Page 42 of What Remains
“Do you have a death wish?” I grunt.
She moves in front of me, blocking my view of Gwen. “You know I can get back there unseen and much quicker alone. I need to—”
“We didn’t get her out of there just so you can get captured, and I’ll have to go back there and save your ass.” I stab in the direction of the wood floors, and while it’s not ideal to have an operational discussion in only a towel, I don’t have much of a choice. “I know you’re trying to do damage control because you feel responsible, but we don’t know anything.”
“I want to make this right. I’m too type A to sit here and do nothing.”
“Well, you can take your type A self downstairs and watch those cameras for us. That is doing something.” I tighten the towel so it doesn’t slip. That’s the last thing I need. Zoey would never take me seriously with my junk flapping in the breeze. “Now, if you don’t mind . . .”
She lets go of a deep breath while glancing back at Gwen. There’s another regretful this-is-all-my-fault apology on the tip of Zoey’s tongue. I can hear the unspoken words radiating off her. But then she runs in a different direction than I expected and jokes, “Is he always this bossy?”
Gwen’s face softens. Thank you, Zoey, for making her smile. “Yeah, I just don’t listen.”
Smartass. And I’d much prefer her sass to her sadness any day of the week, even if it can be dangerous, especially when we’re alone.
“But in this case, I hope you do listen to him.”
Zoey keeps her shoulders locked up and tense as she stares at the floor. “I’m used to rolling solo since I left SIS.”
She’s probably remembering why we’re here yet again, which ties to why she left MI6 in the first place. I don’t envy what she’s going through.
If I lost the love of my life, I’d . . . well, snap.
“I would say to get used to it,” I finally speak up, doing my best not to stare at Gwen instead, “but something tells me you don’t plan on officially joining Carter and the others at The Sapphire on a permanent basis.”
“No, I can’t,” Zoey answers without hesitation, holding up her hands.
“Out of respect for Diana?” Gwen takes a guess.
Zoey exhales a deep breath, eyes shooting to the floor. “It wouldn’t be right,” she says in an almost somber tone before starting for the door. Without looking back at us, she tosses out, “For now, though, I’ll listen and stay put.”
Why she shuts Gwen in the room with me while I’m only in a towel is beyond me, but here we are.
“I probably shouldn’t have said that about Diana.” Gwen drags a hand down her face. “I assume she now knows that we all know about the rumors.”
“Zoey’s not one to be shy, don’t worry about it.” I search for my clothes, needing my gum more than I need to be dressed, but they’re not in here. Not even my boots. Just the Glock I left behind.
Knowing Zoey, she collected my stuff while I showered, probably worried I’ll forget something and leave behind a DNA trail.
I set my hands on my hips above the towel, doing my best to ignore the pain in my back. Now’s not the time for liquid anesthesia, but I can use bourbon more than a stick of gum.
“Are you okay?” she asks, fidgeting with her shirt.
“Not supposed to be asking me that. Are you good? That granola bar is hardly enough to hold you over.”
“I think I’ve lost my appetite despite still feeling like I’m starving.” She lifts a shoulder. “My stomach is contradicting itself, I know. Wouldn’t be the first time I’m a walking contradiction.”
“Don’t I know it,” I grumble. “What would you like to do until your dad’s here?”
I can tell she’s biting the inside of her cheek. It’s a nervous habit of hers. Any guesses what mine is? I wonder whether Carter thought of stocking the place with gum.
“Maybe I’ll just lie down and rest?”
“I’d prefer not to leave you alone up here, and I should join Zoey on the first floor to keep an eye on the property. How about you get your rack time on the couch downstairs?”
“Sure.” She’s switched to lip biting now, and her gaze flies down my torso and lingers where the towel hugs my skin.
“Gwen?”
