Guilt presses down on my chest. Despite being a little bossy at times, Webb’s done everything he could to help—racing to the diner after Doug called, bringing me home and taking care of me, listening to my awful story without judgment, setting up an impromptu meeting with his team,andarranging for me to stay at Blade and Arrow. And what am I doing to thank him? Giving him a hard time about something as insignificant as asking me to sit down?
Plonking my butt on the closest stool, I swivel so I’m facing him. “I’m sorry,” I say. “You’re not being bossy.” At his skeptical expression, I amend, “Maybe a little. But I get it. You’re worried.”
Webb slides onto the stool beside me. “I am. After everything at the diner, and then the meeting…” His hand covers mine. “I know it’s tough. All the questions, discussing logistics, having totalk about how things can escalate… I wish you didn’t have to go through it.”
Though my instinct is to jam my feelings down deep again, I remind myself that keeping things a secret didn’t help anyone. With that in mind, I reply, “Itwastough. I mean, I didn’t think it would be easy, but it was different talking to your team about it than just telling you.”
Webb nods. “That makes sense. You know the guys, but not well. And it’s one thing hanging out with everyone for a barbecue. But when you’re in the conference room for an official meeting…” He flashes me a small smile. “If it makes you feel better, when we sat down with Eden and Bea for their”—he uses his fingers to make air quotes—“official meetings, they were nervous, too.”
Curiosity makes me want to ask why Eden and Bea needed Blade and Arrow’s help. If I knew Eden and Bea better, maybe. But having only met them at the barbecue, and once in the diner when I’m pretty sure they came in specifically to see me… I’m not sure that qualifies me to ask about such personal things.
“Eden had a stalker,” Webb says, anticipating my question. “It ended up being more complicated than that, but that’s why we got involved.” He pauses. “Actually, that’s how the Shadow Team came together.”
“Really?” Interest shoves my other worries to the side. “How?”
He pushes his hand through his hair. “Eden called Rafe for help first. Rafe is Indy’s best friend, so Eden had known Rafe for years.”
“Why didn’tshe call Indy, then?” I ask. “Since he’s her brother.”
Webb’s expression turns solemn. “I’m sure you noticed Indy has a prosthetic arm. Transradial, so it’s below the elbow. Ithappened while he was overseas. After… he had a hard time with it. Eden worried about him. She didn’t want to worry Indy if it was nothing.”
“But it wasn’t nothing,” I say. “Right?”
“Nope. Definitely not nothing. And Rafe realized he needed backup. So he called a friend of ours from back when we served—Cole Mitchell, who founded Blade and Arrow Security. Cole’s team was busy with other jobs, as was the Texas team. But Cole had been thinking about starting a third branch and I guess he thought this would be a good test run, of sorts.”
“So he called you?”
“Yes.” Webb smiles again. “He knew I’d been feeling restless. Missing being part of a team. So he asked if I’d want to come help in Portland. I said yes, and here I am.”
“What about Indy? And Ace and Tyler?”
“As soon as Eden told Indy what was going on, he came right away. Pissed that he didn’t know she was in trouble, but determined to help. Ace had been working on Texas as an unexploded ordnance tech since he left the Army, but, like me, he missed being part of a team. And Tyler…”
Trailing off, Webb sighs. “Tyler lost his wife a few years ago. After that, he isolated himself. Not that I blame him. I can’t even imagine—” His fingers tighten around mine. Then he drags my stool closer, so our legs are touching. “Cole thought it would be good for Tyler to come out here. Give him a reason to get out in the world again.”
My nose prickles as I think about kind, quiet Tyler going through something so terrible. And I saw the glint of black carbon from his prosthetic leg the other night as it peeked out from below the hem of his jeans. To lose his legandhis wife? It really puts what I’m dealing with in perspective.
“Is he doing better now?” I ask. “Tyler?”
“Yeah, I think so.” Webb exhales. Then he glances around the kitchen, a surprisingly cozy space with plants hanging in front of the windows and colorful towels draped over the oven handle. He notices me looking at the plants and says with a smile, “My mom bought them the last time she visited. According to her, they’re impossible to kill.”
“Oh?” I have a self-admitted black thumb, but love the look of plants, so if there’s a plant I can’t manage to kill…
“Not really.” With a chuckle, he adds, “I’ve replaced them three times. I’m not sure there’s a plant out there Ican’tkill.”
Feeling lighter than I did just minutes before, I reply brightly, “Me too. I have a terrible black thumb.”
Webb gazes at me, an unreadable emotion working in his eyes. Then he presses his thumb to mine and says, “Sounds like we’re a pretty good match, then.”
I find myself smiling back at him. “Yeah. It sounds like we are.”
He looks at me for another long moment. “So. Are you hungry? I haven’t been shopping in a few days, but I have stuff to make sandwiches, pasta… Or I might have the ingredients for a pizza.”
“You make pizza?”
“I’m no chef,” he replies with a smile, “but I’ve been told it’s decent.”
Since I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and it’s now nearly evening, Ishouldbe hungry. But my stomach hasn’t received the message, because it’s still squinched into a little knot. And when I think about eating, it gives an indignant lurch, sending a message loud and clear—nope, not now.
