63. Gwen
Gwen
ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA - THREE WEEKS LATER
I look up from my screen to see Easton hovering in the doorway to Dad’s office. Closing my rig, I point to the lid and fake pout. “Still no stickers.”
“I know, I know,” he says with a smile as I stand and circle the desk, walking past a wall of framed commendations and unit patches. “I have them. I’m just waiting for the right time to give them to you.” He lightly bops his finger to the tip of my nose, then kisses my forehead.
After all the chaos and fallout from the Molly situation, we had an incredible few weeks together. He took me flying over his hometown, and we tied up some remaining loose ends with the case two weeks ago. We also got to hang out at his sister’s place in New York for a bit. It was absolute heaven.
“I hate that you have to leave.” I trace the exposed vein in his forearm down to the braided leather bracelets I picked out for him in Singapore. “Sure you don’t need me?”
“I’ll always need you.” His hands go to my waist. “But I wouldn’t want to ruin your girls’ night, and this is an easy in-and-out thing. No worrying. Okay?”
Yeah, well, I’ll always worry. Especially when I don’t know the details. “Ah yes, the dinner that we’ll be having at the White House, because you overprotective men don’t want us out for a night on the town.”
He arches a brow and dips his chin to find my eyes. “Do you blame your dad after the last time?”
I scrunch my nose. “Guess not, but how will I dance on the table there? I can’t get into any trouble—”
“What kind of trouble do you want to get in, miss?” He drops his mouth over mine, catching my bottom lip, holding it captive for a second.
“Only the good kind. You know, with you when you come back to me.” My hands journey up his chest and to the sides of his neck.
“In that case, I better hurry so I can get back.” He draws his hands to my cheeks and claims my mouth like he owns it, and he absolutely does.
“All right, all right,” Dad grumbles from somewhere behind us. “We’ll never leave if you two keep this goodbye up much longer.”
Easton kisses me once more, taking his time anyway despite the audience. His boldness only turns me on.
When he lets me go, I turn around to find both Dad and Carter there waiting. “Just the three of you?” I lock my arms over my chest. “What kind of op is this, anyway?”
“Liam’s joining, too,” Dad adds casually.
“Ah, so you need the best pilot on the planet, two of the best snipers, and . . .” I glance at Carter. “You bringing your full utensil arsenal on this one, big guy?” Okay, so I can’t help myself sometimes. It’s fun to poke bears.
Carter rolls his eyes, which is kind of adorable considering what a grump he is.
“Be safe tonight,” Dad says like an order.
“I’ll be at the White House. No safer place to be other than Air Force One.” My hands drop to my hips. “Which you arranged.”
Dad shakes his head, eyes shooting to Easton. “I didn’t, actually. Looks like someone’s got his training wheels off when it comes to being as overprotective as I am.”
“What?” I blurt out, whirling around to playfully swat Easton’s chest. “This was your idea?”
He takes hold of my wrist and kisses the inside of it. “Can’t have you getting into trouble when I’m not around to bail you out.”
“Oh, you’re going to get it later.”
“Promise?” he mouths, lifting his brows twice.
“I’m still in the room,” Dad grunts.
Easton shoots me a handsome but decidedly indecent grin, which tells me he has plans for me when he’s back if I’m naughty. A girl can hope. So, I better antagonize him a little when I’m out tonight, so I’ll deserve a slap on the arse.
My cheeks heat. I’m definitely blushing as if my thoughts spilled out into the room.
Once our goodbyes are said, I drop back into Dad’s battered leather chair and pick up the framed wedding photo of him and Natasha. Then I swap that photo for one of Dad and me in New York when I turned twenty-one, which feels like a million years ago.
At the sound of a notification from my mobile, I set down the photo to see who it is.
Julian: How are you?
Alive. You?
Julian: Actually . . . I’m thinking about doing something crazy and becoming “alive” myself.
I sit upright in Dad’s leather chair, my gaze flicking to the map on the other wall as what he’s saying sinks in.
Really? You’re not gonna be dead anymore?
Julian: I think it’s time for a change of pace. Sick of covering my tracks and looking over my shoulder every five seconds. This op has also taught me it’s probably better to be alive than dead.
Generally speaking, I think that’s the best way to be.
Julian: I just wanted to let you know I managed to backdate the antidote. It took a few weeks, but I was able to find the real footage of who killed Preston.
Of course you did. Always gotta one-up me on the cyber genius stuff. What’d you find out?
Julian: Molly killed Preston.
So that Chechen douche was telling the truth. An honest assassin, huh?
Julian: Yeah . . . but ready for a mind trip?
Not sure I can handle more, but shoot.
Julian: Molly found out Preston also worked for The Collective. I bet she was worried they would decide he was more useful than her. So she eliminated him before they could eliminate her. She did it for job security. I have all the proof I need to show Zoey, too.
“You gotta be kidding me,” I say under my breath.
Are you telling me Zoey gave up her life for a traitor? Ugh, I’m going to be sick.
Julian: Yup :(
I spin the chair away and push to my feet, pacing the length of the office.
