Page 85 of Hunted

“And on that note, time to roll, Ice Queen.”

Beck opened the apartment door, sweeping his hand to indicate ladies first.

I shoved my feet into my boots that someone had placed neatly by the door, without even bothering to tie the laces, and stomped out into the dimly lit hallway. Beckett closed the door behind us, then fell into step beside me, glancing out the corner of his eye every few seconds.

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

“No. It’s just…” He trailed off, chewing on the words he actually wanted to say. “You seem to be adjusting remarkably well to all this.”

I shrugged. “It’s the meds—they’re making everything much easier.”

“I wasn’t referring to the surgery, although that’s remarkable, too.” His forehead wrinkled. “I mean, accepting the fact that you’re a Swallow and your best friend got the assignment you wanted⁠—”

“If you think I’m the type of person to begrudge my friends their successes, then you don’t have me pegged very well at all, Sir.” I took a deep breath, waiting for the elevator to reach the fourth floor, and didn’t continue until we were sealed within the cabin. “I’ve been dealt some pretty shitty cards in this lifetime. What’s one more?”

Instead of pressing the button for the ground floor, Beck clicked the one marked B. His emerald eyes dropped from mine as the cabin descended to the basement level, neither of us saying another word until after the doors opened with a crystalline ding.

Without waiting, he grabbed my hand, laced his fingers through mine, and led the way into a fluorescent-lit garage. I knew without doubt that I was standing in the very same basement, housing the very same unmarked white van that first brought me here. Was I finally leaving?

But instead of swinging left towards the rows upon rows of vans, trucks, bikes, and cars, Beckett guided me right—into a brightly lit lobby, with a plastic-faced, fake-smiled woman seated behind the counter.

“Good morning, Agent Beckett,” she greeted, flashing her perfect teeth at him, even while the potplant behind her withered. “Is this her?” Her chin dipped in my direction, though she did not otherwise deign to acknowledge me.

“Yes,” he growled. “This is my asset, Agent Sinclair. I will be accompanying her into all appointments under strict orders not to let her out of my sight.”

The blonde’s tight face attempted a frown, but due to her forehead being frozen in place, all she could accomplish was a slight twitch of her perfect brows. “That’s not protocol.”

Beck’s jaw slanted. His fingers tightened around mine. “Commander Varco’s orders, Greta.”

Greta blanched and quickly tapped a series of keys on her keyboard, fake nails clacking incessantly. “Right. First up is hair with Gina, then resets with Marie, Pyotr’s application tutorial third, and finally a wardrobe fitting with Stanley.”

Beck tugged me down the hall to the right of Greta’s pale pink and white marble desk. Startled, she called after us, “Third door on the right!”

He grunted a vague assent, then barged into the room she mentioned without so much as a knock. Inside, outfitted in elegant black, white, and gold cohesion, was a full-sized salon.

I blinked rapidly, taking it all in—but most especially the short-statured woman in the centre of the room, completely unfazed by Beckett’s lack of manners. The woman, who I assumed was the aforementioned Gina, glanced first at Beck, her face softening for half a heartbeat, before she turned her gaze—piercing and unapologetic—on me. She looked first not at my face, but at the mess attached to my scalp. Every split end and every tangled knot was another tallymark against me before I ever even opened my mouth.

“Beckett, darling—I know Blackwing focuses on honing skill over appearance, but would it kill you to lend this girl a hairbrush?” Her hawkish eyes flicked again to my waist-length tangles, one dark brow rising in judgement. “Although I do think she might be beyond that.”

Beck, instead of grunting something unintelligible or snappish at Gina, surprised me entirely by laughing at her.

Correction: with her.

Gina’s expression melted when my ogrish companion stepped forward and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. She quickly batted him away with blush-stained cheeks. “Alright then, so this one gets the VIP treatment, does she?”

“She does indeed.” Beck shot me a small but genuine smile over his shoulder. “I don’t care how you make it happen, G, but Addie gets to keep her hair. Same colour, same length, just do something simple with this one.”

G rolled her eyes playfully but crossed the room in tiny, heel-clacking strides. She circled me like a shark, clicking her tongue as she made her way back around to my front.

“Well, then—Addie, is it?”

“Yes ma’am,” I mumbled.

Before I even knew what hit me, Gina clipped the bottom of my chin with her comb, shocking me into a stupor. “Stand straight, enunciate, and if you know what’s good for you, don’t refer to me as ma’am ever again. Or you might find that my scissors can get a little snip-happy.” She raised the other brow in emphasis.

“Yes m—” My eyes bugged, catching myself at the last possible second. “Yes, my lady?”

Gina’s lips twitched as she tried and failed not to laugh. Instead, she threw her head back and howled—revealing a bewildered Beckett behind her.