“Because you needed help. And because I thought you could survive that help.” Rescue wasn’t for the fainthearted.
“What if I hadn’t?”
Taryn never answered that question. Never would. These girls didn’t need to know how ruthless she could be. Would be. Taryn protected what was hers. If someone didn’t want to be here or caused trouble... well, she handled that, too.
“Not something we need to worry about, right?” Taryn watched Giselle’s reaction, waiting for the girl’s slow nod.
“Later today a doctor will be stopping by. A lady doctor,” Taryn added before Giselle could panic. “She’ll take a look at your wound and make sure everything looks good.”
“Do I have to?” Giselle asked.
“Yeah,” Taryn said. “I’m not a doctor and it’s better to have a professional take a look. She visits every couple weeks—or sooner if we need her.”
It looked like Giselle was about to argue again. “You can have me or one of the other girls stay with you during the appointment if you want.”
She held the teenager’s gaze until she sighed and nodded reluctantly.
Changing the subject, Taryn gestured around the kitchen. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen at any time, unless it has someone’s name on it. Most everything is communal, but every once in a while, someone gets territorial.”
She turned to one of the other girls. “Would you show Giselle around and give her the rest of the rundown?”
When the other girl agreed, Taryn excused herself. “Business calls.”
Chapter9
The elevator dingedat the same time the door slid open, revealing the executive floor. Ash had been allowed up on his own today, although there was a guard stationed both at the bottom and at the top. Maybe it was the lack of guards, but the ride had seemed shorter, definitely less tense.
Ignoring the guard, he stepped out and strode toward the doors to Portia’s office.Ms. Tremaine’soffice, he corrected. He wasn’t sure what the penalty for using her first name was, but he couldn’t imagine that it was good.
Halfway there, he paused and spoke to the assistant. “Ms. Tremaine is expecting me.” More likesummoned, given the message waiting for him when he got home in the early hours of the morning.
She barely looked at him before she said, “Go on in.”
Ash frowned. That wasn’t very assistant like of her. Whatever other thoughts he’d had dissipated when the office doors opened.
Back to the door, Portia stood at the opposite side of the office, in front of the wall of windows. The city of Seattle sprawled out in front of her. On anyone else, the slumped shoulders would make him think she was lonely... Ash snorted softly. This was Portia Tremaine. He wasn’t sure shehadfeelings.
No, that wasn’t fair. Before the bombing, that might have been true. But he at least had witnessed her overwhelming grief at losing her husband. And the terrible anger that had followed. He dreaded the day she turned that anger on him. That was why he and Hope had to be out of the city as soon as possible. Why he needed the Jack’s help so desperately.
Ash cleared his throat, uncomfortable witnessing this vulnerable moment. He couldn’t afford to see the Tremaines as anything but his enemy.
She turned, back straightening, shoulders pulling back while he watched. Whatever hint of humanity he’d imagined had disappeared, leaving only the Ice Queen behind. He thought he saw a little moue of annoyance before that disappeared as well.
“Your workstation has been set up,” she said, skipping hello or any courtesies. That was fine. He preferred to get down to business.
A very small desk that looked like it had been requisitioned from the orphanage sat between her desk and the windows. It looked like something you might see on bring-your-child-to-work day. Was that where she’d gotten the idea? Unlikely. Neither Phillip nor Portia Tremaine seemed capable of whimsy.
He stepped toward it. Stopped. “May I?”
“Of course.” That cool tone—the Ice Queen granting him a boon.
Ash circled the desk. It looked nothing like the one he used in the cybersecurity center.
The chair was almost as tall as the desk. It was plain, with a metal back and worn cushions. Sure, to the untrained eye, it might look like a hacking chair. If you squinted.
He sat carefully. The chair creaked, but held. It was so uncomfortable, though. His knees hit the desk when he rolled up to it. With the added distance, his arms barely reached the keyboard and his neck bent awkwardly when he stared at the screen.
“I can’t do this.” He levered out of the chair with difficulty.
