“He means you trail,” Dagger pointed out. “You hover. You watch. You had her sleep at one of your dens. In your bed. When have we ever let women into our private rooms?”
“I had no other choice.” Should he have left her to her own devices? Out of the question. Beyond imagining. In no realm of possibility.
“There is always another choice,” Knight said.
Maxen clenched his hands a few times. Fine. He did do all those things. Did his brothers have to be on his arse about it? “Have we learned anything about John Fitz?”
Dagger shook his head. “Drake has sent inquiries to London.”
Still too many unknowns.
He hated unknowns.
“I shouldn’t have let her go alone,” Maxen muttered, jaw clenching. Reaper’s “Why me?” came to haunt him in that moment. Yes, why did he have to send that arse?Heshould have taken responsibility for her belongings. She was, after all, his responsibility. Sending another man felt efficient in theory. In practice, the whole thing tasted like abdication.
“She’s not alone,” Dagger said.
No, she wasn’t.
But that didn’t bring him any damn comfort.
Not when the woman who had turned him inside out had disappeared from his view. Not when so many rows of buildings blocked his view, and not when all he could do was wait. His eyes narrowed into the distance.
“Something’s not right.” Maxen rose to his feet. He knew it as surely as he knew the sky above him was black.
“Are you certain?” Dagger asked.
“Yes.”
Knight glanced over. “She’s a woman. She’s angry. That might be what’s not right.”
No, this was something else. Something in the air.
His gut was hollowing in warning.
Maxen spun on his heel and strode to the door. They needed to go. Now.
Chapter Twelve
Calliope tightened hergrip on the pistol.
Her hands were steady. Her heart was not.
“You had that pistol on you the entire time?” Reaper asked, the faintest edge of admiration in his voice, his mask of carefree ruffian having once again slipped into place. Rather admirable, if one stopped to think about the nerve involved.
Calliope was beginning to understand.
They all wore masks. Each and every one of them. Even Maxen.
Even her.
“Perhaps I did, perhaps I didn’t,” she answered vaguely. They probably kept their weapons in much more sophisticated places than beneath a pillow. They probably didn’t forget them when they left home either.
His lips quirked. “Cunning wench. Why didn’t you pull your pistol out earlier when I approached you?”
“You mean when you goaded me? I was outnumbered. I choose my battles more wisely than that.” True enough. She tipped her chin to the chair. “Sit.”
He gave a low chuckle, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. He also didn’t argue. He moved, slowly, never taking his eyes off her, as he settled into the chair.
