Page 62 of Savage Hearts
I don’t know if I can face Spider’s too-knowing eyes again, so I stay in my room most of the day. Kieran knocks on the door in the afternoon, bringing a tray of food. When he asks how I’m doing, I don’t lie.
“I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”
His smile is warm and understanding. “It’ll be all right, lass. Try not to worry. If ye like, I’ll be happy to bring ye a wee nip of whiskey. That always helps set my head straight.”
He’s so nice. Him and Spider both.
I really hope Malek doesn’t kill them.
“Thanks, Kieran. But I think I’d rather keep my head sharp, if you know what I mean. This situation is constantly evolving.”
He nods. “Aye. Is there anything else you need?”
“Clothes. My computer. A frontal lobotomy.”
Chuckling, he says, “I can help with the first two, lass. Yer on yer own with the third.”
“You can get my laptop? I left it in Bermuda.”
“The lads have cleared out the house and vehicles. They’ll make a stop here tonight on their way to Declan.”
“Have you heard from him? Is he okay?”
If my tone is too tight with worry, Kieran doesn’t notice. His shrug is nonchalant.
“He’s right as rain. Musterin’ the troops, makin’ plans. You know. Boss business.”
I hope that “boss business” includes wearing full-body armor and a bulletproof helmet at all times, but I don’t say that out loud.
Kieran leaves. I eat the food he brought me. I pace. I struggle with the idea of telling him and Spider that Malek broke in, but can’t decide if that bastard assassin would know if I blabbed.
What if he bugged my room?
Or the whole safe house, for that matter? What if he installed secret cameras? What if he can transport himself telepathically and overhear everything that’s going on in here?
I can’t discount the possibility. He seems capable of anything.
Ultimately, I decide not to say a word. I refuse to be responsible for anyone getting hurt. Malek might hurt them anyway, but I don’t have control over that. I don’t want it to be because he told me not to do something, and I didn’t listen.
He seems like the kind of man disobedience greatly displeases.
Around nine o’clock, Spider knocks on my door.
“Hey,” I say when I open up. “How are you?”
He gazes at me for a silent beat before saying, “Grand. You?”
“Same.”
“Got your bag. Laptop, too.” He lifts my duffel. “Where should I put it?”
“Oh, great! On the desk is fine, thanks.”
I open the door wide and let him in. He’s dressed in his immaculate suit and tie, not a hair out of place, and his angular jaw is clean-shaven. I guess Declan has a dress code for these guys, because black Armani is all they ever wear.
He sets the duffel bag on the desk and turns back to me. Then he just stands there silently, looking uncomfortable. “What’s up?”
“I think I owe you an apology.”
