Page 10 of Fuse

“No, he was not.”

I’m thankful she leaves the explanation at that, though there’s enough implied meaning in what we’ve both said that anyone with half a brain can deduce what happened that night. Not that Emma’s brain has ever been satisfied with running at just fifty percent capacity. Her silent fume brings me back to the edge of uncomfortable with Angelique—though it’s not like either of us can bail out from the subject this time.

“Okay. Full stop,” I reprimand Angelique—wanting to go easier on the tone but keeping it edged. If I don’t, she’ll go for some other evasion tactic, and physically guiding her back to the subject is out of the question. “You’re here because you had no other choice, aren’t you? Because you tried to help Kane escape…”

“Merde.” She dashes her gaze down anyway and purposely retracts her stance a little. “Reece, do not ask if you do not want to hear—”

“Wanting has nothing to do with this anymore.” And damn it, before I realize it, I’m grabbing her by the shoulders. Silently, I plead that she doesn’t make it necessary to grab her by the chin too. This information is fucking necessary to get out of her, but I’m really fond of keeping my balls in the process. I can feel Emma’s stare, fixated on every move we make—thank God. That means she also sees the painful grit of my jaw, joined with the steeled lock of my stare. “I need to know this, Angelique.” I twist my grip tighter. This really is all business, and damn it, the woman in my hold has to be informed of that more than anyone. “Did you blow your cover for just the chance to save Kane’s ass from those bastards?”

The woman’s responding nod is sleek and gracious—even before she utters words that are astoundingly tenuous. “If I did…is it so, so horrible?”

“Christ.” I can’t clutch her any tighter, so I take the chance of pushing in toward her by another inch—hoping the determination of my stare fully conveys the intense meaning in my heart. “Of course it isn’t. Angie”—I’m failing to get through, so I risk one adamant squeeze of her nape—“you’re not there anymore. You’re here. This is us. And you blew your cover, and probably risked your whole neck too, in trying to save one of us.”

“But I failed.” Her voice is wobbly.

“But you tried.”

At last, thank fuck, she looks up. I’m able to return my hand to her shoulder, despite how a dozen tears are tracking down her flushed cheeks. “I…I at least can relay some information. It is not much, but—”

“Not much is better than nothing at all.” As Foley scoots around, he whips his phone from his back pocket and scrolls to a blank page on his notepad. “Give it to us, Alain.” And then adds a fast wink, lightening the mood at least a little by using Angie’s pretentious radio call sign.

Angelique laughs a little, dipping an equally miniscule nod. “There is much—how do you say?—absence of minds in the Source,” she tells us, though quickly shakes her head as if the words aren’t adding up.

“Absence of minds,” Foley repeats. “You mean absent-minded? Distracted?”

“Oui.” Her face lights up, and she taps her nose with a rapid-fire finger. “They are distracted.”

“Why?” I speak up.

“There is a sense of pressure,” she answers. “As if filtering down from the top—”

“Wherever or whoever that is,” Foley comments.

“It is feeling so much like a ticking bomb, no?” she finishes, though adds a validating nod to Foley’s point. “As if everyone is racing the clock, preparing for a deadline, though nobody knows exactly when it is coming.”

I let a chuff escape. “I know the feeling.”

“And have made damn sure the rest of us do too.”

Though Foley finishes it with a kidding-not-kidding bump to my shoulder, Angie nods as if sarcasm was in fashion four seasons ago. “Bien,” she murmurs, nodding with matching solemnity. “Yes. That is very good.”

I refrain from gloating. “Why?” I press, just a few notches shy of flaunting my victory with neon fingers in his face. Instead, I refocus back to Angelique, who’s observing our testosterone war with bemusement.

“The connards have been skittish of their own shadows since you took this fight public,” she finally responds. “But something has changed within the last week.” She adds a thoughtful shake of her head. “Something big.”

“Big…how?” Foley interjects.

“I do not know, exactly.” She grimaces. “Désolée. I am sorry. Things have been very different lately at the Source. We have all been more monitored.”

Foley narrows his eyes. “You just said everyone is distracted.”

“And they are,” she explains. “In many ways. But in others…”

I hold up a hand, the motion as much to dim Foley as it is to acknowledge Angie. “To get from one room to the next, someone likely has to punch in three passwords and have their retina and fingerprint scanned. But once they’re through, they can strip naked, smear themselves with Dijon mustard, and do the Hamilton opening rap without anyone caring.”

Foley cocks a brow at Angie. “Is that what you had to do to try to spring Kane?”

“Almost.” More mirth flicks through her eyes, but it only lasts a second. “Though I might have gladly preferred that.”