For now, Zoey’s being held at one of Julian’s family’s secure sites—whatever that actually means.
I don’t want too many details. Carter agreed she deserved some penance for her sins before she’s released with a new identity and life.
A life that won’t ever include any of us.
Diana’s compassion is the only reason Carter didn’t go full nuclear on her.
As for Molly’s crimes? I’m not sure what MI6 did with her, but I know she won’t ever be seeing the light of day again.
Julian: I don’t know if I can forgive Zoey. Some days I think I do. Some days I don’t.
In the same . She already lost the love of her life, which is a pretty big punishment, and she’s about to lose him all over again. The pain of knowing she sacrificed everything for a traitor . . .
He can fill in the dots.
Julian: Maybe it’ll hurt her now to hear the truth, but she should know.
I agree. And, Julian? You’re a good guy to care so much, even for someone who hurt us all. I hope one day you find someone who makes you happy.
Julian: Yeah, yeah. The girl I want is in love with someone else, and I’m happy for that couple, so I’ll move on.
Besides, it’s not like I’m the commitment type.
I would have inevitably broken your heart, because I suck at relationships, then Easton would have had to kill me, and I’m about to test out the whole not-being-dead thing again, so that would suck.
Julian: Orrrr maybe you would have broken mine? Who knows, and we’ll never know.
Wow. That’s a lot to process.
But I also hope and pray one day he will find true love and not run from it.
Before I can type back anything, he cuts things off with a quick message—his way of letting me know not to respond to what he said.
Julian: I’m good, promise. No stressing. Tell Easton and the others hi for me. Talk later :)
I text him back a goodbye, then set aside my mobile as Camila slips through the doorway.
“That Julian?” she asks.
I blink in shock. “How’d you know?”
She lifts one shoulder and closes an eye, as if worried about what she plans to share. “The medicine has been less effective ever since that vision last month. I tried increasing the dose, but that went . . . badly.” Her hands fly up, outward facing. “Don’t tell Carter, please.”
Shit. I walk over to her. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not.” She settles her hands at her sides. “Carter and the others wouldn’t be here if not, so . . .”
True.
“And my visions aren’t like they were before.
I can touch people without seeing their future.
I just know things again. Here and there.
Not always. Not sure why it happened this time.
Maybe it’s temporary? Or permanent, who knows.
Only time will tell.” She angles her head toward the desk.
“But yeah, I could feel Julian’s presence somehow and knew you were talking to him.
” She shrugs. “Maybe this is a happy medium solution?”
Talk about a glass-half-full approach. “That’s one way to look at it.”
“Let’s not tell Elaina. I’m worried she’ll get an idea or two, if you know what I’m saying.”
My stomach drops. “I do.”
She clasps a hand to my shoulder. “Now come on, we have a girls’ night out to get ready for.”
“At the White House,” I say with a laugh. “Minimal chance of anything wild happening.”
She chuckles. “I think that was by design.”
Two hours later, we’re gathered in the family dining room beneath soft chandelier light. Crystal prisms scatter reflections across the long table, and the chairs feel like they belong behind velvet ropes instead of being casually occupied by eight of us women.
“So, with the race tightening up between our parents now that that jerk dropped out after colluding with Molly,” Diana begins, eyes flashing to Natasha, “it’s looking more and more likely we’ll be back in the White House again next year.”
“Which means the teams will most likely continue either way,” Natasha says with a nod.
“Too bad I have a conscience and morals, or I might consider rigging the election so my mom loses,” Diana says with a laugh, then covers her mouth and glances around the room as if worried we’re being recorded and someone might take her seriously.
Politics might be messy, but tonight it feels personal—like the future of our families is sitting right here at the table with us. And technically, it is.
I stand a few seconds later and grab my clutch. “I’m going to use the ladies’ room, be right back.” I’m itching to sneak off and send Easton a selfie. I’m in a red dress he’s never seen. It’s sleek with a thigh-high slit he’ll appreciate.
I take a couple of sexy shots and send them.
Hope I’m not distracting you.
He replies within seconds with three fire emojis.
Easton: Definitely worth the distraction. I’m flat on a roof next to your dad, though. He almost saw the photos.
Good thing you’re stealthy. AND that I wasn’t naked.
Easton: I would like to make it home alive.
Only way you’re allowed to come back.
Easton:
Be safe up on that roof. Love you.
Easton: Always. Love you.
Easton: And, babe? You look absolutely gorgeous. You’ll need to wear that dress when I come home.
So you can take it off?
Easton: Of course.
I send him a fire emoji and tuck my mobile into my clutch, then head past Secret Service to join the others.
“Everything okay?” Camila asks as I drop into my chair.
I pick up my champagne flute and smile. “I don’t know, you tell me?”
“Don’t worry,” she says softly, “this is one situation you don’t need to stress about.”
I narrow my eyes. “And that means?”
Camila meets my gaze over the rim of her own glass and smiles. It’s a knowing, almost secretive expression. “You’ll find out soon enough.”