“What about the shipment?”
His face clouded.
Fuck.
“The teams were in position, but nothing showed.” He sighed. “The other two teams stayed after Laila realized we weren’t responding to our coms. But they must have called it off. The ships you spotted from the room disappeared, and we weren’t able to have air support in time to track them.”
My brows drew down. “But why?”
His eyes met mine. “They were relocated.”
“Daniel?” I asked, stomach sinking.
“Either that or there’s someone else.”
“Fuck.”
A smile. “Yes,” he said then reached up as though he were going to touch my cheek. But then he hesitated. “Okay?”
The beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep on the monitors sped up, betraying the twin feelings coursing through me: panic—would what we’d found in that dark hole still be there, and hope—it had to still be there, right?
Right?
I released a slow breath and nodded.
Dan’s fingers brushed my cheek.
And . . . it was still there.
Warmth filling me at his touch, sparking through my veins, filling my heart with bubbling champagne.
Right before reality set in.
Because really?
Was it possible that the two of us might work out? Or was it more likely the affection in his eyes would fizzle out, that he would find something broken inside me, see the missing parts, and just . . . walk away?
“Release the lines,” he whispered, fingers shifting to rub lightly between my brows. “It’s just you and me and nothing else, okay?”
I made a face. “It’s not that easy.”
“Want me to turn out the lights?”
I giggled. Me. I actually giggled, a light tinkling laugh that I never in a million years would have expected to escape from my lips.
And the effect it had on Dan’s face was incredible.
“God, I love it when you laugh,” he murmured, almost reverently.
Which was more insanity.
Because I was just me. Just Ava, and I hadn’t done anything that would have anyone looking at me like I’d hung the moon or speak to me like I was important. I was a tool, a pawn, an agent who put my body on the line.
Except . . . not anymore.
I wasn’t the little girl who saw the bad in her family and wanted to be like them.
I wasn’t the hurting teenager who finally understood the cost of doing that.
And I wasn’t the terrified woman whose barbed exterior kept everyone at a distance for fear of being looked at too closely and being found lacking.
Better to be found lacking initially.
Or perhaps better yet to not be found at all.
“You found me,” I whispered, not realizing at first that I’d spoken aloud, continuing the conversation in my head until Dan’s hand shifted and cupped my cheek.
“I did,” he said gently. “And I’m not letting you go.”
Somehow, the words didn’t terrify me.
Instead, they filled me with even more warmth. But I was still me. I was still Ava and just because I was maybe coming to the conclusion that I wasn’t so broken or lacking or messed up, I was still me. Sharp and tough and with plenty of attitude.
“I don’t need you to let go,” I said. “I can free myself if I want to.”
Unfortunately, the statement was punctuated with a yawn, my body reminding me that it had been through a huge trauma and I was lucky to be alive.
“True,” Dan said. “But I’m good at taking a beating. So bring it on, sweetheart.”
“Not, sweetheart,” I argued on another yawn.
“Right.” He shifted like he was going to stand. “I’ll let you sleep.”
“Dan?” I asked.
Gentle eyes on mine. “Yeah.”
“Will you turn out the lights?”
Because dark suddenly wasn’t so scary, because being stuck in a small, dimly lit space wasn’t terrifying.
Because of Dan.
He understood what I was saying and nodded before standing up and walking to the door.
The lights flicked off.
Twenty-Five
Northeast England
KTS Headquarters
20:01hrs local time
Dan
“What are you doing?” she exclaimed as I reached the small chair that had become my bed over the last four nights.
I’d just turned off the lights, was getting ready to settle in and watch her sleep—until Olive kicked me out, that was—when Ava’s sharp question reached my ears.
“Letting you sleep,” I said.
“And”—I heard a click, saw the tiny spotlight over her bed turn on—“where are you planning on sleeping?”
I pointed at the chair.
She scowled. “That’s tiny.”
“It’s a chair,” I said. “What size do you expect it to be?”
“You can’t sleep there.”
I lifted a brow. Her scowl grew darker. “I believe that technically I’m the one who decides where I can sleep.”
“This is my room,” she pointed out.
“Is it?” I said, sitting down and letting my legs spread out in front of me.
“Dan.”
“Hmm?” I asked, my eyes closing.
“Dan.”
“Hmm?” I asked again.
“You need to go to your room.”
“I will,” I told her. “When you do.”
She glowered. “Why are you giving me shit when I’m recovering from a gunshot wound, a knife wound, and a broken ankle?”
I grinned. “Because I like you, sweet cheeks.”
“Are you trying to piss me off?”
“Is it working?”
An annoyed sound and I half-expected her to order me to leave. Not that I would. Now that she’d woken up, I wasn’t going anywhere.
“No,” she snapped. “Stop grinning.”
I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing . . . at least until I got beaned by a pillow.
“You’re not funny,” she declared.
“I know,” I said. “But I like fighting with you.”
“Ugh.” She shifted in the bed, and I snatched up the pillow, hurrying over to her when it looked like she was going to attempt to get up. There were all sorts of monitors and tubes still attached to her, and I wasn’t about to mess any of that up. As much as I was arguing, I’d leave before I’d risk her hurting herself.
I would go . . . then just sneak back later.
But when I reached the bed, it wasn’t to find her attempting an escape. Instead, she slid to one side and lifted the edge of the blanket. “Come on then.”
I froze, the pillow in my hands. “What?”
“Get your ass in this bed, so we can both get some sleep.”
“I shouldn’t—”
“You trying to pick a fight?” she asked. “Or are you getting in?”
I tucked the pillow behind her head. “I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart.”
“You’re hurting me by not letting me get some sleep,” she pointed out, not inaccurately.
“You’ll tell me if I hurt you?”