Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Render’s voice is soft but firm. “Then we don’t give her one.”
Dean studies him for a long moment, then pulls out his phone and makes a short call. When he hangs up he looks at both of us.
“I have a contact in financial crimes who’s been watching Goldenbell for two years without enough to move. The package you two put together just handed her everything she needs. She’s tracing Serafina’s personal accounts—the ones outside the main network. If Serafina tries to touch any of them, we’ll know within minutes.”
He glances at me. “Your partner did impressive work. Mapping the whole financial structure, building the evidence, and deploying it mid-operation. Enley, you did good.”
Render’s expression stays carefully neutral, but I feel the warmth of his attention like a physical thing.
“Get some rest while you can,” Dean says. “When the trace hits, I want everyone who can stand in this room for a briefing.”
He disappears back into the operations center.
Render and I stand in the hallway for a moment longer. The house has settled into that exhausted post-mission hush. People are finally safe. Poe is alive. The evidence is out in the world.
But Serafina is still out there. The thought settles in my chest like a stone.
Render's hand slips to the small of my back, warm and familiar, his thumb brushing the fabric of my jacket in a slow circle that somehow silences the noise in my head. "Come on."
I don't move.
He tilts his head, studying me with that patient look that's becoming dangerously good at unraveling me. "Don't give me that face."
"What face?"
"The one where you're about to tell me you don't need to eat."
"I don't need to..."
His eyebrow lifts.
I sigh. "Fine. Maybe I'm a little hungry."
"A little?"
"I had adrenaline." I cross my arms over my chest.
"You can't survive on adrenaline."
"I've been doing a decent job so far."
He smiles, small and tired, but real. "Lucky for you, I'm not letting you try anymore."
My heart does that annoying little flip it keeps insisting on doing whenever he looks at me like I'm something worth taking care of.
"I can take care of myself," I mumble.
"I know." His voice softens. "That's never been the question." He brushes a stray strand of hair behind my ear before letting his fingers linger against my cheek for the briefest second. "But for the next hour," he says, "I'd really like to take care of you."
There's no teasing in his voice now. Just calm certainty. The kind that makes it impossible to argue.
"Real food," he adds, "and at least a couple hours of sleep before the next crisis decides to find us."
I smile despite myself. "You always this bossy?"
"Only with women who forget they're human."
"I didn't forget."
He gives me a look. "You skipped two meals, hacked into a criminal network, and somehow still think coffee counts as dinner."
"...It was a large coffee."
A laugh escapes him, low and warm, and for one perfect second the world feels almost normal. He slides his hand back to the small of my back, guiding me toward the kitchen. "Come on, Trouble."
I let him guide me to the kitchen.
Just this once.
22
Enley
The trace hits at eleven in the morning.
I’m in the kitchen drinking the first real cup of coffee I’ve had in nine days when Dean’s phone buzzes and the whole room stops moving. He reads the screen, then reads it again. He walks to the doorway of the operations center and says one word.
“Brownstone.”
Within three minutes every member of the crew is in the room. It’s the first time we’re mostly all together. Still missing Juno, River, and Salem who are all safe in Saint Pierce.
Arrow is leaning against the wall by the window, arms crossed. The cut on his forearm is bandaged and the shadows under his eyes look deep enough to lose something in. But he’s here.
Gage is right beside him, because of course he is. He’s holding a protein bar he hasn’t taken a single bite of, just keeping his hands busy. His jaw is set in that stubborn angle I’m starting to recognize as his default setting.
Knight stands near the door, positioned so nobody can leave without him noticing. Lark’s in the chair closest to him. They’re not touching and they’re not looking at each other, but you can feel the connection anyway. Two people who always know exactly where the other one is.
Ozzy’s on the couch with his knee propped up. The medic replaced the bag of frozen peas with a proper compression wrap. He’s stopped trying to hide the tremor in his hands. Nobody comments on it. These people understand that the body deals with trauma on its own schedule.
Poe’s in the chair at the head of the table. He insisted on being here. Singh wanted him horizontal for another twelve hours, but he looked at her with his one good eye and said, “My crew is briefing. I’ll be there.” She let him go. She’s worked with Dean’s people long enough to know some arguments aren’t worth having.