Page 50 of Eyes in the Shadows

Eleanor

No one is wholly good or bad.

By the time it’s dark, I’ve transformed half of the groceries and some pantry items into a few sets of three square meals a day for two people. I had to start from scratch for things like the mayonnaise for chicken salad and an olive oil pastry crust for the quiche, so it took longer than it would have with those shortcuts. I’ve just gotten dinner started when I’m interrupted.

“What is that? It smells amazing,” a posh British voice says. I throw Wesley a glance over my shoulder, smile at the look of pure astonishment on his face, and return my attention to the pan.

“It’s literally just onions and garlic,” I laugh. It’s the perfume of line cooks; everyone’s favorite.

“I could smell it all the way from my office. What are you making?”

“Pan seared chicken breast smothered in caramelized onions, baked potatoes and a salad. It’s for dinner for, well… the three of us, I guess. I didn’t really get the point across earlier with Dimitri, but I kind of meant for this to be my contribution and, like, a thanks for letting me stay and keeping me safe.”

He smiles and sets his laptop on the kitchen table. “Well, I think I’ll work in here if you don’t mind. My office is starting to smell like bollocks.”

I laugh. “It’s your house, but please, be my guest.”

He settles into a chair behind the screen and I continue sautéing. The silence is comfortable, but I’ve got too many questions to really let it simmer. And unlike Dimitri’s prickliness and Mac’s… distractingness… Wesley seems calm and friendly. “You’re the one who sent an email for me to my family, right?”

“Last night,” he nods.

“Are they in danger because of all this?”

He glances up from his screen briefly. “I doubt it. Your parents are well out of reach in Florida and your sister who lives outside Pittsburgh is far enough.”

I wince, but I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised he knows where they all live. Anyone who can use my email without needing my password from me probably has skills I can’t comprehend. “What does that mean, far enough? Like, they won’t bother with her?” Maybe I really should go stay with her for a while after all this.

He clears his throat and sits back in his chair. From that position, I can see more of his throat and chest through the opening of his button-down, and the beginning of the colorful designs etched into his skin.

He taps his finger on the glass thoughtfully a few times. “Let’s just say that in the time it would take Rossi to track her down and send someone out there, he’ll already be neutralized.”

“Neutralized,” I repeat on a scoff. “What a synonym. They should hire you to do PR.”

He grins, totally unfazed.

“What do you do? Who do you guys actually work for, anyway? Is this a self-employment thing, or…”

“I think I want to hear your theories.”

I give the pan a thorough turnover first, then give it my back so I can face him. I want to see his expressions. “Well, I thought, at first, maybe some sort of military operation. It just doesn’t explain the charade.”

“The charade?”

“The story with the building fumigation, the costumes, the van—”

“I’ll have you know it’s called a cover, not a charade. And it’s a disguise, not a costume.”

I chuckle. “Right, well… it seems to me that the military doesn’t need a cover. And if they want someone dead, they can arrest them or send in SWAT, or drop a bomb and pretend it was, what do they call it? A training accident?”

His lips stretch into a smile. “Does Mac know?”

“Know what?”

“That you’re a conspiracy theorist?”

I feel my cheeks heat. “I mean, I don’t just, like, believe everything I’m told, if that’s what you’re saying…”

“No, don’t be embarrassed—this is going to be so much easier if you are. Because you’re right, the corruption is part of the problem—part of the reason we do what we do. Bureaucracy works too slowly and money walks. The bad guys get away. Sometimes they’re even in bed together.”

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