Chapter 3
Io surfaced slowly, reluctant to open her eyes until she could piece together what had happened. Her last clear memory was staggering away from the window. And Cal—his arms around her, carrying her to bed, pulling the blankets over her, telling her to sleep.
She was damp with sweat, the air conditioning no match for the late-afternoon heat pressing through the windows. Blinking against the light, she opened her eyes.
Tossing back the covers, Io stood and stretched, working the stiffness from her muscles. Her gaze swept the room, noting the shadows, the places someone could hide. Habit.
Taking in the angle of the sun, she’d slept a couple of hours. Maybe more.
She wanted another shower. Needed it. To rinse off the sweat. To clear her head. To feel like herself again.
To transform from Ayla back into Io.
Most people assumed her straight hair was natural, and that Ayla used hot rollers to add curls. But it was the opposite. Their hair was wavy, and Io used a blow dryer to smooth hers out.
Being dressed alike as kids had always grated, but today’s impersonation had scraped old nerves raw. Her parents’ disinterest left marks she still carried.
And Cal, well, he’d carved a fresh scar right over the old one, proving again that being herself cost her the people she loved. He wanted her safe, contained, predictable. A version of her she couldn’t be.
She was simply too much.
She shook her head, trying to scatter the memories, and walked toward the attached bathroom and the shower she needed more than she wanted to admit. Maybe the water would rinse away the doubts.
If people couldn’t love her as she was, that was on them. She repeated it like a truth she might believe if she said it enough times.
Showered, her hair straight again, and back in her own clothes—black pants and a red T-shirt—it was time to track down Captain BD for another conversation. One without an audience.
She opened the door to the sitting room and stopped short. Cal was on the couch. Not gone. Not avoiding her. Here. His eyes were open now, but she’d clearly woken him.
Io didn’t ask why he was there. She didn’t need to.
He was protecting her. She wanted to believe it was because she mattered to him, but she was too much of a realist to buy it. He didn’t trust her to take care of herself. He never had. Not really.
“Is the safe house not as safe as advertised?” she asked evenly.
Cal stood slowly, rubbing his neck. The movement was stiff, controlled, like he was bracing for something. She gave him a moment before pressing again.
“Well? Is there some risk here I don’t know about?”
“There shouldn’t be.” He hesitated. A flicker crossed his face, gone too fast to name. “We lost the last safe house yesterday.”
There was a world of information in that sentence. But not nearly enough detail. “Who found it? The arms dealer, the drug lord, the war criminals, or the Russian mobsters?”
Cal’s lips curved, resigned. “Mobsters.” He paused. “How are you feeling?”
The mobsters. Of course. The ones after her sister. It was too much effort to pretend she was fine. “Better. I’d guess another day or two before I’m back to normal.”
Cal’s jaw tightened. Not anger. Something sharper, something that looked like frustration aimed squarely at her. Whatever it was, it hit him hard. “It depends what Fuentes gave you to keep you unconscious.”
“Yeah.” Io frowned. She hadn’t spotted any marks on her body, which probably ruled out injections, but beyond that? No idea. “You slept out here? I’m surprised you didn’t use the other half of the bed.”
“That’s your sister’s side,” Cal said. “I didn’t think she’d appreciate me sacking out there.”
“Oz isn’t going to move her into his quarters?”
Cal shrugged and rubbed his neck again. “I doubt it. BD wouldn’t like it. He needs everyone focused, and the Wizard would have his attention on Ayla, not the op.”
“He’s already got his attention on Ayla, but I get your point.” Io changed the subject. “Do you think someone has coffee on in the kitchen?”
Smiling, Cal said, “Safe bet. You need caffeine?”
“Always. I can’t believe you had to ask.”
His grin widened, the first real one she’d seen from him since Germany. “I’d offer to show you to the kitchen, but we’d both be wandering around looking for it. This is my first time here. Unless you want me to help, I’m going to grab a shower and change while you caffeinate.”
“Go, shower. Try to work out some of the kinks from sleeping on that nightmare.” Io nodded toward the sofa. “The kitchen’s probably near the dining room. I’ll start there.”
They split up in the hallway, Io heading for the stairs and Cal going who-knew-where. The house was built around a courtyard with additions over the years that left it more a maze than a home.
Trusting her sense of direction, Io found the dining room without too much trouble. The kitchen took a few tries. It wasn’t adjacent, but tucked behind a sitting room. The scent of coffee led her the right way.
She’d grab a cup, work out her arguments, and hunt down the captain. If she had to, she’d enlist Oz. Allies never hurt.
But that was a last resort. Io preferred handling things herself.
She found the captain and the kitchen at the same time. He sat at a round table near the windows, coffee in hand, messaging on his phone. He looked up when she walked in.
“Ms. Desmond.”
Her lips curved. “Safe greeting.”
BD set down his phone. “I know which one you are. You’re the pain-in-the-ass twin.”
“What gave me away?” Io asked, heading for the coffee maker.
“You look me square in the eye. Your sister looks off to the side.”
“Interesting. I’ll have to remember that.” Io sipped her coffee and glanced around.
The kitchen was large, rundown, and painted the same stubborn yellow as the dining room. After another sip, she joined the captain at the table. They watched each other over their mugs.
BD was around thirty, over six feet tall, muscular, with Asian heritage, and absolutely swoon-worthy. He was her current adversary in her quest to keep Ayla protected.
“You’re a cool customer,” BD said at last.
“Because you don’t make me nervous?”
“Because most people fill silence. It’s uncomfortable for them.”
Io shrugged. “I work for Archer. He enjoys testing people, making them uncomfortable for funsies.”
