Page 16 of Avenging Jessie
But after Spence all but ordered her to take the bedroom, she’d refused out of sheer principle, maybe because she didn’t want to owe him. But also, because the idea of sleeping in a bed while he was only a room away felt too intimate. Too tempting. She didn’t need that kind of vulnerability. Not tonight. Not with him.
Now, hours later, the blanket she’d yanked from the lumpy mattress was tangled around her legs, and her back ached like hell. Her ankle vied with it for her attention. The air still smelled like yeast, raspberries, and coffee, thanks to the bakery.
She pushed upright with a groan and limped to the kitchenette. The light was on in the tiny den next to it.
Spence.
Of course.
She found him exactly where she’d left him a few hours ago—at the old desk wedged between two bookshelves, eyes glued to the laptop screen. Fingers flying. A half-eaten protein bar beside the keyboard.
His shirt was unbuttoned, revealing his t-shirt, which sported a V, and his smooth, tan skin underneath. A thick layer of scruff dusted his jawline, and his hair stood at odd angles as if he had been raking his fingers through it.
She combed her fingers through her own hair, teasing out knots, and leaned on the doorframe. Words seemed to escape her. Before Hagar and Brewer, she’d been an ace at making small talk. Now? It was as if her brain no longer functioned that way.
She cleared her throat. “Did you, ah, sleep at all?”
He didn’t glance her way. “Didn’t want to waste the bandwidth.”
“You’re going to burn out your retinas.”
“Already did. Back at university.”
She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. A little.
Spence glanced at her. Dark smudges had appeared under his eyes. The lines around his mouth seemed deeper, thanks to a scowl. She wasn’t sure if it was for her or what he’d been reading.
His gaze raked over her body, assessing her messy hair, bruised cheek, and the swollen ankle she was favoring. She had the unnerving desire to straighten up and meet that assessment with defiance.
When he spoke, however, that rebellious feeling evaporated. “You didn’t sleep much, either.”
Funny, because it had been a deep sleep. Something she hadn’t had in a very long time. No nightmares, no shakes. With Brewer back on the scene, she’d expected the worst ones to rear their heads.
They hadn’t.
Not even her aches and pains had bothered her. She’d slept like the dead.
Was it due to the adrenaline from last night’s encounter at the gala, or was it because of the man sitting across the room who made her feel safe?
She hadn’t lied when she told him she trusted him with her life.
He was still studying her, and it made her uncomfortable. Her stomach growled, and she placed a hand over it as if that would silence it. “I can function just fine on three to four hours of shuteye. All I need is a shower and some coffee, and I’ll be ready to go.”
He shifted so he could angle the screen toward her, tapping a couple of keys to bring up what he wanted her to see. “Got a hit.”
She crossed the room and leaned in, trying not to touch him. On one of the screens, she saw a series of pictures of young girls. Not just pictures—missing persons bulletins. Before she could ask about them, they vanished, thanks to his tapping fingers. In their place, a grainy black-and-white appeared. Security cam footage, timestamped six hours earlier. She squinted at it. “Is that the compound?”
“You bet your secret decoder ring it is. I managed to piggyback on a low-orbit satellite and tapped into a rural fiber-optic line feeding the Görlitz compound’s surveillance network. It’s only the exterior. Still working on gaining access to the internal feeds. If there are any access points. I’m doubtful about that.”
What he’d captured, though. Her breath stuck in her throat, her blood going cold.
Hastings posing as Keller. And next to him—Harris Brewer.
Jessie’s stomach clenched. Seeing him again made her whole body go rigid. The room spun for a second, and she had to grab the edge of the desk.Breathe.
She blinked. Once. Twice. But the image didn’t change. She closed her eyes and focused on her aching ankle, her stinging shoulder. Pain always had a way of stopping the panic.
When she flipped open her lids again, she felt back in control. She sneered at the photo. “There you are, you bastard.” Her words dripped with the disdain she felt in every cell. “No one’s had eyes on you for six months, but we got you.”
