Page 46 of The Wolves Come at Night
Don’t think that way. You’re being morbid. Be positive. Santi and Alan and that woman, they will get Carson back, or die trying. That has to be good enough for now.
A soft knock broke her from her reverie. Alan. Bearing a croissant and a cup of tea like she was simply home sick in bed, not having her world explode.
She sat up and gestured for him to enter. He set the tray on the bed. “Santi told me what happened. I’m sorry. I disagree with how he acted. I apologize on his behalf. He is quite distraught, you must understand that. He feels this is his fault.”
“Why?”
“He had a chance to kill Game, soon after Richard’s death. We were called off.”
“By whom?”
“The head of our organization. He felt it was counterproductive. He was wrong. We see that now. We will fix this. Our friend, the woman you met with in DC—”
“Ohn-jhee?”
He started at her use of the name.
“I know her name is Angelie. I heard Santi call her that.”
He sighed. “Yes. Angelie.” He pronounced it with such a painfully perfect French accent—OHN-jzha-LEE—that she again wondered how in the hell her life had spun 180 degrees in such a short time.
“She frightened me, Alan. She is cruel.”
“She must be cruel, Avery. To do what she does, to be who she is, she must act without conscience or hesitation. She is unique. She is very capable. And she keeps her word. She will find Carson. She will kill Game. All of this will end well. You’ll see.” He smiled, weak but genuine. “Richard was so proud of you. Do you know that? He thought you were the most spectacular person in the world. Everything he did, he did to make your world a better safer place to live in.”
“He lied to me.” She heard the flatness in her tone, the petulance right behind it.
“Yes. He did. Because he had to. He couldn’t take the chance of our enemies coming to hurt you.”
She lunged at him, upsetting the tray and spilling tea all over the duvet. “And where did that get him, Alan? Dead, that’s where. My daughter could be dead as well. Don’t make excuses for him. I will not forgive and forget. The second I get my hands on those sons of mine, I’m going to shake some sense into them, too. I refuse to let your company take everything I hold dear.”
She stalked to her closet, ripped down a sweater, a pair of jeans, and grabbed some hiking boots.
“What are you doing?”
“Something. Anything. I can’t just sit here waiting.”
“You have to stay here—”
“No. I can’t.”
“You must.” He took the boots from her hand and set them gently on the bench at the end of the bed.
“If we don’t play this right, Game will kill Carson for fun, just to watch us squirm. He is trying to draw Angelie into the open. She is taking his bait. Let her do what she does best.”
“And in the meantime? We wait?”
“In the meantime, you need to continue being the same person you were yesterday. A loving mother, a grieving widow, a brilliant doctor. You must talk with the police the same way you were. You must not let on what you know. Your call to the police captain in Nashville could have jeopardized all our lives, but Carson’s most of all. You must trust us. We only want what you want—Carson home, safe, and Game out of our lives for good.”
“Why are you both here, Alan? Surely one of you is sufficient to guard me. Why aren’t you out there with your friend, helping her?”
“Because I am following orders, just as Santi is, just as Jules and Rory are. This is a delicate balance, and we must do as our leader tells us, or it all falls apart. We are doing what we need to from here. We will activate the second Angelie calls for us. If it gets that far.”
She searched his eyes for some sort of truth, some sort of understanding.
“If she activates you, that means she’s failed to retrieve Carson. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes.”