His brows went up. “Funsies?” He shook his head. “I know Archer better than I want to. How much training did he sign you up for?”
Now they were getting to the nitty-gritty. “Enough that I regularly get interesting recruitment visits from US agencies not everyone has heard of. How much pressure are you getting to wrap up Torres?”
“Enough that we’re having this conversation.”
Io nodded, impressed. She’d expected evasion, not honesty.
“My offer from earlier stands.”
“The rogue Paladin League employee who’s after the billion-dollar treasure idea?” BD raised his mug. “Who’s going to believe that a photojournalist knows where it is? If you were an archaeologist or an archivist, maybe.”
“Who’s to say I’m not an archaeologist pretending to be a photojournalist?”
“Probably the mole inside the Paladin League.” BD said it casually, like he hadn’t just dropped a grenade.
Io took a moment to breathe. “Mole? Who told you there’s a mole? Archer?”
“One of his employees.”
“Your fiancée?”
BD went rigid. “No. Not her.”
She’d hit a nerve. “Does Archer have this information?”
“He should by now.”
And that gave Io a good guess. “Nyx?”
His lack of reaction confirmed it.
“Don’t worry, BD. We’re on the same side. I needed the name to judge the validity. If it was Nyx, there’s no mistake. We have a mole.”
“We take care of our own and Nyx’s father…” BD’s voice trailed off.
“And Nyx’s father used to be in your line of work. I know. Trust me. I’m not going to endanger her. I like her.” Io’s lips curved. “We’ve even gone to the shooting range together. Yes, she can outshoot me. She can probably outshoot you, too.”
BD scrubbed his hands over his face. “You wear me out.”
“I haven’t even started,” Io said, amusement fading. “I want my sister safe and I can be relentless.”
“Is this where I’m supposed to look shocked? Let’s stop dancing. I’m willing to entertain your idea if—and this is a big if—it doesn’t increase risk. Not to you and not to my team. You’re not falling on my watch. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“Truth time. What actual training do you have?”
She hesitated. “It’s top secret. I was warned not to tell anyone.”
“Ms. Desmond, if you think you’re inserting yourself into my operation with some vague line about being a female James Bond, you can think again. I want specifics. List them or you and your sister are on a plane back to Los Angeles. Am I clear?”
He wasn’t joking. “You can’t share this with anyone else, not even your chief.”
BD raised his eyebrows and stared at her, expression neutral. She got the message. His security clearance was high level. With a soft exhale of breath, Io listed what she could, enough to get her on the op, but not everything.
“I can check some of that. It’s military.”
“I know. Verify it.”
He studied her, then nodded. “Okay, lay your idea out again, and include how you’re going to pull it off.”
She repeated her plan, adding details. “We’ll have to bring Archer in. He might grouse, but between the two of us, we can convince him to make me look bad.”
BD waited, clearly expecting her to elaborate.
“Archer knows how to scatter breadcrumbs. Questions about my loyalty, concerns about my spending habits, maybe a hint of a gambling problem—anything that makes the desire for a lot of money feel real. The mole will pass it along and Torres will buy it.”
“One problem,” BD said.
“Just one?” Io asked dryly.
“We don’t know who the mole works for. Maybe Vargas.”
“The drug lord. Here’s how I see it. Torres probably has eyes on Vargas and vice versa. If one gets briefed, the other will know within hours.”
“That’s quite an assumption.”
“I’m assuming they’re too paranoid not to monitor each other. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re not wrong.” BD stood, grabbed the coffee pot, and topped off his mug. “Want a refill?”
Io nodded eagerly. He poured, returned the pot to the burner, and sat again. “I’ll start verifying your training. If you check out—”
“I will. Let’s discuss your side. Keeping Ayla safe.”
“Do you seriously believe the Wizard will allow anything to happen to her?”
“If he’s with her? No. Is he going to be with her?”
“If you check out, I will assign him as her personal bodyguard.” Softer, BD added, “As if I could stop him.”
“You run your verifications, satisfy yourself, and tomorrow, we’ll begin our plan to take down Torres. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“What the fuck do you mean deal?” Cal demanded. He was furious.
She didn’t flinch, but the anger in his voice scraped across the same old wound. The one he’d left in Germany.
“Sergeant,” BD warned.
“No, sir. You don’t get to use her as an asset. You don’t get to put her in danger. She’s a civilian.”
“Sergeant,” BD repeated, harder.
“You’re planning to use my wife. Do you think I don’t get a say?”
“I’m not your wife,” Io said, standing slowly. The word slammed into the bruise he’d left in Germany, sharp and familiar, a pain that never really faded. The same bruise that whispered she’d never been enough for him as she was.
Something flickered across Cal’s face—hurt, sharp and unguarded—but she dismissed her read instantly. Whatever that was, it couldn’t be because of her. Not after he’d walked away. She’d never mattered enough to hurt him.
His expression hardened, anger sealing over whatever she thought she saw. “Did you file for divorce?”
She shook her head.
“Then you’re my wife. Deal with it.”
The words scraped across every old wound he’d left her with.
He didn’t mean it the way she used to dream he might.
He meant it like a fact, a burden, a problem he was stuck with until the divorce was final.
An obligation he regretted. The pain flared hot, and she shoved it down hard, letting anger take its place.
A hot, furious retort rose in her throat, but what came out was colder. Sharper.
“You don’t get to use that word when it suits you.”
His jaw tightened, fury still burning in his eyes, but something flickered underneath it. Something that looked a lot like hurt. She refused to believe that.
Because he’d been the one to end them.
He’d been the one to tell her to leave.