Page 67 of Never Enough

She felt the bed dip at her side, and she opened one eye to see Nemo sitting on the edge of the bed, his frame silhouetted in the light from the hallway. “Three thirty, pretty baby. Time to wake up. I started the shower for you.”

She could hear it running in the background as she began to wake up. Groggily, she then eyed the dog lying on top of her. “You’re lucky you don’t drool, girl.”

“Oh, she does. She’ll just wait until you love herunconditionally before she does it.” He gave her hip a pat. “Up you git. Time’s a-wasting.”

“Take the furry weighted blanket with you, and I will.”

A funny look crossed his face but was gone almost immediately. “I’m leaving her with you for now.” He stood and grabbed her bag that was sitting by the door. “There’s a bagel waiting for you on the counter. We’ll get real breakfast on the jet. The door will lock automatically behind you, and the alarm will reset. The lift code is zero-seven-zero-five-one-six. Press the B3 button for the armory.” He stepped back toward the bed, kissed the top of her head, then was out the door with a command to Scheherazade. “Beskerm Gem.”

The dog immediately got off the bed and went to sit in her open doorway, eyes out, totally still.

“Okay, that’s weird,” Haskell muttered.

Not awake enough to give it much thought, Haskell slid out of the bed and went to take her shower. Ten minutes later, she was out the door, bagel in hand, and punching in the code to the lift. Once inside, she went to hit the B3 button and stopped.

Zero-seven-zero-five-one-six.

People often used dates as pin codes. A six-digit date? July fifth, 2016? It was the date they first met in Valencia.

Don’t be daft, child. It’s a coincidence.

The voice was a little bit fainter than normal. She was beginning to think that maybe Nemo was serious about her. Or at least, he thought he was. Fantasies were easy to hold onto. After a while, the blush would wear off, and he’d likely get bored. Even though she knew it would probably break her heart again, she planned to go with it for now. Fighting him was like fighting the wind, and she needed to conserve her energy for the chaos unfolding in front of them. Being distracted by all the what-ifs and does-he-or-doesn’t-hes would just draw focus from what neededto be done.

She pressed the B3 button, and the doors closed. She looked down at Scheherazade, standing at alert between her and the doorway. “Why do I have a feeling things are about to get more complicated than ever?”

When she reachedthe armory floor, Theory of a Deadman was blaring over the stereo speakers. Scheherazade took one step out the doors, then sat down again, refusing to let Haskell by. When she tried to step around, the dog actually turned her head to look at her and growled. Rolling her eyes, Haskell let out a shrill whistle over the music. Nemo turned. When he saw her standing, stuck just inside the lift, he yelled, “Vryheid!” The dog’s entire demeanor changed, and she went trotting around the room to see what everyone was up to. Haskell swore she saw Steel sneak the dog a biscuit when she stood on her hind legs to sniff the edge of the table.

Sliding up beside Nemo, she began to pack her supplies on her person. Some of the items went into pockets and pouches on her belt, holsters, and bandolier, but the basics were small and easily tucked away.

“Nice music.”

Nemo grunted. “Demon’s detoxing, so we let him pick the music rather than rage out. That means we’re forced to listen to this Canadian bullshit.”

“He’s Irish, not Canadian.”

“Yes. An Irishman with horrific taste in music, which is why you’re listening to Canada’s version of Nickelback-lite at an excruciating level to keep his withdrawal in line.”

Haskell bit her lip. “It doesn’t bother you that he uses drugs? You trust him?”

“Trust me, kitty cat. That man on something is someone I’d rather have at my side than someone who isn’t. He refuses to medicate while on a project, so yes, I trust him.”

“So you cater to him and his habit, then put up with the withdrawal?”

“Yeah, basically. Don’t worry. Mostly he’s just pissed because he’d rather be surfing, but because he’s detoxing, he’s crabby as fuck, hence putting up with the shitty music. It’s not worth fighting him for control of the stereo. Or the volume.”

“Please tell me that you all don’t fight over the music in your cars.”

“Every damn time. If TB’s driving, you’re stuck with Flame’s shit playing. Luckily, she has eclectic taste. I can handle the Toad the Wet Sprocket mixed with the Breaking Benjamin. I just pray I’m not in there when Katy Perry comes on. What’s worse is Waters has adopted all of Kubrick’s tastes, so it’s a lot of Top 40 movie soundtrack shit. If I have to listen to ‘Danger Zone’ one more time, I’m going to hurl all over his truck.” He shook his head. “Pussy-whipped, the both of them.”

“Does that mean you’ll be forced to listen to my music?”

He flashed her a look. “You saying you’re mine?”

She pursed her lips off to the side. “No, but based on the covert looks your teammates keep giving me, they do.”

He remained silent.

“I dunno. I somehow can’t see you becoming a Swiftie,” she deadpanned.

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