Page 17 of Falcon’s Forever

I grab my jacket from the back of a chair and head for the door, but Zip intercepts me near the hallway.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

I pull on my jacket. “Perimeter.”

Zip falls into step beside me. “You just assigned that to Rook and Ice.”

“I’m overseeing,” I tell him, continuing toward the exit.

“You’re going outside because Cara isn’t in here.” Zip delivers the observation like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, because it is.

I tighten my grip on the front of my jacket. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he replies without missing a beat.

I shoot him a dark look. “I’m working on it.”

Zip stops and props one shoulder against the wall, completely unbothered by the threat. “You know she gave Vulture six pages?”

Despite myself, I slow and glance back at him. “Six pages of what?”

“Everything we’re doing wrong,” Zip says. “There’s a whole section on transport. And apparently, the women want some warning before we test the alarms because, and I’m quoting Sterling here, ‘Blaring sirens at trauma survivors without warning is fucking stupid.’”

I wince as I shove my hands into my jacket pockets. “That’s fair.”

“Yeah, it is.” The amusement disappears from Zip’s face as he studies me. “She’s good for this place.”

I turn my attention toward the exit again, but I don’t answer.

"I know," I say, and that's the whole problem, isn't it. "She shouldn't have to be."

"You ever think maybe that's part of how she takes care of herself?"

I look at him. He shrugs, unbothered by the question he just dropped in my lap, and pushes off the wall toward the bar. "Not my business. For what it's worth, brother, she looked good today."

My chest goes tight. "She's good."

"Yeah," he says, and walks off, and leaves me standing there telling myself I'm heading to check the new security setup at the house, that’s a lie that lasts about ten seconds before I'm on the path toward the women's house with no intention of going anywhere near the perimeter first.

The house is quiet from the outside, a couple of windows are open. Somebody's put a potted plant on the porch that wasn't there yesterday, three mugs are lined up on the railing. They are ordinary things, but they mean a lot. I stand at the edge of the path longer than I should, which is ridiculous considering I've breached fortified compounds with less hesitation than it takes me to walk twenty more feet toward one of my own buildings.

The door opens before I make it. Cara steps out, closes it behind her, and stops when she sees me. Neither of us moves. There's no reason this should feel more dangerous than Church, but it does anyway.

She’s standing near the porch with a notebook held against her chest. The six pages, presumably.

“Done?” she asks as I approach.

“With Church?” I glance back at the clubhouse. “Yeah.”

Cara’s fingers tighten around the notebook. “You stayed.”

“I said I would,” I remind her.

“I know,” she says quietly.

There’s no accusation in her voice. No reminder of all the times I didn’t. Just an acknowledgment, and it hits harder than either of those would have.

I step onto the edge of the porch and shove my hands into my pockets. “I heard you told Vulture no.”