Page 126 of The Wild Charge

Room 410 boasted more guards at the door – all Ian’s black-suit-clad team this time – and Bruce greeted them when they entered. It was a large suite, complete with sitting room, two bedrooms and two bathrooms, and it had been turned into a command center of sorts; several laptops were open and men were on phones or speaking into mics and earpieces. Ian was on the phone, too, but came to shake their hands and introduce the president of the New York Dogs. Maverick proved to be calm and seemingly competent, Tenny admitted, if grudgingly.

“That’s just Toly,” he said of the man who’d met them down at the elevator. “He won’t win Miss Congeniality anytime soon, but he’s one of my best.”

“And the dolt at the bar?” Fox asked, brow quirked.

Maverick’s smile had gone rueful. “He has his own value – and he’s learning.”

Cassandra flung herself at her brothers and, despite the dried tear tracks on her face managed to blush at Reese. Tenny rolled his eyes and went to prowl through the suite rather than witness it – and rather than share in the reunion. Blood relation or not, she and Raven weren’t his family. He was here because he had an op to work; because his boss had sent him and he would see the job done.

A little poking about found him a quiet spot in one of the bedrooms; two black suitcases sat at the foot of the bed, and the space smelled faintly of Ian’s cologne. The window overlooked the park: a sea of dark tree shapes and the glow of the lampposts set along the paths. He propped a shoulder against the cool glass and stared out at the way the breeze shifted limbs across the light, and tried unsuccessfully to push his nagging worries aside.

The tread of a step across the carpet tightened all his nerves, and his hand fell automatically to his hip, and the knife tucked there – but the scent of expensive cologne swelled, and a moment later a drink was held beneath his nose, ice cubes clinking together invitingly. He followed Ian’s slender fingers, wrapped around the glass, all the way up his arm, the unbuttoned throat of his shirt, and to his face, finally, which looked tired and concerned in a way it hadn’t out in the sitting room. The face of a man who’d taken his mask off.

“What?” Tenny asked, but he took the glass, the biting cold of it welcome against his palm.

“You’ve just driven all the way from Tennessee with that lot.” He mirrored Tenny’s pose against the window. “I figured you could use a drink.”

“Hm.” It was a gin and tonic, and a strong one at that. “‘That lot’?” he echoed. “You’re not ‘pleased to see us’?” Which was what he’d said minutes ago, in front of everyone.

“Oh, I am, don’t doubt it.” Ian made an elegant face of disgust. “But that Evan – the state of his shirt.”

Tenny snorted and took another long swallow of G&T.

Ian’s expression softened. “I am happy to see you, though.” He offered a fractional smile, and Tenny didn’t miss the shift frompleasedtohappy. “I’m afraid I’m not all that good at comforting sisters when they’ve had a fright.”

“And you think I am?” Tenny shifted his gaze back through the window. “They’re not my family, no matter what the DNA says. I’m not here for them.”

“No,” Ian said, “I suppose you’re not.”

His tone was hard to read, but his regard, when Tenny flicked a glance to check it, was neither judgmental nor disapproving. It simply…was. A little fond. A little melancholy. The real him, Tenny though; the true Ian.

Reese would have loved that.Real. He had Tenny thinking of the truth that lay beneath, as if it was somehow more authentic than the truths people concocted to keep themselves powerful and safe.

Ian tilted his head, hair rustling against the back of his shirt. “Have you looked at the file I gave you yet?”

Tenny took another swallow, and let his gaze drop to Ian’s square-toed shoes against the patterned carpet, shame burning worse than the gin. “No.”

“I understand,” Ian said. “Once you know, you can’t take back the knowledge. Sometimes it’s better wondering, than to be sure.”

Tenny glanced up at him through his lashes. “You really believe that?”

Ian’s smile was grim. “Yes. But I don’t think you do.” He stepped away from the window, offering Tenny’s shoulder a firm squeeze before he left. “But does it matter? You’re going to kill the bastard either way, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I am.”

Thirty-Five

Eden was no stranger to fatigue. As an agent, she’d pulled plenty of all-nighters: hunched over paperwork with crap coffee from the canteen; sitting surveillance on a house from the cracked vinyl of an undercover van seat. But tonight went beyond mere sleeplessness, physical exertion, or even a too-long car ride. She felt as if she’d fallen down a flight of stairs – and then gotten hammered to soften the pain. She felt bruised: wrung-out and queasy and like even lying down would be too much effort.

She followed Raven into the second bedroom and gladly slumped down at the small table there, elbows braced on the tabletop. She hadn’t wanted Fox to know how ragged she felt, but now it was just the girls and keeping her spine straight was no longer an option.

“Oh, poor thing. I’d offer you a drink, but…” Raven gestured vaguely to her own stomach. “Water?”

“Please.”

“I’ll take a drink,” Axelle said, sitting down across from Eden and making a face. “Sorry.”

Eden waved her off. “You drove the whole way. When I think about how much coffee you had, it gives me a stomachache.”

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