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“The fifth,” William answers.
Getting up, I walk out and head into the living room where I dig through York’s black duffel until I find a phone. With a bit of nervous energy, I twist a lock of hair as I wait for the phone to turn on and then start typing. When the message goes through, I delete the history out of habit and sink back into the couch.
“When are you going to explain the messages to me?” York asks from behind me.
I exhale. “Maybe never.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“Tough.” I toss the phone onto the bag and stand up. “You don’t get to know everything about me.”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“Mm.” I roll my eyes.
“I’m not the only one asking,” he adds.
“They aren’t my problem.” I jerk my head toward the other room. “They’re your problem. I didn’t ask to be here; I didn’t ask for any of this.” I pause, biting the inside of my cheek, before finding my resolve. “Honestly, I don’t care what questions they have.”
Narrowing his eyes, he hisses in irritation as he comes around the couch. I stand my ground, and he closes the distance between us, imposing himself in my space.
“I can make you care,” he threatens. “I can make you think twice about how you speak to me.”
“You can try.” I lift my chin. “But let’s be honest, York, your little lessons are just rewards in my eyes. You want me to behavea certain way, but I never will, so there are no ends for you to justify your means against. Fuck if I don’t like the feeling of you trying, though.”
“Hm,” he grunts, tipping forward slightly. “Your dissatisfaction is painful to me. I’m wounded that my dissatisfaction means nothing in return.”
“Your dissatisfaction is a prelude to things that make me fucking wet just thinking about them . . .” My voice breaks. “It definitely affects me, insofar as it makes me want to behave worse, not better.”
“Theresa . . .” he purrs as he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear.
A throat clears, and I nonchalantly look around York to find William watching us. “We aren’t done.”
“Sorry,” I tell William, and then press up onto my toes slightly and kiss York on the cheek.
The way he looks down at me, so caught off guard, is priceless. I let my hand graze his stomach as I step around him and head back into the dining room.
Thirty-Three
The plan gets laid out entirely, and it is imperfect to say the least, but they are right about a lot of things. It won’t be good if a secondary team shows up. Carter’s comment was a prophecy, not a joke. If anyone figures me out, I’m toast more than likely. Hell, iftheseguys figure it out, my leash will shorten so much it might as well be a noose.
Second, there isn’t any other way to get a virus into their system except by getting inside one of their buildings. And I’m right when I tell them that this isn’t going to be as cut and dry as they think . . . especially not after the gala.
The Agency is going to be on alert.
William hasn’t stopped side-eyeing me since I got back in here. Giving York that little peck on the cheek has William’s wheels turning, but I can’t worry about that right now. There are bigger issues at hand.
The best time to pull this off will be near the end of the day, so we only have a couple hours at this point to load up and get there. After this, though, we won’t be coming back. I’m not sure where they plan to go, and I’m likely not included in the exit strategy, so I’ve made my own plan for if things go that way.
“This is yours for the time being.” William hands me a long case. “Let’s set it up together once to make sure you’re good to go when we get there.” He starts unzipping the case.
I pull it from his grip and walk into the living room where I lay it across the coffee table. Opening it myself, I find a sniper rifle. Zipping it closed, I sling it over my shoulder. “I’ve got it.”
“Hm.” He slings his own case over his shoulder. “You sure?” His eyes flash with something unfamiliar, and he steps around the low table. “As I said last night, I’m happy tohelp. There is no reason we have to continue being . . . at odds.”
“Yeah, unfortunately, I believe you.” I grab the black duffel off the floor. When I stand to walk out, he blocks my path.
“We both know I had a good reason to shoot you.” He brushes my hair back. “Even if you never say so to anyone else. Don’t worry, I’ll keep your secret . . . even from York.” He exhales. “There is no reason we can’t bury the hatchet, though. You happen to be growing on me.”
