Page 87

“He did, anyway.”

“He’s only one person. A scout?”

“Likely. Didn’t even bother to hide his face, but he left before doing anything. Wants us to know they’re coming.”

“Who, specifically?”

I check my loaded gun before I slide it onto the bedside table. “With any luck? All of them.”

She pulls the blankets back on her side of the bed, gets in, then looks at me until I come around to the other side. The room is quiet. The Irish Sea is somewhere out there in the dark.

Her back is to me, not far, just there.

I don't reach for her. I don't need to.

I close my eyes, and this time, when I sleep, nothing in the dark reaches back.

Chapter Nineteen

VALENTINA

Whatever paracetamol is, it worked. The throbbing in my side has faded to something dull and ignorable, and when I open my eyes, the room is still dark.

Torin's room.

His side of the bed is empty. The blanket he draped over himself at some point during the night is folded neatly over the end of the bed, which means he was up before me and made a point of leaving no trace. Of course he did.

There’s a blanket over me, though, that I don’t remember putting there.

He didn’t wake violently, anyway. I would know.

I lie there for a moment, looking at the ceiling, at the square of gray light beginning to show at the curtain’s edge. His sheets smell like soap and him.

I get up, gather my things, and go back to the guest room.

I try to go back to sleep, but fail. I stare at the wall in a house that isn't mine, in a home that isn't mine, with a family that isn't mine, in a country that isn't even fucking mine, and something in me… breaks.

I have more freedom here than I have had in what must be months at this point. If I could find a phone…

I contemplate walking out to the guards by the gate and bribing one of them to drive me somewhere. I still have money. But they're not loyal to me, and I suspect they'll only call Seamus. Or worse, Torin.

I lie back down and try to sleep again, but I'm starving.

When light finally peeks through the window, my eyes feel gritty, and my stomach is making its case loudly. It’s a welcome feeling.

I throw off the covers and get to my feet, then pull on yesterday’s clothes.

I glance at the clock. 6:22 a.m.

I wonder when people get up around here.

I don't sneak around like I did last night. I walk right into the hallway and straight into the back of someone in a uniform.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“Leaving… my room,” I stammer. “Who are you?”

“The bodyguard assigned to you by Mr. McCarthy.”