“Been better. Been worse.” He stares into his coffee cup, takes a sip, and then sits back with his legs stretched out. “Dax and I’ve talked a bit. Dani goes to therapy. I tried for a while, but it’s not what I need right now.”
He falls silent, and I mirror his position. “So…what do you need?” I think I know, but he has to be the one to say it. Just like I have to be the one to tell him my truth. When he’s ready.
“Come around sometime,” he says quietly. “Dani misses you.” After a beat, he meets my gaze. “You’re the only one I can talk to about Gil, you know.”
“So talk. I’m here now, Trev. I know I went dark. I had to.”
“Why?”
The single, rasping word is like a punch to my gut, and fuck. If it weren’t for Mikayla, I’d still be in that solitary, tortured world I thought was all I deserved.
“Because Major General Austin Pritchard doesn’t exist anymore. And until I met Mik, I didn’t know who I was without him.”
“And now? You’ve figured it out?” Desperation churns in his eyes, like he’s depending on me to help answer his own existential questions. Maybe he is. I have a few years on Trev, and we’re brothers—not by blood, but in all the ways that count.
“Not all of it. But I know I need to do something that matters. Knowing Mik’s in danger, knowing someone wants to kill her...protecting her gave me a purpose again. Reminded me that I’m still that same son of a bitch who fought in Kabul and Kandahar ten years ago. Still the same guy who convinced a handful of generals Rip deserved a medal instead of a prison sentence. I can make a difference somewhere. Just don’t know where yet.”
“Somewhere in Edgewater, though.” The corners of his mouth twitch into what might be a smile. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you fall so hard for anyone.”
“I love her.” The admission slips out before I can stop it, and I shake my head. “I fucking love her.”
I hold my breath, waiting for Trevor to tell me I’m not thinking clearly. That I’ve let my dick override my brain. But there’s a knowing look in his eyes that says he has my back. That he’salwayshad my back, just like I’ve always had his. Fuck. I was so stupid. Going dark on him. He’s my family and I won’t let him down again.
“So when do I get to meet her?” he asks. “Because anyone who can get you to stay in one place…she’s got to be one hell of a woman.”
“She is, brother. She definitely is.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mikayla
The hazmat suit rustles as I sit down at the microscope. The goggles are awkward as all get out, but from what I’ve learned over the past two hours, they’re necessary. The phytotoxin present in these hybrid orchids is ten times deadlier than the toxin from the Blushing Note.
Based on its chemical make-up, its promise to make a real difference for Parkinson’s patients is also through the roof.
I wish I could talk to Dr. Branch about this. But Brian and his whole team are off limits until Wren and Ripper do more digging. I can’t believe he’d be involved. But I promised Austin I wouldn’t do anything to put myself at risk—well, other than work with one of the deadliest plants I’ve ever examined—and I don’t intend to break my word.
Every sample Corey collected is meticulously labeled, down to the specific plant and site it came from. Someone needs to get back down to Chiapas and harvest at least one of the hybrids for study.
“I managed to create a hybrid last year by grafting the Blushing Note to the Zebra Stripe. Once I knew it was viable, I came down here to set up the greenhouses so we could reproduce them.”
He didn’t say he brought the plant with him. What if it’s still inourgreenhouse? Crap. If it is, I can divide it, study fresh samples rather than the dried preserved ones, and start breeding the plants.
I can’t get my PPE off fast enough once I’ve let a fine mist spray me down in the decontamination chamber, and I rush to the greenhouse. The humid, thick air is a shock to my lungs, and along with my excitement, it triggers the tell-tale band around my chest that almost always leads to an attack.
No. Not right now.
I force myself to stop just inside the door, leaning against the wall and taking slow, deep breaths. I can’t stay in here very long. Not today. But I only need enough time to take a couple of cuttings from the big orchid in the corner. Queenie. Corey always babied that plant, while Li and Isaiah primarily cared for the smaller orchids in the center.
You can do this. Five minutes, and you’ll be back in the hall.
Snagging a sample tray and small box of tools from the cart by the door, I head for the corner. My legs feel like they weigh twice as much as usual, but at least the chest tightness is easing a little.
The root system on this plant is bigger than a small child, but with so many of the greenish-brown tendrils hanging down, the temperamental orchid shouldn’t mind me taking a couple of cuttings. Except I forgot my gloves.
“Drumsticks,” I mutter, and as I turn, the door beeps. What the heck?
“Lowenstein said you weren’t coming in today.” Dr. Brian Branch and his research assistant, Wally, stand just in front of Arturo. Regret pinches Brian’s features, and I yelp and take two quick steps back.
