Page 118 of The Prize
“Hey!” I called down.
He closed his eyes, realizing he’d gotten caught.
“Where are you going?” I hurried down.
“Go back to bed.”
“We slept all day. Well, I have, anyway.” I closed the gap between us and reached up to press my palm to his forehead. There was no fever but he looked pale.
He put the box down and grimaced.
I gripped the sheet to my chest. “Where are you going?”
Though with him dressed in black, I knew what this meant.
“It’s nothing.” He reached for my other hand and kissed my wrist. “Go get something to eat. You must be starving. I’ve got this.”
“Eli mentioned something about hypoxia? Did he use that torture on you? Because there’s clearly something wrong with your brain.”
“What can I tell you? I’m a long-distance swimmer. I can hold my breath for extensive periods of time.”
A jolt of panic. “What did he do?”
“Really want to know?”
“No. Yes. Tell me.”
“He used water torture. But I’m fine.”
“What!”
“Look at me. I’m fine now. It was kind of refreshing if you’re into that.” He joked, but his face revealed the strain.
“Call the police.”
“Not yet.”
“Don’t do this.”
“Listen—” He gestured for me to follow him toward the staircase.
I sat beside him and he pulled me into a hug and kissed my nose. “Zara, this won’t be over until the Burells are stopped from funding foreign wars. By now they’ll know I’m gone from that house. The chance of them moving your paintings is high. If I don’t act now, they may never find their way back to you. And if we call the police and they happen to find them and by some miracle get them out of Burell’s hands, these issues get complicated once lawyers get involved with their international laws.”
“What are you going to do?”
“End this.”
“Where are you going?”
He stared off, reluctant to say.
“What’s in there?” I pointed to the box.
“A drone.”
I’d already seen his secret stash of drones. I brought my legs up and hugged myself.
“What’s wrong?”
