Page 68 of Werewolves and Witches AU

“It’s not a hunch,” he says, his head lowered almost between his knees while he fights with a zip. “Her name’s on the payroll.”

Bracing my hand on the passenger seat beside me, I twist further round to face Milo in the back. “Ye don’t know if they have a friend or family member over, ye don’t know if the kid’s even home—asleep or otherwise—and ye don’t know if one of them has an off today, or might be sick and in bed.”

Milo wins the fight with his boots and looks up at me. Everything about him is still except for the lip that he chews on, which I’ve come to learn means he’s thinking.

“All valid points,” he concedes.

I relax, again.

“But we’re not going to learn the answers to any of those things by sitting here either.”

“Milo. No. It’s too risky. And neither of us exactly blends in.”

“But I need that hairbrush to do the spell.” He pouts.

I almost give in. Almost. “Maybe this mission would be safer if we went to the diner where the Target works? See if we can’t get a hair sample that way. Besides, our lunch was interrupted.”

Milo snorts a laugh. “When are you going to tell me?”

I tilt my head as I try to follow the new track his thoughts are now running along. Usually, I can keep up with the rapid leaps and abrupt switches he makes in conversation, but this one has lost me.

“You hate tuna, don’t you?”

Instantly, my face becomes a mask of impassivity while I work out the pitfalls of answering that truthfully.

“It’s okay, you know? I hate asparagus. We all have our thing.” Milo shrugs.

I narrow my eyes in deep suspicion. “This is an Ethel move, isn’t it?”

He sits up a little, and with his best, and sweetest, and most demure expression, asks, “What is?”

“Ye get me to agree to one thing, then pull a bait-and-switch, and next ye know… I’m agreeing to another thing entirely.”

A smile spreads over Milo’s lips. “Is it working?”

“No.”

His smile drops. “But am I right? You don’t like tuna?”

“Aye. I don’t like tuna.”

Lowering his head, he picks at the threads on his jeans. “You could have said; there was cooked chicken in the fridge.”

Inside my chest, my heart clenches painfully. No, not my heart. My stomach—it’s all this talk of tuna.

Milo blows out a long breath, then looks up at me with impossibly wide eyes in a soft and wet shade of grey.

“Don’t…” I warn.

Milo holds it for a two-count. Then he sits fully upright and changes his whole posture to one that’s more alert.

“Fine. But it doesn’t change that I need that hairbrush. Or that you need me to have that hairbrush. Without it, I can’t get back in touch with Sarah, and if I don’t do that, then I can’t ask her what she knows about the Luna del Lupo, or how to defeat Time Guy, or how to get the Colonists out of there.”

My one-handed grip on the steering wheel tightens. I hate that this makes the most sense. That it’s our only lead. Even when the rest of the Dogs come through on Operation Tempo, even when we have Time Guy’s ID, we’ll still need a way to defend the General—and the Romulan Bloodline—against him.

And all of that doesn’t even touch the fact that regardless, Milo won’t let this go. He won’t stop until he’s seen through rescuing Sarah and the Lost Colony—it’s personal to him now. I’ve seen this happen with other soldiers too many times before to not see the same signs in him. But the difference is, Milo is mine to protect.

If he’s going to go anyway… then he’ll be significantly safer if he has my support. Besides, what had I expected by framing this like a mission in the first place? I made it seem exciting—gave it an appeal. Then I drove him out here. Shit.