“Alright, hit this button to set the alarm when I leave,” I say, pointing to the control panel. “I’ll be back in the morning to check on you.”
Charlie jumps off the couch. “You’re leaving?!”
I’m shocked by this sudden response after so much silence. “Charlie, you’re safe here.” I point to one of the cameras to emphasize this.
At this, her chest starts to heave and her breaths grow shallow. Her face is red. “They’ve been watching me for a month!” she wheezes out. “You think some camera in a corner is going to make me safe? What if they get in here tonight?!”
I close the space between us and wrap her in my arms. “Breathe, Charlie,” I remind her. “Breathe.” I take a deep slow inhale and then a controlled exhale as I hold her. I do this until her breathing matches mine. The scent of her fruity perfume is faded at the end of a long day but still there. “I’ll stay,” I tell her. “I’ll stay.”
Charlie nods once I make this offer. “And no video feed?” This seems to disturb her the most, the surveillance. I understand it, but I don’t like it.
“OK, I’ll only arm the doors and windows.” I know the instant she lets her fear go, as her body relaxes. “Tomorrow, we get your stuff and regroup at headquarters. Sunday, I’ll teach you some defensive moves.”
Charlie pulls back and glares at me. “I’m a female runner. My dad had me in self-defense classes since I was twelve. It’s the guns I can’t outrun, Declan.”
“OK, then, I’ll take you to the shooting range.” She opens her mouth, her unease still apparent. “I don’t expect you to be a lethal marksman. If nothing else, you’ll learn how it works so you can better disarm someone.”
Charlie nods and tucks her head back into my chest. I move my hand to cradle her head. “Thank you,” she whispers.
“Alright, get cleaned up and I’ll get some food made,” I say as I let her go. She grabs the clothes on the counter before heading to the bathroom on the far side of the loft.
Since Copenhagen, I’ve thought of what it would be like to spend the night with Charlie. On opposite ends of the safehouse in inexpensive Ikea furniture did not feature in any of those scenarios. The safehouse has to be functional, not fashionable. It has a minimalist design which could appear to be an aesthetic choice. It is more a result of electing to fund the security features first. This willnotbe a comfortable night of sleep.
Staying here with Charlie may make her feel safer right now, but it is dangerous. I’m distracted by her; I can’t keep her safe like this.
And I’m so close to falling for her. I’m at the edge of a cliff. One move and I’ll plummet.
36
CHARLIE
The hot water and steam can only wash away so much. Sweat, dirt, makeup.
The fear isn’t coming off; it won’t fade away.
After I towel off, the bathroom mirror is covered in condensation. I don’t make any effort to wipe it away. I don’t want to see how I look; I know it will only amplify the dread brewing inside.
I finger-comb my hair and assume I look presentable enough. Declan has already seen me at my worst.
Putting on the baggy borrowed clothes reminds me of all that has happened this evening and all the things before it. In the weeks since I started working for FIRE, I have been bugged, shot at, locked in a storage unit, and tonight – well, who knows what might have happened if Declan hadn’t shown up. Blaed didn’t say or do anything specifically threatening, but he planted a tracking device on me a month ago. Who’s to say what else he might have done? If not tonight, then another time.
My glasses are all steamed up, but when I exit the bathroom they demist. The air-conditioning is on full blast, my skin hot from the shower, so it’s a welcome change. I know this evening I’ll need an extra blanket or two, though.
As I enter the main living area, the smell of garlic and cheese hits me. My mouth waters and my stomach grumbles. Declan’s handgun is on the table in the living-room area. I didn’t even know he had one on him. I guess he’s always been discreet about it.
“I found some cauliflower-crust frozen pizza,” Declan announces. He is in the kitchen and has taken off his button-down shirt, leaving him in a tight white T-shirt that is tucked into his slacks. His lean but firm arm muscles are on display. If I thought he was hot before, he is volcanic now.
And I . . . am a walking pile of laundry. I consider if I should dig for a better-fitting set of clothes when my stomach turns again. “You could have said cardboard-crust frozen pizza and I would have eaten it gladly,” I admit.
Declan smiles at me as I sit on one of the barstools by the kitchen counter. The clock on the stove tells me it is about to strike midnight.
Declan offers me a bottle of water and a paper plate with freshly cooked pizza. We eat in silence, Declan leaning on the counter across from me. His mind is busy; he is thinking through all these shreds of information that barely amount to any substantive clues.
“Thank you,” I say after I have one piece of pizza in my stomach. Declan looks up at me as he takes a sip of his water. “For saving me earlier,” I clarify.
He gives me a nod and says, “We’re a team.” I guess that’s his way of saying “you’re welcome.”
“Yeah, we are. Aren’t we?” I reply, not sure what I want him to respond with.
