Page 11 of Dagger’s Shield

Her head cocked. “Where else would I stay?”

“Fair enough.”

We walked the rest of the way in silence. When we arrived at her door, I waited while she took the key from her pocket and unlocked it.

“Will you be all right?” I asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

I’d had enough of her unwillingness to give an inch, particularly given the circumstances of our investigation. “I don’t know, perhaps seeing your father in those photographs might rattle you a bit.”

She spun around without opening the door. “Who in the hell are you to judge me?” she snapped.

Her accent was pronounced anyway, but when angry, it became more so. Th came out sounding more like Z. I got it, though. It was easier to be angry with me than with a man on the other side of the globe.

I sighed. “If you decide you need anything, I’m right next door.”

She put her hand on her hip. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt any dalliances you might intend to have.”

Rather than walk away, I reached around her and pushed the door open. “Go inside. Now.”

“You are not the boss of me—” When she tried to go in the opposite direction, I grabbed her wrist.

“That is enough, Maëlle.” I pushed past her before she could stop me. “I know this is disconcerting, but I am not the bad guy.” I lowered my voice before continuing but kept my hold on her wrist. “I’m on your side.”

“You need to leave.”

“No. I won’t until we talk this out. We’re partners on an investigation that should mean as much to you as it does to everyone else at this camp. I understand you being unwilling to share your personal feelings, but I insist we discuss this on a professional level.”

“Tomorrow,” she whispered, wrapping both arms around her waist when I released her. It was a tell she had no idea she had, and the last thing I’d do would be to make her aware of it. When Givre was in pain, whether physical or emotional, she hugged herself. It was simple, natural, and instinctual.

“Come here,” I said, grabbing her upper arms and pulling her against me. Rather than fight against my embrace, she leaned in and rested her head on my chest.

I wrapped one arm around her to keep her close, and stroked her hair with my opposite hand. “We’ll figure this out. You and me. Together.”

Since she made no attempt to step away, I didn’t either. Eventually, she raised her head and looked up at me.

“I should have thought to have whiskey.”

I chuckled, remembering hearing that, while most people assumed the French drank mostly wine or cognac, they actually consumed more whiskey per capita than any other country.

Unable to stop myself, I cupped her cheek. “I know where we can get some.”

“Let me guess. Your⁠—”

I slid my hand from her cheek to her mouth. “Be nice, or I won’t tell you.”

“Dagger, please do not do this. Not now.”

“I’m unsure what you think I’m doing, but I’m happy to spell it out for you. We’ll go next door, I’ll pour you a whiskey, and we’ll talk. I’ll even give you the bottle to bring over here with you if you’d like.” I put my hands on her shoulders. “I have no other agenda or ulterior motive. Is that clear?”

I anticipated another disparaging comment, but it didn’t come. Instead, when I held my hand out, she took it.

Inside my camp, I poured two glasses, set the bottle on the table between us, and waited for her to sit before I took the chair across from her.

She downed the first shot in one swallow and slid the empty glass over to me. I poured a second without comment.

“My father and I are not close,” she said.