Page 115 of One Secret

The next two hours are something of a blur.

I catch Cyrus up on the lies I told the reception staff when they responded to noise complaints from our room and he removes the body from our bathroom before the elegantly dressed woman from the front desk returns with a replacement room key. Whether incapacitated somewhere or more permanently disposed of, Cyrus reassures me that the guy he calls Ramirez won't be found before we fly back to the mainland. And I trust his judgment in the matter.

I choose to trust his judgment.

'So...' I begin, sitting cross-legged in the center of a brand new super-king bed. Design-wise, Room 118 is a step down from the swanky suite we'd originally been given. But it does at least have a fully functioning door and all the furnishings have the right number of legs. 'What convinced you that I'm not your enemy?'

Cyrus shuts and bolts the door to our new residence, checks the spy hole and stuffs a doorstop wedge into place just to be safe.

'Nothing,' he answers, moving to check the window and double doors that open onto a juliet balcony. He doesn't hesitate in his answer but "Nothing" is a little sparing on the details.

Happy with the security of the room, Cyrus dumps our bags beside the desk, empties his pockets of wallet and phone, and then comes to join me on the bed. There's no computer to set up, as his laptop was victim to one of Ramirez's deflected shots.

I wonder what kind of insurance a hitman takes out on his tech. Because Cyrus sure as hell isn't getting reimbursed for that kit by Felix. Especially as we'd decided to keep Ramiez's freelancing quiet from the Carusos. With less than a day to go, playing at accusations and affront felt like too much of a curveball. And it had been easy enough to convince the hotel staff that a heavily intoxicated guest, adamant that the Athena Suite was his own room, had damaged the door when his malfunctioning key had spawned a drunken rage.

'Nothing?' I repeat at Cyrus, looking for a little more by way of explanation.

Settling the first aid box we'd requested from the front desk between my folded legs, I poke around inside to discover a small tube of antiseptic and a cotton swab still in its sterile plastic.

Having settled next to me on the bedspread, Cyrus almost immediately takes the supplies from my fingers.

'I realized,' he finally explains, 'that I already knew you were on my side.'

'You know I have friction burns that would say otherwise,' I joke, with a wave of my wrist. He winces and I shake my head. 'Oh no, don't do that. I'm teasing.'

'But you're not wrong,' he groans, taking hold of my fingers and administering care to the burns first.

'And, despite how pissed off it made me,' I emphasize, 'neither were you.'

Cyrus snorts and avoids my gaze as he frees the swab from its packaging with a slippery tugging sound and applies the antiseptic gel.

'I'm serious,' I explain. 'In the grand scheme of things, Cyrus, we don't know each other well enough to rely on blind faith and I was hiding something. We're not exactly in everyday circumstances here. It's dangerous and you couldn't risk your life on the chance that I was lying. I get it.'

I hiss as Cyrus sweeps the foul-smelling gel over the torn and raw skin of my wrists. When he tenses, I seal my lips over the noise.

Cyrus is gentle as he tends to my scrapes, working steadily up my arms.

Instead of taking the "out", Cyrus takes full responsibility with a resolute shake of his head.

'No,' he denies. 'I might not know your middle name, whether you like peas or why you left Sweden. But those are just facts. I know you better than you think I do, Darcy. I know you better than I thought I did. It just took a jolt for me to realize it.

'Which,' he adds. 'Makes me an idiot. So, you don't have to be so understanding. You can just be pissed.'

I notice a small tremor in his touch as he doctors a graze on my elbow.

He cares, I realize. He really cares how I feel about this…

'Honestly, Cyrus... A would-be assassin crashing through your door has a way of hammering home the severity of a situation. If I thought tying you up for a few hours would have decreased the chances of something like happening then I'd have probably gotten fancy with the knots too.' I lock onto him with a damn hard stare. 'Which doesn't mean I'm not annoyed about it or angry about the situation it created. You still owe me one. But... my annoyance isn't for you personally… What?'

The look on Cyrus's face is freaking me out a little.

'I just...' He reloads the cotton with antiseptic and works it gingerly over my eyebrow. 'I don't think I've ever met someone who sees the world that way.'

'Ha.' A stinging pain shoots through my brow but I smother my grimace. 'That's because no one you've met was ever raised by my mother.'

Cyrus's eyes narrow.

'From what you told me, she didn't seem the sort to pass along wisdom that profound.'

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