Page 30 of Song Bird Hearts
“No,” he agrees. “It’s not.”
A silence settles between us. It isn’t exactly heavy, but it is curious.
“You did mention you had information about the Foundation,” I decide to bring up. “What particular information do you have?”
His eyes find mine. “I can offer names who are a part of it. I can tell you exactly how large it is.”
“How large is it?” Knox asks. “We talkin’ country-wide or world-wide?”
Wolf’s eyes trace over to his. “World-wide. There’s not an industry they don’t have a part in. There isn’t a government they’re not able to influence.” He looks back at me. “We’re taking on an empire.”
I swallow. “Are there any. . . Is there anyone from Steele in the Foundation?”
Wolf shakes his head. “Surprisingly, no. I checked before I arrived.”
“Like a damn ghost,” Knox grumbles. “You don’t even have a car. You can’t tell me you hiked up the entire mountain to reach us.”
Wolf shrugs. “I like hiking.”
“In leather dress shoes and a high dollar suit?” I ask, surprised. “You weren’t even a little dirty when you arrived.”
Wolf shrugs. “I don’t like to be dirty.”
All answers and yet somehow, non-answers. Wolf is a puzzle, one I’m not sure if we’ll ever really put together. He’s dangerous, clearly, and he seems to know a lot about the people who are hunting me, but getting more information out of him is like pulling teeth. I wonder what it’ll take for him to crack.
We fall into a comfortable silence after that, mostly because Wolf doesn’t seem to want to add talk right now and the rest of us seem comfortable just to lean back and enjoy the night for once. Danger is around every corner, but up here in the mountains, it’s peaceful.
“You ever notice,” Gilden says, stretching out and letting his voice roll lazily through the night, “how the stars look brighter when you’re sittin’ with the right kind of people?”
I look up at the three of them, taking it all in. An ex-soldier with haunted eyes, the Cajun who wrestles gators and talks like poetry, and a Wolf who watches me like I’m carved from starlight.
“I think,” I whisper, afraid if I speak too loudly, it’ll ruin the moment, “that this might be the first time in a long time I’ve felt safe.”
Knox’s jaw clenches at my words, and he doesn’t acknowledge them. Gilden smiles like I’ve handed him a crown. And Wolf, of all people, reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
“So, what kind of specialist are you exactly?” I ask Gilden, knowing I’m gonna get some innuendo wrapped up in charm. I’m not disappointed.
“The kind that’ll make you scream my name,cher.I’m happy to show you.” He winks at me, and I know he knew I was fishing for just that kind of response. I smile, glad that we somehow just fit together as easily as breathing.
A firefly lands on my knee, drawing my attention away from the smooth-talking Cajun.
I let it sit there, let the heat of the fire and their presence soak into my bones. There are shadows waiting for me around the corner. I know that. But tonight? Tonight, there’s just this, a campfire, s’mores, and good company.
A burnt marshmallow never tasted so good.
Chapter16
Valerie
The thunk of the axe splits the silence as cleanly as it splits the log beneath it. Gilden doesn’t rush, not with his swings, not with his breath, not with anything. Each motion is slow and measured, like he has all the time in the world and not a single ounce of shame in how he fills it.
I lean against the doorframe, my shoulder propped and arms crossed, my coffee mug tucked in close for warmth. Thank god someone had the foresight to put a bag of Georgia’s coffee beans in the pantry. I don’t know what I’d do if I still had to drink cheap, terrible coffee up here. When she’d started roasting and packing her own coffee, I’d never gone back, even having it shipped out to me while I was on the road. Ugly Mugz coffee is the only way to go.
It's still early, and spring in the basin hasn’t decided if it wants to play nice or bite yet. The air has that sharp edge to it, cold enough to sting my cheeks, but not cold enough to keep me from stepping outside when I heard that axe.
I hadn’t meant to stare. Not at first.
But Gilden looks like he’s made for mornings like this. Today, he’s not dressed in his signature Miami Vice button down and loafers. Today, it’s worn jeans slung low on his hips, boots planted firmly in the soft dirt, and a dark t-shirt clinging to him like a second skin as he works up a sweat. It’s only when he pauses—glancing toward me with that wicked little curve to his mouth—that I realize I’ve been caught.
