Page 69 of What Remains

She nods. “That he is.”

“Well, you can’t have Tom without a Jerry, I suppose.” I jerk a thumb toward the variety of laptops she set out side by side. “Maybe get a different Jerry from the one you had before?”

“A fresh start?”

“New starts are the only ones worth taking. Old ones . . . usually end badly.”

She glances at me, the side of her mouth lifting. A strand of blonde hair comes loose from her ponytail, and on instinct, I sweep it behind her ear, my fingers brushing her warm skin before I think to stop myself.

She quietly holds my eyes and⁠—

“Gwen. Easton?” Wyatt. Perfect.

My heart nosedives so fast I swear I might crash again. My arm follows suit, landing right back at my side.

I back up from Gwen, and we turn and face him. It’s ridiculous my palms are going damp at the appearance of Wyatt, yet they didn’t when I refused to spare over a dozen men on that island.

“We couldn’t sleep.” She points to my bag of clothes by the door. “Went shopping for him. Now, it’s my turn.”

Please don’t tell him about my underwear. For all that is holy, please.

“And how’d you two⁠—”

“Bumped into each other at the coffee shop,” she answers, already knowing what he planned to ask.

He drags a palm down his face. The man appears even more tired than I am, and he apparently got more sleep than I did. “Well, you find yourself a new Tom?”

“Jerry,” I correct before I can stop myself.

“I think so.” She twists back to the table and picks up the last laptop she touched—the one we forgot about somewhere between last names, hedgehogs, and whatever the hell that moment almost became.

“And, uh, how are you doing this morning?” I’m not sure who his question is for, so I keep my mouth shut this time.

“His back is probably bad, but he’ll never complain.” Of course she doesn’t talk about herself. “Any new leads?” she asks while hugging the new laptop to her chest.

“Carter texted me an update a few minutes ago, which is what woke me up.” He glances between us. “Aussies brought in a guy for questioning. Carter thinks it’s a lead meant to be found, if you get what I’m saying.”

“So they’re chasing their tails,” I mutter, which seems on point for this entire op. Looking more and more like we’ve all been set up from the beginning. And I’d rather go back to shopping for underwear than talking about Jezebel or this case, but what choice do we have?

“More than likely, but we’ll see what happens.” Wyatt nods. “As for Zoey’s source, or those, uh, men who . . .” He tips his head back, scratching at his throat. Rage is right there under his skin, waiting for someone stupid enough to unleash it. “Nothing yet on any of them.”

“Does Jesse know yet why Zoey and Easton really went to the island in the first place?” she asks, her voice soft.

Wyatt nods. “We filled him in last night.”

“And how’d he take it?” She stares at her dad, nervous about that answer, and hell, now I am, too.

I wasn’t part of Falcon Falls when they officially took out The Chechen, but Jesse was at the center of that op, and this might stir some shit up for him.

“I’m sure Jesse’s hoping the lead tying that island to The Chechen was bullshit,” Wyatt says grimly. “Not that he said that, but I know him well enough to know how he thinks. He wants that case dead, buried, and behind him.”

“And maybe it is. It’s entirely plausible The Chechen really did kill Preston, and Zoey’s just chasing ghosts—because revenge keeps her closer to Preston and gives her life purpose.” Shit, where’d that Freudian insight come from? Certainly not my mouth.

Wyatt faces me, arching a brow, as confused as I am by my own words.

“Anyway,” I say around a cough. “I’ll talk to him later. Make sure he’s okay.”

Gwen balances the laptop on her palm and points to it. “Well, I guess I should start rebuilding so I can help us catch a lead.”