Page 120 of The Saint

“Very observant.”

“Someone might’ve seen my butt.”

He snorted but made a mental note to check the security feeds.

Amelia walked in and picked up the football. “How do you always have one of these?”

“You’d be surprised how many Wal-Marts and Targets stock sporting gear.”

She rolled her eyes and nailed him with the ball.

“Your aim’s getting better.” He tossed the ball to himself and caught it. “You sure you don’t want an ice pack or medicine?”

“It looks really bad, and it’s real. I can’t wash it away. But it doesn’t hurt the same as if someone punched me in the face. Not like the bruises on my arms. Those I feel every time I brush against something.”

He wanted to knock a hole in the wall. She was bruised and hurt, and he hadn’t been able to stop it.

“Oh God, I didn’t ask—” She extended her hand toward his chest. “You were hurt.”

“That was the least of our problems.”

Amelia approached him with her eyes locked on his shirt. “That’s not true. I know what it did to me, and I was just holding on to you. What did they do to you?” She lifted the hem of his shirt and saw the bandages. “Camden…”

“It’ll leave a scar. Nothing that won’t heal.”

Her head tipped back. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do it. Come on. Let’s find you some clothes.” He led her to the bedroom. The closet and drawers held an assortment of sizes. “Sweats. Jeans. Whatever you want.”

“Do you care if I use the shower first?”

“Of course not.” He returned to the living room and decided that was as good a time as any to call Jared.

The phone rang once. “Are you a goddamn idiot?” Jared shouted. “I thought you were over your impulsive shithead era.”

“Eh.” Camden dropped onto the couch and kicked his feet onto the coffee table. “We had to get out of there.”

“Knocking out a security guard and mowing down the parking gate was the best way?”

“When you put it like that—”

“That’s what you did, Camden. Fuck, you’re a headache.”

“I think Esme’s a triple agent.”

Boss Man paused. “Why’s that?”

“How’d we get Amelia’s picture?” he asked again. “Parker figure that out yet?”

“No.”

“Does the CIA think Esme worked Amelia over?”

“No idea. Did she? Because rumor has it Amelia wouldn’t say shit to anyone—which waswhythey were holding her.”

“Or getting ready to arrest her for espionage.” Camden couldn’t fathom the mental gymnastics they were doing to pull that logic together. “Esme might’ve made her look like that, but it wasn’t done the way we think.” He jumped up and paced. “You know what everyone keeps asking Amelia?”

“What?”

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