“Like you never ‘found yourself’ any in your life?”
“Didn’t say that. Found plenty of it. Want to fill me in?” His Southern drawl lends a gentleness to his words, but he’s not asking. Not really. Not when he sent guys to protect us. And paid for the plane to fly us home.
“I will. But I’d rather do it somewhere more…”
“Private?” His rough laugh always seems to surprise him. Then again, from what Trev told me, Dax hadn’t laughed for years. Not until he and Ryker patched things up. “Fine. But I gotta know at least some of it. What you’re plannin’ to do about it. How long you need Ronan. Whether we need to bring Wren in on things.”
“I need Wren’s particular talents. Still don’t know who these assholes are or whether they’re going to come after Mikayla now that we’re back in the States. Until we find out, I can’t tell you how long she’ll need protection.” Lowering my voice, I add, “We’re new. She could tell me to take a hike tomorrow, and if that happens…”
“Pritchard, you went and fell in love with her, didn’t you? Fuckin’ A. I’ll make you a deal. I won’t say a word to Trevor, if you promise me you’ll tell him in person. Then call me and describe the look on his face in precise detail.”
Chuckling, I settle back on the couch and run a hand through my hair. “Deal. But Dax? That’s not the only reason I called.”
“You mean your former associate with a chip on his shoulder the size of Fenway Park? Yeah. He was here. Wren and Royce are working with Evianna’s people on some cuttin’ edge shit. We got him set up with the same voice-to-text software I use, but flipped the algorithm for him.”
“I don’t know what to say, Dax. I fucked up his whole life.”
“No, you didn’t. I read the ops report. He made a choice,” Dax says, his voice taking on a tone you only get from years as an elite soldier.
“That’s not how he tells it.”
Dax snorts. “You were just an easy target for him to blame. He’ll come around. Give him a little time. And for fuck’s sake, respond to the guy’s emails.”
“I will. Thanks. I owe you—“
“Stop right there. Family doesn’t owe family. We’re square.”
By the timeMik comes downstairs, I have the food put away, coffee brewing, and bacon sizzling in a pan.
“Austin? What are you doing?” she asks, peering at the clock on the microwave. “It’s only a little after eight. Did you…leave?”
“No, sweetheart. No.” I turn the stove down and wrap an arm around her waist. The fear in her eyes is like a knife straight to my heart. “Grocery delivery. I ordered online.”
“Oh. Good.” She’s still shaky, so I guide her over to the far side of the kitchen island and pull out a tall chair for her. “Sorry. I just…I hate not knowing if I’m…if we’re safe.”
“You’re not the only one.” As I check on the bacon, I frown. “How do you take your coffee? I ordered whole milk, half-and-half, and almond milk, but—“
She gapes a little when I open the fridge. “Did you buy out the entire store?”
Shit. “No.” My shoulders stiffen, and I kick myself for going overboard.
And then she’s behind me, her arms wrapping around my waist. “Relax, Danger. I’m not mad. Just…surprised.”
“I can’t call Wren—she’s Second Sight’s computer genius—until at least ten. She’s in Seattle. And I didn’t want to call Detective Chavez until you were awake.”
“What does that have to do with you buying three types of creamer?” Mik reaches around me and grabs the half-and-half, splashes a small bit into a mug, and pours herself coffee. My cup is next to the stove, and she tops that off too before she sits back down again and watches me expectantly.
“Between the cameras all around the property, and Ronan doing drive-bys every hour, nothing’s happening to you here. But the minute we—you—leave this house, the risk goes up.” I’d give anything to be able to reassure her, but I can’t. Not yet.
“Okay.” Mik nods, accepting my words easily. Too easily. We’re going to have a serious talk once I finish making breakfast. But she has other ideas. “A week ago, you could have called me naive,” she says. “And heck, I probably still am. But I believe you, Austin. Most of all, I trust you.”
Her confidence in me is so staggering, I almost drop the plates. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Mik.”
“Well, I’d hope not. If my parents hid a twin from me for my entire life, they have some explaining to do.”
I almost choke on my coffee. “I love—your sense of humor.” Fuck me. I almost said something I can’t take back, and from the way her fork clatters to the countertop, she knows it.
Neither of us say another word as we eat, and as I’m loading the dishwasher, my phone vibrates on the counter. The number starts with fifty-two, Mexico’s country code. This better be Chavez with an update.
