Page 140 of What Remains

“He’s not wrong,” I admit, unwilling to let go of the grace and mercy I feel in the warmth of her hand.

“No, he’s not,” she whispers, as if no one can hear us. “I did make my choice.” She angles her head, her lips parting as she breathes out, “You.”

My gut wrenches, because what did I do to deserve her forgiveness?

Carter’s words punch through the heat, tension, and all the damn things back here when he announces, “We’re here.”

“No cuffs, no interrogation, right?” Wyatt already asked this before we drove away from the airport, but I don’t blame the guy for confirming once more.

Carter unstraps and pivots, resting his forearm across the wheel to look back at us. His gaze cuts to our clasped hands, then back over to Wyatt. “Just think of this as a heavily armed vacation at Sebastian’s property with us watching behind our long guns for any sudden movement.”

“Vacation, right.” Wyatt curses and unbuckles. “My daughter’s face and name will be blasted across all news channels”—he checks his watch—“in two minutes, accusing her of a cybercrime she didn’t commit.” He glares at me like this is all my fault. Hell, maybe it is. “I hardly call that a good fucking time.”

CHAPTER 49

Easton

“Sebastian reinforced the third-floor windows with ballistic glass,” Wyatt says for the third time, like repetition might make it more true and get us all to relax. Him stopping pacing would do more.

I fix the collar of my army-green button-down and ensure the chain I now have around my neck—courtesy of Constantine on the flight here—is tucked beneath my white under shirt and hidden. “RPGs don’t care about glass.”

Wyatt stops short and glares at me, then over at his daughter sitting restlessly on the couch. He stopped wearing out the floor for two seconds, though. A win is a win. “Thank you for that image.”

He switches from stress-walking to spinning the black band on his wrist. A memorial bracelet. His team rotates wearing it in honor of the one they lost. All I see when I look at it? No one is invincible.

“Nothing short of a bunker is perfect,” one of the British operators speaks up, cutting through my thoughts. “But this level does provide you the narrowest approach angles and best fallback control.”

What it doesn’t provide is our preferred exit. Of course, that’s staying our secret for now in case we need to escape the Brits at any point. Fortunately, it’s not looking like they’ll be a problem. We’re being protected, not held in custody.

Not only did POTUS sweet-talk the prime minister into accepting we’re not the real threat, Gideon pulled strings, too. High ones. Like calls to the royal family.

Maybe we should’ve even pressed our luck and asked to keep our phones.

Or course, none of this changes the fact Gwen’s still bait, which means we’re all on edge.

Wyatt checks his watch, then the corridor. Again. “I’m doing an interior sweep. I’ll ask two officers to do a perimeter rotation outside. Be back in ten.” He looks at me, and what the hell is he doing?

I’m fairly certain he’s handing us privacy on purpose after that car ride conversation detonated on the way here. And I don’t know whether to thank him or ask him not to let her out of his sight.

He goes so far as to gesture to the officer by the door and aggressively suggest, “How about you wait in the hall?”

Something tells me this is Gwen’s doing. She had to have made the request when I hit the head a few minutes ago.

The second the door clicks shut behind them both, Gwen hops to her feet.

Yeah, yeah, mission accomplished.

She’s now the one insistently motioning for me to get my ass moving. I follow her to the connecting bedroom, because I’m not the most rational person in the world when it comes to her.

She softly closes the door.

Great, now we just need about thirty more between us and the enemy, not to mention her father.

“What’s up?” I hook my thumbs at the front of my jeans in some lame attempt to act like my heart isn’t pounding at a near-death rhythm, knowing she’s going to drive me crazy somehow. Frustrate me or turn me on. Probably a little of both.

I catch a whiff of her perfume as she closes in on me. Loose strands of her sun-blonde hair frame her face in soft waves, and it takes all my control not to tuck the locks behind her ears. To lean in and kiss the sensitive spot I discovered earlier at the side of her neck.

Her gaze lingers. Observant, not shy. Feels like she’s taking my emotional temperature, gauging not what to say, but how to.