Page 18 of Don't Let Go

The dark, abstract nature of the dreams themselves unsettled me at the best of times. Not that any of my recent days qualifiedfor that. The guys were still holding their own counsel on the specifics of what happened to me.

Though, to be fair, I could probably guess. If the burn marks on my arms weren’t a giveaway, some of the other scars I’d found would be. Maybe my brain was right to not focus on that information.

Would recall help us solve the current challenges?

Hands braced on the cool counter, I studied myself in the mirror. I had no answer for whether it would help or not. None.

Frankly, I failed to see how more information would be a detriment unless they were worried I couldn’t handle it. The longer I stood here, the more mental circles I seemed to get caught in.

Whether I remembered or not,thisright here, this dithering and worrying about it, wasn’t doing anyone any good. Least of all me. With that in mind, I braided my hair to pull it all back from my face before I got dressed.

The lack of McQuade in the bedroom made me think I’d find him sitting in a chair in the living room. Or maybe holding up the wall just outside of my door. To my utter shock, not only was henotpresent, none of the guys were.

That was… weird. The door to the little half-bath was open, and the light was off. The kitchen was mostly dark except for a couple of night lights. The windows were all covered, but the clock on the wall said it was after four.

Clearly, it had to mean four in the morning. Unless, I slept some ungodly amount of time and it was well into the next day. That wasn’t possible, right? They would have woken me up if I’d slept that long.

I was halfway to the kitchen when the first inklings of panic struck.

Wait.

I hadn’t been able to take a breath in days without running into one of them. No matter the time of day, I had one or more of them right here. Whether they were talking to me or not, I wasn’t alone.

Locke would be at the table in the kitchen, making notes about something. Remy would be in the kitchen, preparing food or reviewing the security cameras. At least, I thought it was the cameras. Maybe he was reviewing other video footage. As unsettling a thought as that was, he was still usually here.

As for McQuade, I woke to him in my bed more often than not. The other night, he’d held me for hours and told me so many funny stories. They had chased away the shadows so effectively, I’d half-hoped it meant they were gone for good.

Never thought of myself as a dreamer before and maybe I shouldn’t be now. Either way, the fact I was out here and theyweren’tput me on edge. Crossing to the kitchen, I opened the cabinet where I could literally pull out a television screen mounted on a stretch arm.

As soon as I activated it, six different areas popped up. The security cameras were all external as far as I knew. It gave me a good sweep of the property. Had I known what the land here entailed? Had I helped to set up the cameras?

The guys generally used their phones. I did not have a phone that would let me tell what was what. Still, there was a keyboard inside the cabinet, so I pulled it out and flicked it on. Then using the arrow keys, I paged through the numerous angles.

We had far more than six. The landscape wasn’t familiar. Snow was still on the ground. The various images showed an outbuilding several meters away. There were no vehicles parked outside. The drive leading away from the house was smooth, unbroken snow.

I frowned. How were they coming and going if not by car? Or maybe it was a new snow? Each answer I found seemed togive me two more questions. As annoying as the wondering was, discovering such basic gaps in my intel was a slap in the face.

Not only did I not know how they were coming and going, I didn’t know how they set up this location. What the next steps were going to be. I didn’t even watch my own back. Some irritatingly contrary part of myself whispered,“You must trust them more than you realize.”

Bitch.

I stared at the pair of coffeemakers. The espresso machine was my preference. It was also noisy though and more likely to alert my roommates to the fact I was awake.

Not that they would mind. It might throw them as hard as it had me. Deciding to just go for regular coffee for now, I set the pot up to brew. Then I filled the kettle and flicked it on.

Remy didn’t drink much coffee. Of course he didn’t, he preferred hot tea. Hadn’t he asked me for an actual decent place to get a cuppa when he’d been in Turkey? The memory presented itself in detail. The job. The target. The five days of patient waiting.

Then the exodus from the country with me smoothing the way. That had an element of fun. It was also the first time I could recall he’d been quite that tired. Unwilling to linger longer than necessary, he was loath to stop and secure a place to crash for twenty-four hours.

Rubbing my thumb against my lower lip, I turned that part of the memory over. Arguably the job was done, I hadn’t needed to stay on the line. His weariness worried me. It led to me breaking into a few local systems, particularly a transit bus that could get him to the border.

The buses all had cameras. After securing him a ticket, I sent him on board. The bus wasn’t even half full. He managed to take up the back seat comfortably. With me watching his back and his comm turned all the way up if I needed to wake him, he’d slept.

He’d slept because hetrustedme.

Kind of like how I was resting and recovering, without being read in on every part of the current operation. I trusted them and I couldn’t even put my finger on exactlywhy. Obviously they were looking after me, but offering friendship in place of torture could soften a target up.

“Except, you know these men,”that bitchy little voice observed in the back of my head.“They are exactly who they say they are and for two of them, this is not the type of job they would take. As for McQuade? He doesn’t get off on the sadistic shit.”

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