That's the part that's doing something to me I don't have time for.
I knock onceand push the door open.
She's at the window. Of course she is. Standing back from it about a foot, arms crossed, hip cocked. She's changed clothes. Leggings and an oversized tee that says something on the front I don't read because I'm trying very hard to be a professional.
"Curtain's drawn this time," she says without turning.
"I noticed."
"I'm a fast learner when somebody stops being a dick about it."
"I wasn't being a dick. I was being accurate."
"Accurate can be a dick, Mercer."
She turns.
I lean on the doorframe because walking further into the room with her looking like that feels like a tactical error.
"What's the plan," she says.
"You stay put. I work the phones. We don't leave the cabin until I know who sent that message and where they are."
"For how long."
"As long as it takes."
Her jaw sets.
"I have a story to file. I have sources waiting. I have a life, Gray."
"You have a death threat."
"I've had death threats before."
"You've had a man write you notes. You haven't had a man find your safe house in under twenty-four hours."
That lands. I see it land. A small flicker across her face, gone as quick as it came. She covers it with a tilt of the chin.
"So what. I sit in this cabin and do needlepoint while you grunt at the tree line."
"If that's what keeps you alive, yeah."
"And if I don't want to."
"Then I tie you to a chair."
It comes out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop it.
Flat. Low. The voice I used to use overseas when I wanted a room to understand I was done negotiating.
Her eyes widen just a fraction. Lips part. A flush climbs up her throat and I watch it happen in real time and I watch her know I'm watching it happen.
She recovers.
God, she recovers fast.
"Is that a threat or a proposition, Mercer."
