He unlocked the door, then swept inside, he and Patch moving through the two-bedroom shack with practiced grace. They checked the windows and doors, scouring every corner before standing down, waving Riven inside.
She stepped across the threshold, gaze drinking it all in — the thread-bare furniture scattered around the room and the pot-bellied stove shoved into one corner. He had a two-way radio collecting dust on a shelf, and a massive fan trying to push the thick air around the space. She didn’t speak, just stood there, eyeing them as if she wasn’t sure if she’d walked into another ambush or some form of sanctuary.
McGuire lowered his weapon. “Can’t be too careful.”
Riven snorted. “Wouldn’t expect anything less after the way you handled those men.”
“Let’s get cleaned up — have Patch treat those cuts — then, we’ll talk.”
She looked at Patch, sized him up, then sighed and took a seat at the kitchen island. Patch switched into medic mode, heaving out McGuire’s substantial first aid kit from the bathroom. He ran some water, gathered a couple towels, then went to work, cleaning scrapes and lacerations, taping and bandaging anything that needed attention.
It was well past one by the time he finished, zipping the kit up with a resounding hiss. McGuire double-checked the security system as the house settled around them, creaking in the wind like an old ship.
Riven rose from the stool, eyes wary, all that coiled energy ready to strike. He motioned to the table, then headed for the cupboard. Grabbing a bottle of whiskey and three glasses, he spread them out across the surface. Riven slipped onto a seat,clenched the glass as if she expected to use it as a weapon, then chugged the generous pour in one gulp.
He offered her another, but she shook her head, a hint of color creeping across her cheeks. He placed the bottle on the table, arched a brow at her. “You’re not gonna throw this one, too, are you?”
Her smile dimmed the room, and he checked the light — ensured he’d actually flipped it on. “Not unless it’s necessary.”
“Like that knife.” He whistled. “Hell of a throw. They teach you that at the Farm?”
She crossed her arms, shook her head. “I’m not CIA.”
“But you’re something. And it’s about time my sister came clean.”
Riven inhaled, grabbed his wrist as he palmed his cell. “Savvy’s your sister?”
“Trust me. I question the validity of that every damn day.” He hit her number, cleared his throat when she answered on the second ring. “Savvy.”
Savvy mumbled something about him never calling at a reasonable time before the background noise changed, silenced. “What the hell, McGuire? You know the rules.”
“Right. Life or death only, except where it seems it’s not just my life.”
He could practically hear her scowling as her bed creaked in the distance.
She blew out a rough breath, a blanket rustling over the mic. “Did the heat finally get to you? Are you having a stroke?” She paused, groaned. “Shit, do I need to call Patch? Because that would be really awkward.”
McGuire glanced at his buddy, but Patch waved it off, gave him the “I’m not here” gesture. “I’m not having a stroke. And thisisa matter of life and death, just not mine.”
“You do know it’s two a.m., right?”
“Just answer two questions…” He locked his gaze on Riven. “Who’s Riven, and what the hell did you just walk us into?”
Riven sat in the chair, breath held, muscles tensed, as a long silence stretched out across the line. McGuire kept his gaze locked on her, those gray-blue eyes looking straight through her. She swallowed, coughed, the hushed sound finally breaking the eerie standoff.
Savvy cursed over the line, her breath coming out in harsh pants. “Shit. Is she okay? Is anyone hurt?” Another rustle as if she’d jumped out of bed — had started slipping on clothes. “Is she safe?”
McGuire sighed. “She’s fine. In fact, she’s here, with me, and you’re on speaker so…” He leaned closer as if the decreased distance would carry his voice better. “Time for you to start talking, sis, because you swore this phone was just between us.”
“Wait, she had to call you?”
“Tried Patch, too. You can imagine how awkward that was.”
“Just… can you stop worrying about the logistics for a moment and let me talk to her?”
McGuire met Riven’s gaze, then gestured toward the phone. Leaning back, he crossed his arms over his chest.
Riven drew in a breath, reminding herself she’d faced down cartel bosses and mafia henchmen. “Hey, Savvy.”
