"Henri."
For a second, I don't register that Calder's speaking to me.
He's standing by the second car, one hand on the open door, watching me with an expression I can't read.
"You're driving."
Not a request.
"Monsieur?"
"Keira and I will ride in back. I want to discuss security arrangements for this evening. Easier to do it in private."
This is a test.
He's sensed something or seen something. Now he's putting me in a box to see how I'll react.
"Of course, monsieur."
I slide into the driver's seat. Calder nudges Keira into the back. The door closes with a heavy thunk, sealing the three of us inside.
Through the rearview mirror, I watch him settle beside her.
"Take the tunnel," Calder instructs. "I want to avoid bridge traffic."
"Yes, monsieur."
We merge onto the highway, Manhattan rising in the distance.
It's good to be back home.
This is where I belong. Where I'm strongest.
For the first few minutes, Calder is silent—typing on his phone, making occasional sounds of acknowledgment at whatever he'sreading. Keira sits rigid beside him, hands folded in her lap, staring out the window.
Then his hand moves.
His fingers slide from the back of the seat to her shoulder, settling on her thigh just above her knee.
She doesn't react whatsoever. She's mastered the art of disappearing inside herself.
But I pick up on the slight tremor in her clasped hands.
His fingers dig into her thigh. "You're very quiet, darling. Everything alright?"
"Just tired from the flight and missing Hale."
"Mmm." His hand moves higher. "You should rest before tonight. I want you at your best."
My grip on the steering wheel tightens.
Don't react. He's watching you through the mirror. He's waiting for you to slip.
"I'll make sure to rest," Keira replies quietly.
"Good girl."
He didn't just fucking say that to her.
