Page 61 of Cast in Shadow
Probably for the same reason I was.
Nguyen stalked through the front doors of The Sly Fox almost an hour late looking like he was ready to tear someone’s head off. At least he’d left his tactical gear at HQ. Olive-green cargo pants and a black leather jacket over a black shirt could blend in just about anywhere these days.
I stood to motion him over, and when he zeroed in on me back in the corner, it was clear I was the source of his frustration.
He stopped a good six or seven feet away and growled, “Why the hell did you pull me away from my mission?”
I cast a sideways glance toward Shay before cutting back to him with a warning glare. He followed my gaze, seeing the way she was watching us, her hazel eyes filled with worry, and pressed his lips together.
His expression softened apologetically. “Sorry,” he said, much gentler this time.
Her response was a slow nod, but her eyes stayed glued tohis. They held each other’s stare for a few seconds before he finally turned his attention back to me.
I held up a hand, cutting him off before he had a chance to open his mouth again, and motioned to the whiskey neat sitting on the table next to an empty chair. “Take a seat.”
“I’ll stand.” He shoved one meaty hand through his sandy hair. “You realize we lost Navali, right? I should be out there looking for her with everyone else, not here having drinks.”
Rolling my shoulders back, I took on his frustrated gaze. But as tempted as I was to snap back, that would just make things even more tense.
When did things become so fraught between us?
There was a time not all that long ago when we could talk to each other about damned near anything. Emerson was part of his issue, now, but in truth, the tension between us had been building for months. To the point where just being in the same room seemed to be a problem.
I inhaled deeply, cataloging the menagerie of scents in the bar. A dozen different brands of cologne and perfume lingered in the air, mixed with the savory aromas of crispy smashed potatoes and piping hot spinach artichoke dip with toasted sourdough bread. Beneath it all was the ever-present tinge of Guinness and whiskey.
I let the atmosphere anchor me. Calm and in control was the name of this game. Especially when Nguyen was tired and irritated, and clearly worried about Shay.
The longer the Navali mission dragged on, the easier it was to see just how much he needed a break.
Dennis and Shay sat up a little straighter as I put myself in check. He smoothed his hands down his wrinkled khakis. She tugged on the strings of her black hoodie, drawing the hood a little tighter around her neck. I knew without looking that on the back of that well-worn hoodie was asprawling, weathered Tree of Life, pressed in distressed pink ink.
Turning my attention to Nguyen, I said, “You’re here because we need to talk. All of us.”
He studied me for a beat, cast another quick look at the others, then lowered himself into the seat. Instead of sinking into the plush leather club chair, he perched himself right at the edge with his elbows on his knees. “Let’s get on with it.”
Straight to the point then. I grabbed my own glass of Redbreast 15 Year Old Irish whiskey but didn’t drink. “Given the recent developments with the Navali case,” I started, swirling the amber liquid in its glass. “I think coordinating with Emerson to take her down is our best bet.” I’d planned on saying more, but Nguyen erupted in protest.
“Fuck no.” He launched to his feet, fury shining in his brown eyes. “Are you out of your mind?”
He seemed to swell in size with the way his broad shoulders rounded. He took a half step toward me before I raised my glass to my lips and shot him a pointed look as I took a sip. It was a warning. As an agent, he knew better than to try to intimidate me with his size. The day he crossed that line would be the last day we worked together.
He caught himself and eased back, but his stance was as rigid as ever.
Dennis was also on his feet, except instead of facing me head on, he’d positioned himself between me and Shay. His worried gaze bounced between us.
“You can’t be serious,” Shay said quietly, trying harder to avoid drawing attention than the tactical expert who was at least twice her age.
I pulled in another slow breath and checked the pulse of the room around us. Nguyen’s outburst had caught the notice of the people closest to us, but they quickly lost interest when theyrealized our disagreement wasn’t going to devolve into a fist fight.
“I know this is a big ask after what Phineas did,” I said calmly. “But I wouldn’t ask at all if it wasn’t important.”
“So, this isn’t an order?” Dennis asked.
“This is a discussion,” I replied.
Could I pull rank and try to force their hands? Sure. Was that a great way to lose the trust and respect of those closest to me? Absolutely.
They’d had barely twenty-four hours to process the torture they’d endured. Nguyen’s shifting had healed his wounds. Shay’s unique physiology had done the same for her. But physical pain was only one facet of torture, and I doubted either of them had even scratched the surface of dealing with the emotional and mental side of it.
