Page 44 of The Wild Charge

“Yeah,” Eden said, her own chuckle soft. “Apparently Fabio and that guy from Green Day beat up those bouncers.”

“See? I told you.” He tabbed down the volume and started channel-surfing. It was silent a long beat from the other end of the line. He finally landed on a mindless cooking competition and set the remote down; dragged his laptop closer across the coverlet, open to the spreadsheet he’d been trying to decipher before Eden called. “You still there?”

“Yeah.” She sighed – and with a single breath captured all of his attention. The fine hairs stood up on the back of his neck. “I didn’t doubt that you could get in and out without being caught. I never think you’ll screw up anop, Charlie.”

His insides flashed cold, just for a second. A once-unfamiliar sensation that had been steadily creeping up on him the last few weeks. Something was off with Eden. She’d professed her sense of worry and helplessness about this whole Abacus business – but worry and hopelessness weren’t usually a part of her vocabulary. He’d found her in tears a few mornings ago, and she hadn’t come along on this op, though it was her idea.

Something very much like dread crawled across his skin.

Had this been part of an op, he would have known just how to play her.

But this was real life, and choosing his words carefully had never been his strong suit. “But you think I’ll screw up other things.”

Oops. So much for careful.

She huffed a laugh that sounded more sad than anything. “You know you do. But. I suppose you can’t really help it.”

“Eden–”

“Ugh, don’t mind me. I’m in a weird mood lately. It’ll pass.”

Okaaaay…

“How are the boys?” she asked. A teasing note crept into her voice, and she sounded like herself again. “Traumatized by theirsinisternight?”

If she wanted to drop it, he would drop it. Talking about moods and feelings wasn’t his forte, after all. “Hardly. They’re in their own room, hopefully resolving the unresolved sexual tension that’s had Ten in a snit all day.”

She sighed again – but it was her normal sigh this time, and not one that left him jittery and uncertain. “How do you think that’s going to turn out? The two of them?”

“Possibly with one or both in the hospital.”

“No, I mean – what’s the club going to say? Are they…God, I hate that I’m about to use the wordallowed, but this is an outlaw club we’re talking about.”

He frowned at the TV. “Yeah, I know. But. It’s not the seventies anymore. And we’re not the Angels.”

“Ooh, does that mean I can patch in?”

“You wouldn’t want to.”

“Nope.” She popped the P. “What are the odds the others already know what’s going on with them?”

“High. And they patched them anyway. They’ll be fine,” he said, and actually believed it. “Ghost is an asshole, but notthat kindof asshole.”

“Good.”

Silence descended again, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable. In fact, it was easy; they did this sometimes: stayed on the line without talking. The sound of each other’s breath, the knowledge of their presence, more soothing than any exchange of small talk. Fox had always appreciated that about her, the way she understood he wasn’t a talker, and never seemed to resent it.

Which made her recent odd behavior all the more alarming. Something was going on with her, and he had a feeling it would end the way it had years before, when they first broke up.

Not just a feeling, it turned out – but a worry. His stomach churned, faintly. He blamed McDonald’s, but couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Immediately, tension stole down the line; the silence became charged.

“Fine,” she said, brusquely. “Send me the relevant files when you’re done going through them.”

“Ok–”

“Night, Charlie.” The line went dead.

---