Page 96 of One Secret

'Something I should know?' he asks, the moment Lana is out of earshot.

I shore up my courage and set my shoulders.

'Nothing worthy of concern.' I try to sound casual.

'You think a confidence shared between you and Felix Caruso's right-hand woman isn't "worthy of concern" to me?' he asks, his tone dropping dangerously low.

I swallow and keep my spine straight.

'No, I don't. And you should trust my judgment.'

'Why?'

The word isn't so much spoken as bitten out between his snapping teeth. And it hurts. I try not to show how much and lower my voice in case we're overheard.

'I thought we agreed to be teammates in this. To trust each other.'

Cyrus's upper lip curls.

'We agreed to be honest. Not to trust.'

Well, doesn't that just sum up the entirety of our relationship thus far?

And prove my neon warning light bang on.

I'll admit the situation looks suspicious as shit. And that I am, in fact, hiding something from him. But if Cyrus cannot trust that I'm doing it for a valid reason, can't trust my judgment of what he does and does not need to know, then anything real between us is ultimately doomed to fail.

Knowing absolutely every detail about your partner, after all, is not the key to a lasting relationship. The true test is trusting that you know everything you should.

'I don't know what to tell you, Cyrus,' I dodge with a final front of fortitude. 'Am I hiding something? Yes. Do you need to know about it? No. Whether you trust my conclusion on that is irrelevant. It's my call. Get on board or go whistle.'

Summoning up every scrap of stoic bravado I learned in the military, I give him a final stare right in the eye then turn on my heel and walk away.

* * *

Following Darcy up the hill and back towards the hotel, I keep my gaze zeroed in on the back of her head.

I've known she's hiding something since the night I met Fiori at The Blue Star. Her determination to come on this trip had been odd. Her vague deportation issues had been full of mystery.

And then there's been everything since we've arrived... Like how she knew her way around those high-spec binoculars...? Or where she got that recording device she'd hidden in her pants at dinner...?

Even the way she speaks at times seems out of place for a humble bartender: her insights, her ability to pinpoint the exact crux of a situation or ask the poignant probing questions... At times, she almost sounds like an operative. Someone used to the sort of life that I was born to.

Dodging around a bright yellow VW bug parked on the side of the road, I keep Darcy in sight but myself at a distance. In my experience, when a woman as passionate as that is pissed off, you keep out of the line of fire. And Darcy is definitely ticked.

Ironic, considering I'm the one who should be blowing a gasket.

You're the one who left her alone, taunts a nasty little voice in the back of my head. You're the one who let this happen...

Still unsure exactly what "this" is, I try to piece together the clues:

Last night, Darcy and I enjoyed ourselves to the fullest. Like addicts, craving the feel of each other's skin, we drowned ourselves in pleasure until the first rays of sunlight had turned the sky from charcoal to silver. Damp with sweat and too heated to sleep, we'd relocated to the bathroom to cool off and clean up under the shower spray.

It had been another hour before we'd finally made it back to the bed.

In the end, we'd thanked God for the second king-size and slipped between its fresh sheets.

We'd slept late.

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