes, her tone thoughtful.
Dad turns toward her. “What do you mean?”
“They have us looking everywhere that they’re not. Wasting time,” I explain before she can. “The hotel guest list. Zoey’s missing source. These mercenaries.”
“Then where the hell are we supposed to look?” Dad grumbles, hands going to his hips.
I drop down onto my seat. “That’s exactly what we need to figure out.
They’ve masterminded everything so carefully.
From setting up that trafficking ring on the island to the intel package from Molly to Zoey and positioning the Aussies in place.
Even going so far as to keep Beckett busy with a murder investigation so Elaina wouldn’t get wind of what’s going on and stop taking her medicine. ”
Easton tears a hand through his dark hair, and a loose strand falls across his forehead. I’m dying to sweep that stray lock away with my fingers, but now’s not the time or place.
“And then there’s me. I was holed up here busying myself with work with no desire to go anywhere. But then—”
“I suggested the trip.” Natasha grimaces.
Do I need to remind her we already went down that rabbit hole the other day, and none of this is her fault, either?
“Someone knew I was miserable, and since they have personal knowledge of us somehow, they figured someone would try and pull me away to cheer me up.” It sounds so far-fetched when I say it out loud, but that’s my only working theory. For now.
Easton heads for the balcony doors, bracing his palms against the glass, his back to us.
“But how would they know we were even going on vacation? That’s what we still need to figure out. Well, among other things,” I grumble. “We used aliases, like always, when checking in.”
“Someone had to have betrayed us from inside this hotel,” Easton says in a tight voice. “Not a guest. Which means it has to be someone on the staff.”
“I looked into everyone, but I must’ve missed something.” I toy with my Big Ben charm for a distraction. “Who knows how many other traps these people still have set in motion.”
“What if the op Sebastian pulled Nash in on was another distraction, too?” Easton slowly faces the room, and I abandon my charm as his gaze locks with mine.
“A way to further split everyone up while you were in Dubai.” Before anyone can respond, he removes his mobile from his pocket.
“Speaking of Nash, he just texted. He’s back.
” He tips his head toward the door. “I should talk to him. Find out more about that op he went on.”
“I should also go bring Carter up to speed,” Dad says, then peers at Natasha. “Stay with her so she’s not alone, okay?”
“Stop being dramatic.” I teasingly roll my eyes. “I’ll be fine.”
“Even if someone in this hotel is a traitor?” Dad bites back, whirling around to face me.
“This hall’s safe. It’s just our people up here.” I press my hands together. “Stop worrying about me. I’m not five. I’ll be okay alone. And truthfully, I could use a little time to myself to decompress. This has been a heavy few minutes.”
Dad lifts his brows. “You’re sure?”
I glance at my rig. “I’m not alone alone. I have Tom and Jerry.” I do my best to smile. “And remember, you’ll be just down the hall.” Actually . . . “In fact, I’m kicking you both out of my suite. Emory, too.”
“Excuse me?” Dad folds his tattooed arms across his chest, glaring at me.
I blink my way over to Easton, who’s still hovering just inside the doorway.
I honestly have no clue how the conversation with Nash will go considering Easton’s officially moving back in.
Will Nash feel like he’s no longer needed?
I’m sure Carter wouldn’t mind having another badass pilot on staff, and Nash is still mourning the loss of his marriage, so I doubt he’s ready to go home.
“What was I saying?” I rub my arms, trying to chase away the chills.
“Nothing that I’ll say yes to,” Dad grunts.
My hands drop to my lap. “Oh, right. You’re moving out.
You and Natasha should have some privacy, and you need to sleep in a bed.
I see you holding your back when you think we’re not looking.
Getting old.” I wink. “The couch won’t cut it.
” I lift my chin as a directive. “I’m sure Jesse and Ella won’t mind switching to another suite so you can take the one next door.
” When Dad continues to stare at me like I’ve lost my mind, I go ahead and embarrass him.
“Come on, don’t act like you can go another night being so close to Natasha, and yet not being able to—”
“Don’t go there.” Dad raises his hand to stop me from continuing. “Please don’t talk about—”
“Sex around you?” I laugh, grateful the mood’s no longer as heavy. Not for me. Dad’s probably gonna lose it.
“I should”—Easton hikes a thumb over his shoulder, because he’s for sure embarrassed—“go.”
When the door shuts behind him, Dad swivels back around as Natasha quietly picks up her tablet from the couch, leaving me to face off with her growly husband.
“Any chance the reason you want to be alone is because you actually don’t want to be alone?
” Dad leans in, jutting his chin forward, eyeing me like there’s caution tape flapping in the breeze between us and a dead body on the other side.
Just might be if I’m understanding what he’s trying to say without saying it.
