But it’s not my business. And really, I have bigger things to worry about right now. Like how I’m going to find out who framed me and avoid being convicted of murder.
“We all live on the property,” he continues. “Me, Webb, and Ace have apartments right by yours. Eden and Rafe have a small house in the woods, just past the backyard. We built it so they could have some extra privacy. And Tyler, he has a cabin close to them. He’s not that comfortable—” He stops. “Anyway. We’re all here. Making sure you’re safe. And the entire property is surrounded by heavy-duty fences and hundreds of alarms and cameras. The gates are only accessible by biometric entry. So no one’s going to get to you here.”
Exiting the hallway, we enter a large living area with a two-story lofted ceiling and huge wall-to-ceiling windows. Indy gestures at the expansive space. “We use this room for group get-togethers, movie nights, holidays, the occasional party… You’re welcome to come out here any time. We have a fireplace, too.”
He leads me to the stone-faced fireplace that takes up half of one wall. There’s a remote on the mantel above it. He clicks it on, and flames burst to life. “Any time you want to sit by the fire, go ahead,” he adds. “Don’t worry about asking.”
My original assumptions about the Blade and Arrow headquarters reshuffle. While I was scouring the website, I was imagining austere rooms lit by glaring, fluorescent lights, filledwith metal desks and rows of computers and large monitors covering the walls. Large, locked cabinets would hold stockpiles of weapons, and there would be burly, intimidating men barking orders and scowling.
But it’s clear my assumptions were wrong. Because this room? It’s nice. Really nice. I could see myself snuggling up on the couch facing the fireplace, reading or watching a cooking show on the TV hung above it. There’s not a desk or computer in sight, aside from a laptop on the coffee table, with a bottle of soda sitting beside it. And aside from Indy, who’s burly but not terribly intimidating, at least not to me, the room is quiet and empty.
“We don’t work in here,” Indy says, somehow reading my mind. “The building is split up into three sections. Upstairs, where we live, and then there are the common areas”—he gestures towards a hallway to our left—“and the offices.” He angles his head in the opposite direction, towards another hallway we haven’t explored yet.
Touching my back again, Indy gently nudges me forward. “Through here is the kitchen. And the dining room.” He takes me into an enormous room with a kitchen at one end and a dining area at the other. The counters are sparkling granite, and the appliances are gleaming steel. The dining table is large enough to seat twelve, but somehow, it still has a cozy, intimate feel.
My gaze lights on the eight-burner stovetop, complete with a pot filler and a large griddle perfect for making breakfast. “Oooh.” Like a moth drawn to a flame, I take several steps towards it. “I’ve always wanted a pot filler.”
Indy walks over to the stove with me. A slight smile curves his lips. “I thought it was overkill when we got it. But Eden kept talking about hosting big dinners for all our friends, and she found a good deal on it, so… here it is.”
I move the pot filler back and forth, wishing I had a pot so I could test it. “Do you? Host big dinners?”
“Not often. But we’ll do a team dinner once a week or so, if everyone’s around. Most weeks, at least a few of us are out on a job, so it’s a good way to catch up.”
Indy catches me giving the griddle a longing look. “You can use the kitchen, too, Bea. Not to cook for us, we would never expect that. But if you want more room, or to use this oven…”
“Who cooks? For the dinners?”
“We all do.” As we leave the stove and wander to the other side of the room, he adds, “We take turns. Ace will do a lot of Tex-Mex. Webb likes barbeque. Tyler makes pizza. He keeps talking about putting a wood burning pizza oven outside. Rafe does soups and stews, mostly. Eden will throw together some kind of casserole.”
“And you?” I turn to Indy. Unexpectedly, my lips twitch. “What do you cook?”
Indy stares at me for a second. Then he grins.
Andoh. His smile hits me right in the belly.
“I order pizza,” he admits. “There’s a pretty decent pizzeria in Newberg. So I’ll pick up a few pies there. Maybe some wings and garlic knots, too. Trust me, it’s better I don’t try to cook. Everyone here agrees.”
It’s right there, on the tip of my tongue, to offer to teach him how to cook. We’d start out with something basic, like a Bolognese sauce or a stir-fry. Then we could move on to hearty meals I bet the guys would like, like meatloaf and brisket and pulled pork sandwiches.
But that’s not why I’m here, is it?
And I’m still not sure if I’m mad at Indy. And if I am, how long it’ll take me to get past it.
“In the basement, we have a workout room,” Indy says, oblivious to my thoughts. “Maybe in a week or so, you could walkon the treadmill, if you want. I go down every morning, work out for an hour or two?—”
“An hour ortwo?”
Indy guides me over to a picture window that overlooks the back yard. There’s a large deck with a fire pit and eight chairs circled around it. Off to the side is the barbeque I assume Webb uses on his nights to cook. Beyond the deck, there’s a stretch of grass that reaches to a thick line of evergreens.
“Usually two,” Indy replies. “Because part of the job involves protective services, it’s important we keep in shape. So I’ll go down, run on the treadmill, do some CrossFit, spar with the guys… Tyler and I—” He stops. “Shit, Bea. I’m sorry. I totally forgot.”
“Forgot what?”
“Your parents.”
Alarm trips my pulse. “What about them?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he answers quickly. “I just forgot to tell you. We have a contact out in Cleveland. An old Army buddy of ours. He made contact with your parents this morning, let them know you’re safe, and that you’ll call them as soon as you can.”
