“No.”
His eyebrows fly up.
“She’s been through enough,” I mutter. “There’s no way I’m making her relive it all over again. Find another way.”
“It’d be easier if she?—”
“No,” I growl. “I don’t give a fuck if it’s easier. She’s staying out of this, and your only job is to make sure she’s safe.”
Something settles over his face, but I can’t read it.
Maybe respect. Maybe frustration. Maybe solidarity.
Or a mix of all three.
Whatever he’s feeling, he doesn’t get a chance to reply because his head suddenly whips toward the hall, his entire body on alert. I feel a chill skate down my spine, but even as I’m processing that, I’m watching his body relax as he dismisses the threat.
Briar walks into view. “Pascal?”
He inclines his head but doesn’t otherwise move.
“It’s, um, good to see you again. It’s been a long time.”
“Yes.”
She’s wearing the same pants and shirt as last night and I scowl.
But she’s not looking at me.
All her focus is on Pascal—who’s staring at her, assessing her…but still hasn’t moved.
“Are you here to bring me in?” she asks suspiciously, hand settling on her thigh.
On the bulge there.
My scowl fades.
Pascal keeps his arms and ankles crossed, and I know he’s spotted the lump in her pocket too.
The can of air freshener.
And he likes the idea of her thinking of it as a weapon about as much as I do.
That’s to say, not at all.
“No,” he says tersely.
Her eyes come to mine and I nod, explaining, “He’s going to figure out what’s going on and help us track down the people responsible for it.”
She exhales, hand dropping to her side. “I should talk to you, tell you what I know. I’ll help you get Brooks out of this.”
I open my mouth to protest.
But then she says something worse.
“Then I’m leaving.”
Pascal blinks—and that’s about as surprised as his face gets.