“Oh sure, I have every intention of sneaking a guy into my room. Maybe I’ll accidentally invite the traitor in, too.” I roll my eyes. “You do remember I’m turning twenty-eight in March, right?”
“You’ll be my little girl until the day I die.”
“And that means?”
“That means your father is going to be a pain in your ass forever.” Natasha smiles.
“I’ll go tell Ella we’re taking over their suite.
” Dad opens his mouth to protest, but she steps forward and covers it with her hand.
“This is one of those times you’ll be doing what I say.
Your daughter doesn’t want to be suffocated.
” She narrows her eyes, and when he hesitantly nods, she lowers her hand. “Understood?”
Best stepmum ever.
“And if the traitor does happen to be someone on the staff? Someone who’s armed?” Fair point from Dad.
But . . . “No one on the security team is crooked.” Hopefully, I’m right. “I trust Malachi, and he’s in charge of the security team here. He won’t let anything happen to me. If someone tries to come to our floor who shouldn’t, he’ll sound the alarms, trust me.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I should talk to him myself. Have him look into his unit one more time and see if he can find anything on them.” Dad turns to Natasha and draws her close, whispering something in her ear.
“And this is why you two need to be alone.” I make a mock gagging sound, but then crack a smile that neither sees, because they’re too busy lost in each other’s eyes.
“Don’t open the door for anyone you don’t trust,” Dad tosses out a few seconds later.
I resist a childish, Duh, and wait for them to leave before snatching my mobile.
Are you okay? Not sulking about that heavy conversation, are you?
Easton: Because someone knows us well enough to realize you’d be even more miserable than you already were because I was off playing pretend with another woman? Is that why you think I’m sulking?
Easton: No clue what you’re referring to. Why would I be sulking?
You know I already read the message you unsent two seconds too late.
Easton: Plead the fifth.
Of course you do.
As I wait for Easton’s response, I hide the open tab on Bodhi’s friend, unable to stomach looking at anything tied to that man.
Easton: If I apologize for making you miserable, you’ll tell me it’s not my fault. Why waste a perfectly good apology on someone who doesn’t want it?
Fast learner. But I’m also texting because I need something from you later. Just say yes.
Easton: Details before I respond. Also, I’m still waiting on a new profile pic of you.
I set down my mobile and run my fingers through my hair, trying to “pretty it up” before I hold out the phone. I lift one shoulder, angle my head a little, and give him my best side while pouting my lips—I know, I know—then take the most naturally casual, sexiest photo I can manage.
I hit send before I can change my mind, then chew the inside of my cheek, nervously waiting for his reaction.
Easton: I don’t know what to say.
What’s that supposed to mean? Photo not up to your standards?
Easton: I have nothing to say that won’t get me in motherf’ing trouble.
I lean back in my seat and stare at his message, a warm feeling spreading limb to limb.
This is us flirting again, isn’t it? Have we always been like this, and I just shelved these conversations as friendly and innocent?
Maybe I wasn’t ready to open my eyes yet.
But I’m pretty sure I’m ready to explore this thing happening between us now.
You know I like trouble.
While waiting for his answer, I set my mobile aside to pull up one of the last “dear diary” notes I typed Friday night from my hotel room in Dubai.
The notes auto-synced to my main box from my rig, so I’ll have them forever—or at least until I decide to delete them.
But I hate that Jezebel now has access to everything I wrote over the years, too.
Easton: You don’t like trouble. You ARE trouble.
How is it possible he has me feeling this way while Jezebel is on the loose with my rig and there might be an insider for her at the hotel?
I pick up my mobile, smiling ear to ear as I finally ask him for that favor I want.
Watch a movie with me later. I need another “relax break” like we had yesterday so I can numb my mind. Not up for swimming again. And before you suggest the gym, the answer is no.
Easton: I thought you wanted to be alone?
Now, yes. Later? Nope.
Easton: What about asking Mya? I’m sure she’d watch a flick with you.
Mya will just want to comfort-talk to me about what almost happened. I don’t want to think about that, which is why I need to distract myself with a movie.
Easton: Fair, but why not someone else? How about my sister? Or Ella? Why me?
You know why.
Easton: That’s what I’m afraid of.
Too late, I already saw that one, too.
Easton: AutoCorrect’s fault.
Suuuure. It’s not like you typed fuck and it corrected to duck.
Easton:
Easton: And you proved my point: You’re trouble.
Mm-hmm, sure. But since you’re so scared to be alone with me all of a sudden, we’ll watch a horror movie. Something slightly more traumatizing than what I actually experienced so I’ll be scared of fiction instead of reality.
Bubbles bounce.
And I wait.
And wait.
Aaaannnddd . . . nothing.
Until there’s a knock at my door.
Because of course this is one of those times he feels like he has to tell me something face to face.