Page 183 of Nothing More

Raven turned from examining a pile of what Cass was convinced was wolf scat – Raven didn’t know, a turd was a turd, and she didn’t know if wolves even lived in this part of the country – and saw Toly looking at his phone, brows knitted beneath his hood, mouth set in a flat line. As if he sensed her looking, he lifted his head, froze a second, then shoved the phone away. He came dutifully to examine the scat when Cassandra called, pronounced it as belonging to a bobcat, and Raven didn’t ask him if everything was okay.

She wondered, though.

And again at lunch – cold cut sandwiches Devin had made and handed out with a smirking assertion that he was going to become a “proper soccer mom,” to which Tenny had insisted on using the proper “football” – when she found Toly staring off at nothing, that telltale groove back between his brows.

She tried asking Tenny if he seemed distracted, but Tenny had shrugged and said, “He always looks constipated to me.” No help, and a brat to boot.

But Ravenknewsomething was wrong.

Joanna and Teresa came by in the afternoon, which provided a distraction, and Cassandra talked them into teaching her how to make homemade truffles with melted chocolate and sweetened condensed milk. Dinner was leftover stew and a fresh batch of cornbread, courtesy of Reese, who said Mercy had been teaching him how to make what he called “the staples.” It was loaded with butter, and surprisingly good, and Tenny looked offended on his husband’s behalf when Raven voiced as much.

“Forgive me if I didn’t assume assassins were inclined to the culinary arts.”

“We’re inclined in all arts.”

“Clearly.”

There was a movie, and two devoured bags of Twizzlers, and then it was nightcaps, and off to bed, and slow, languid sex that melted her brains and joints and sent her into a deep slumber.

She woke some indeterminate amount of time later to a room black with dark, clouds hiding the moon, only the glow of the digital clock on the bedside table to tell her which way was up.

Raven cracked her eyes open and held still a moment, working to make her breathing slow and regular again, so Toly would think she’d merely shifted, and stayed asleep. She lay in the same position she’d been in when she first dropped off, on her back, arm flung over her head on the pillow, head turned to the side. The covers were around her waist, and she was still naked, chilled, nipples peaked painfully in the cool air. She couldn’t see him, but could hear him moving around. Slow, and careful, but not fully silent. Rustle of clothes, brush of socks over the rug. She sensed him coming around to stand beside her; felt the stir of his breath as he leaned down, and very carefully pulled the covers over her.

It took an age; he moved the blanket inch by inch, and let it settle on her so softly, like the landing of a feather. He hovered a moment, after, breath warm against her face, his breathing not quite steady. Waiting to be sure she was asleep, maybe. Taking one last look at her. Finding courage. Saying goodbye.

Her stomach twisted painfully, chest burning as she fought not to betray herself with a hitched breath, or a cry for him tostay, please stay, don’t do this.

Finally, he straightened, and left. The door eased shut without a sound, allowing in a faint stripe of brightness before it did. Enough of a glow for her to see that he didn’t look back.

~*~

Raven was fully-dressed, hair tied back in a tight bun, boots firmly laced by the time she rapped on Tenny and Reese’s door. It was late, and it was quiet a long moment before she heard mumbling, and then the squeak of bed springs. Tenny cracked the door open, sleepy-eyed, wearing nothing but sweatpants, a crisp, fresh bite mark on one pec. The sight of it instantly made her regret flaunting a hickey for all to see; shoe on the other foot and all that.

“Toly left,” she said without preamble. “About an hour ago.”

He frowned – he’d been very asleep, pillow crease on his cheek and everything – and scrubbed at his hair. “What? He probably just went out for a smoke.”

“No. I heard his bike.”

“Bikes come and go all the time, it was probably–”

“Tenny, heleft. I know he did, okay?”

That finally seemed to penetrate; woke him up a little. “To meet Morozov?”

“Where else? I knew something was off, I knew it all day,” she fumed, angry with herself – and using that anger to keep the panic at bay. “Get dressed. We’ve got to go after him.”

His brows went up. “We?”

“Try to tell me to sit here like a good little old lady and see what happens.”

His gaze trailed down her outfit, the black turtleneck and tac pants, the Doc Martens. When he met her glare again, he said, “Alright.” He wasn’t Fox; wasn’t going to argue with her too hard or long about her safety. “What about Cass?”

“I’ll see if Shepherd and Maverick will keep an eye on her. I’m not going to wake her, she’ll only want to go.”

“Gee, we wouldn’t want that,” he said with a dramatic eye roll, but backed into the room. “I’m going, I’m going.” Toward the interior of the room, as he closed the door on her: “Babe, come on. The Muscovy duck flew the fucking coop.”

~*~

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