Whatever it took to get her free.
I didn’t even care about the mission anymore. After last night’s transmission, the feds had a shit-ton more on Oliver than they’d had before. No, they didn’t have details about who was coming to the Gathering yet, but that was no longer my priority. If there was a chance to get Mia out of this, I was taking it, mission parameters be damned.
“Kind of you to offer, but the vehicle’s full.” His pale eyes dissected me. “Bishop, Anderson, and Briggs are accompanying me. Perhaps next time.”
The hope turned to ash. Pushing wouldn’t do anything but make Oliver more suspicious. “Sure. Another time.”
The door opened. My fork stopped halfway to my mouth.
The transformation hit like a physical blow. She wore a sweaterdress in deep green that hugged curves I’d memorized, ending slightly below her knees. It fit perfectly, like Oliver had somehow known her exact measurements. The thought of how he’d acquired that information made my vision edge red. In her hands, she carried her other clothes, folded with the precision of someone following orders.
“Much better,” Oliver purred, satisfaction dripping from every syllable. “You look absolutely lovely, my dear. Feminine. Refined. As a woman should be.”
Even Bishop turned to look, his expression unreadable behind that perpetual military bearing. I tracked her movement back toward the table, cataloging every tell. Her breathing—too shallow. The muscle jumping in her jaw. The way she held those folded clothes like armor.
Oliver tsked. “The shoes, dear. You forgot the shoes.”
She hesitated, then produced black heels from under the clothes. “They’re too small. I’ll just wear my Converse.”
“Nonsense.” Oliver’s tone sharpened to a blade. “They’ll stretch. You should wear them today, practice for tomorrow. You’ll be in heels tomorrow night at the Gathering.”
“I’d rather?—”
“The other women tomorrow night will be properly dressed. I wouldn’t want you to feel self-conscious.” The words carried weight, implications about entertainment that made my hand drift toward my weapon.
“If she wants to keep her regular shoes, let her. At least she looks like a woman now rather than a swamp rat.” I forced myself to turn back to my food.
Oliver nodded toward Bishop. “We’ll have your other clothes laundered and returned.”
“That’s not—” Mia started.
“I insist.” Bishop walked over and took the clothes as Mia sat back down. “We must maintain certain standards here, even in our rustic environment.”
The rest of breakfast passed in a blur of scraping silverware and rising wind. The windows shook in their frames, and I could hear something metal banging repeatedly outside—probably a loose sheet on one of the storage buildings. Oliver ate methodically, unhurried despite the weather, occasionally glancing at Mia like she was a puzzle he was solving.
Finally, he set down his fork and checked his expensive Swiss watch.
“I’m afraid it’s time for me to leave you.” He stood, smoothing invisible wrinkles from his shirt. “We want to beat the storm, and it’s coming in faster than expected. These mountain roads become treacherous in bad weather.”
Good. Maybe he would do the world a service and have the decency to die in a car accident.
Oliver moved toward the door, then turned back with calculated precision. His hand reached out, fingers sliding through Mia’s hair with the casual ownership of someone touching their belongings.
I watched her lock every muscle to keep from flinching. Watched her eyes go somewhere else, somewhere safe inside her head where his touch couldn’t reach. My vision tunneled. The Glock pressed against my spine, begging to be used.
One shot. That’s all it would take to end this. I could kill Oliver, and he’d never touch her again.
But even if I got both him and Bishop, it wouldn’t be enough. Oliver had too many men. If there was a way to shoot our way out of this compound and make it out alive, I would’ve already tried.
“You’ll look beautiful tomorrow night,” Oliver murmured, fingers lingering at the ends of her hair. “The entertainment is always the highlight of these gatherings. I can hardly wait.”
His fingers released her, and he swept out. “Behave yourself while I’m gone, Coop. Both of you.”
The threat in his words was subtle but clear. Bishop fell in behind him like a well-trained dog. Through the window, I watched them load into the black Suburban—Oliver in the back like visiting royalty, Bishop driving, Anderson and Briggs flanking Oliver in the back seat. Only when the engine faded completely did I remember to breathe.
“Let’s go,” I said, voice rougher than intended. Mia hadn’t touched a bit of her food. Normally, I would press—she needed the calories—but right now, I wanted to get her out of here.
We walked back toward our cabin in silence until we were far enough from the main building that I felt safe speaking. Wind whipped Mia’s dress against her legs, and she wrapped her arms around herself. Not from cold—from memory.
