Sander. Tempted to tell him to go away so I can try to get some sleep, I glance at the door that separates my suite from Freya’s, then grab my gun and move to the main door to undo all the locks.
“Up late?” I mutter as I crack the door open, relaxing only when I see that it really is Sander and he’s on his own.
He looks down at the gun in my fingers and fights a smile. “Paranoid?”
“I won’t dignify that with an answer. What do you want?”
“Can I come in?”
I open the door wide, nodding to the two guards stationed in front of Freya’s door as Sander slips inside, then lock the door behind him.
When my phone buzzes several times in succession, Sander lifts an eyebrow. “Do you need to get that?” Like I’m the one interrupting something.
Chuckling, I gesture for him to sit in one of the chairs while I fall onto my back on the bed. “It’s either my old squad torturing me about those photos, or it’s Derek giving me unhelpful advice.”
Sander makes a noise in between a scoff and a grunt.
I lift my head. “Do you have something against Derek Riley?” The twins know Derek got me the job, but they don’t know he’s my cousin, and I am suddenly extremely interested in Sander’s opinion of Derek. Queen Ingrid thinks Derek can do no wrong, and Hex seems indifferent. But I don’t think I’ve ever heard Sander talk about the guy. Not specifically, anyway. He usually refers to Freya’s friends as “the Americans.”
Rolling his eyes, Sander shakes his head. “Not here to discuss Freya’s weird friendship with the actor.”
Interesting. “Then why are you here?”
“Because Markham Grimstad is down in the lobby and wants to talk to you.”
That gets me to sit up, suddenly alert. “What?”
He nods. “The guards came to get me first, after you had me tail him yesterday, but he’s pretty determined to have a conversation.”
I run a hand through my hair, which has gotten long in the time I’ve been Candora. I haven’t cut it since leaving the States, and this is the first time in almost a decade that I haven’t kept it regulation. I’m surprised none of my ODA mentioned it. Or maybe they have, but I’m still ignoring their texts.
“Why would Grimstad want to talk to me?” I ask, a bit distracted by my hair and the realization that I can do whatever I want with it for the first time in eight years.Not important, El.
“He’s keeping that bit to himself,” Sander says with a shrug. “I’m happy to tell him to bugger off if you want me to.”
“No, I’ll talk to him.” I stand and grab a t-shirt, pulling it over my head as I think about what Grimstad might have to say. More than anything, I’m concerned that he’s in the same place we are once again. He might have seen all the articles and posts about Freya’s impromptu meet and greet and hurried to Windgaard from wherever he was, but my gut says he’s following us.
Or he got his hands on our schedule, which would be a lot more complicated and force me to figure out who on the staff let things slip. Gregor trusts everyone we have with us, but the right motivation can make a desperate person go rogue.
I really don’t want to have to start shaking down guards and cooks.
When I slip my holster on and slide my gun into it, Sander snorts a laugh. “Not going to hide it?”
“I’d rather he know what he’s dealing with.” Once I tug on my shoes, I unlock the door and head out, Sander behind me. I lock the door again right as the next door down opens and Freya steps out, and I curse.
Freya lifts an eyebrow. “That is some colorful language, Mr. Reid.”
“Apologies.” Even if it’s warranted. “I thought you were asleep.”
“It is hard to sleep with the two of you yammering next door.”
It’s a good thing I was texting Derek instead of talking to him. “You’re not coming with me,” I say with as much force as I can muster in my exhaustion.
She narrows her eyes. “If Grimstad is here, I would like to talk to him.”
“He didn’t ask to talk toyou,” I counter.
“Well…” Sander flinches when I turn my glare to him. “If you want to be technical, he first asked for Freya but said he would settle for you if she wouldn’t come.”
