Shiloh’s mouth twitches. “Was this an oversight, sweetheart, or were you just being a bitch?”
I take a sip and look at him over the rim of the mug. “Take your pick.”
Nash’s eyes remain on me. Cool. Measuring. Icy. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know if I should say. Was her evening with you so terrible that she felt she had to run?”
I know I shouldn’t as soon as the words come out of my mouth. His attitude about the whole woods thing is still poking at me, though, andfuck him.
Nash goes still. He sets his mug down. “You want to run that by me one more time?”
“You heard me. She looked like she couldn’t wait to get out of here. What the hell happened, Nash?”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear the implication in your statement, and I’m going to be the adult in the room and answer your actual question.”
His tone is level, but every line of his body radiates fury. I’m not sure I’ve ever come quite this close to something I can’t walk back with him. And still, I can’t seem to bring myself to care enough to apologize. I offer a brief, conciliatory nod.
“I told her about Deacon. And I told her we wouldn’t be helping her kill him.”
Shiloh’s breath leaves him in a whoosh of sound. “Shit on a popsicle stick, that’d do it.”
“She’s at a motel off the interstate.” I set my coffee down. “Tracker’s still live on her. SUV, too.”
The room relaxes.
Shiloh leans back in his chair. “So she bolted after all that and made it as far as a bargain-bin mattress and complimentary ice machine. Christ. I kinda expected more from her.”
“She’s not exactly swimming in cash,” I mutter. “You know what we were paying her.”
Nash folds his arms. “So I think we let her have a little leash. See what she does with it.”
Shiloh arches a brow. “That your official diagnosis?”
“For now.” Nash’s gaze shifts, thoughtful instead of angry. “She knows we can find her. Or she should, if she’s smart enough. If she still ran, then she wants us to see what she does next—or she’s desperate enough not to care.”
“Either way,” I say, “she’s more useful moving than caged.”
Nash nods once. “We rotate surveillance. No need to drag her back yet. We watch. We wait. When she gives us a reason, we yank her back.”
Shiloh tips his chair onto two legs. “And if she does something stupid?”
Nash’s mouth curves without humor. “Then we decide how much of her skin we want to leave intact when we bring her home.”
I glance at the tracker again. Still motionless. Still there. Still mine to follow.
“I’ll take first watch,” I say.
Nash studies me, but only for a second. “Fine.”
Shiloh makes a show of sighing. “I suppose this means I’m invited.”
“You’re useful with locks and secondary recon,” I say.
“I’m useful in countless ways.”
“None of them relevant.”
He grins. “Shot to the heart.”
