Page 90 of Talk to Me

“Probably be out the rest of the day,” he said. “I need to pick up ammunition and his lordship has some very specific requirements.”

I snorted. “You like to be specific in your requirements too.”

“Yeah, but sometimes, a bullet is just a bullet.” He gave another shrug. “I’ll be back after sundown. Keep the fire going.”

I nodded. If there was a problem, the lanterns would be on the porch. They turned on automatically. We had to manually shut them down.

He was already in the car and pulling away when I shut the garage. Then I stripped out of the heavy jacket and muddied boots before I started ferrying everything in. The interior of the cabin was cozy, despite its size. The corner of the kitchen had become her workshop.

The first few days we’d been here had been all about her resting. While she slept, we conferred on what we knew and what we’d learned as well as what we could do tactically to identify, track, and eliminate the remaining threats.

McQuade and I split up the “hunting trips” as we called them. The only one who never left was Remington. His accent would stand out even if he could modify his voice, but also, he made it clear, he was the best to keep a ranged watch.

Right. He just didn’t want to leave her.

I respected it. But if they were getting closer while I was gone, I couldn’t tell. They didn’t seem to talk more than they had previously. Based on McQuade’s watchfulness, I wasn’t the only one paying attention to any suggestion of a shifting dynamic.

Once I’d gotten a good chunk of the parts she’d asked for, she’d begun building her machine. Or should I say machines? I stacked the boxes with the latest acquisitions in her chair. When she’d first started putting it together, we’d all offered to give her a hand. The look on her face was like we’d actually offered to fuck her mother or something.

Right, I just raised my hands and surrendered that particular fight. Honestly, Patch was a study in contradictions. Shorter in stature than I expected, but full of fierce personality. The weariness in her eyes and her manner could evaporate in a split second if her temper was pricked.

She rarely complained about anything whether it was her wounds, the time it took to heal, or the fact that walking had to hurt. The fact she tolerated the three of us carrying her whenever we could said more about how bad her feet hurt than anything.

It also prompted me to find her the softest shoes I could with the thickest socks. The boots were advertised as slippers but they were very cushiony. I’d gotten her thick, fur lined socks as well. Between the two, she’d actually been able to reclaim walking around in the house.

The brilliance of her smile had been thanks enough. The grumbles from McQuade had also added to my personal enjoyment.

“Is that an espresso machine?” The surprise in her voice in no way masked her delight.

“Looks like it,” I said, finishing my stock of the freezer and the fridge. “Huh?” I hefted the bag of whole beans I’d also bought. “This looks like espresso beans too?” I tossed it up once and caught it.

Her grin redoubled and for the first time since we’d rescued her, there wasn’t an ounce of flinch associated with her smile. That was a win on multiple levels.

“I need to set it up.”

“You can,” I said. “Or you could let me do it while you go check out the last few items I?—”

“You got the secondary motherboard.” Delight transformed into genuine pleasure or maybe it was just a thrill. Fuck knew the expression and her breathy voice definitely did it for me.

“Got those memory cards you wanted and that—” She thrust herself at me and I had an armful of Patch. The ferocity of her hug made me chuckle. Wrapping my arms around her, I savored the contact. “If I’d known a motherboard would make you that happy, I’d have gotten you the second one sooner.”

She pinched me before she withdrew and I grinned. Inch by inch, she seemed to be clawing herself back from the dark place that torture had left her in. The little signs were there. The way her gaze would duck away, or how she would suddenly ease back from contact.

For the most part, I initiated “nothing” if I could help it. Nor did McQuade or Remington. She didn’t tell us much about what they’d put her through, but I could imagine plenty.

The evidence was right there in the injuries she still bore and the ones she was healing. There would be scars. No way to escape it. The burns on her arms were going to leave marks. I doubted the bottoms of her feet will ever be pretty.

“You said you had to order it separately and through a friend of a friend,” she reminded me.

“Huh, I did say that.” Then I winked.

Her smile widened again.

“Go on, go play with your stuff. You know you want to and I’ll get this espresso machine set up before I go work on installing the last of these items in the mobile unit.”

“Mobile unit.” Her scoff lacked any real derision. McQuade had sourced the big rig we currently had parked in the barn. It was out of sight and let us work on it without anyone spying on us.

Remington had arranged for a private plane at a small airfield to be available to us when we needed it. McQuade handled the armory and weapons supply as well as ammunition. Once she had her equipment set up and ready to go, we would have everything we needed to start the operation.

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