Page 57 of Deadly Hope
“Or Voss got it from James himself, before setting him up.” His jaw tightened.
“You’re a Christian. Don’t you believe in redemption?” The words came out sharper than she intended.
Something flickered in his eyes. “One hundred percent. I also believe in years of field experience that tells me when something looks too convenient, it usually is.”
“So what’s your solution? Keep running? Let Driscoll win?”
“My solution is to protect you.” He stepped closer, and for a moment, the intensity in his face made her breath catch. “That’s my job.”
“Just your job?” The words hung between them.
Axel’s expression shuttered. “We can use Voss, but onour terms. Feed her selective information. Set our own trap within whatever trap she might be planning.”
The pragmatic response shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. Olivia wrapped her arms around herself, turning back to the ocean. “You really don’t trust anyone, do you?”
“I trust facts. Evidence. Things I can verify.” He paused. “The heart is deceitful above all things, Olivia.”
“And desperately wicked,” she finished the verse. “I know my Bible too. But there’s more to it than that.”
The silence stretched between them, filled with things unsaid.
Finally, she nodded. “Okay. We use her knowledge, but keep her in the dark about our real plans. It’s the smart play.” She moved toward the door, then stopped. “But just so you know … sometimes the biggest risk isn’t in trusting too much. It’s in not trusting enough.”
She felt his eyes on her as she went inside, and tried to ignore the ache in her chest. Whatever was building between them didn’t matter. Clearly, Axel’s walls were built too high for anyone to scale.
33
The smellof garlic and herbs filled the safehouse kitchen. Olivia stirred the sauce simmering on the stove, trying to focus on the simple task instead of Axel’s presence beside her at the counter, methodically dicing onions.
Zara’s sharp intake of breath drew everyone’s attention. She’d been unusually quiet while prepping vegetables, and now she gripped the edge of the counter, her usual warm brown complexion gone ashen.
“I just need to—” She swayed slightly. “Maybe lie down for a minute.”
Kenji was at her side instantly, one hand at her elbow. “I’ll walk you.”
“It’s only a headache,” Zara protested, but she didn’t shake off his support as they left the kitchen.
The moment they were gone, Izzy swooped in with all the subtlety of a carnival barker. “Olivia, can you take over the garlic bread prep? Axel, why don’t you help her?” She practically shoved the extra cutting board in front of Olivia. “You two work so well together in the kitchen.”
From his spot at the table cleaning weapons, Deke made a sound suspiciously like a snort.
Olivia’s cheeks burned as she moved to the counter. They did work well together. That was the problem. Even now, with everything strained between them, she and Axel fell into an easy rhythm. She’d reach for the garlic press just as he finished mincing herbs. Their movements synchronized in a dance that made her chest ache with what could have been.
His team’s matchmaking was sweet but painful—like pressing on a bruise to see if it still hurt. Every time Axel shifted away when their shoulders nearly touched, every careful inch of space he maintained between them, did hurt.
Kenji returned, his usual grin dimmed with concern. “She’s resting. Just overtired, I think.”
“I’ll check on her later,” Izzy said.
Olivia couldn’t miss the look that passed between Kenji and Izzy. Not being a part of the team, and having no history with these folks, she didn’t feel she should pry.
She focused on spreading butter and herbs across the bread, hyperaware of the careful distance Axel maintained even in the cramped kitchen. The silence stretched, broken only by the rhythmic sound of his knife against the cutting board and the soft bubbling of sauce on the stove.
Axel glanced at her twice, that particular look he got when he wanted to say something but thought better of it. The third time, she nearly snapped at him to just spit it out already. But Voss chose that moment to join them in the kitchen, and whatever Axel might have said dissolved in the agent’s presence.
Dinner itself was a study in contrasts. They crowded around the table, passing dishes family-style, the scent of garlic bread and pasta almost masking the gun oil from Deke’s earlier weapons maintenance.
“So,” Voss said, twirling pasta around her fork, “how long did you all serve together?”
