The two long tables were empty, but One-Eyed Bob was at the prep station next to the industrial oven.
He turned around as Greyson came in. “Hey, mate.” His smile faded as he studied Greyson’s face. “What’s wrong?”
Greyson glared out the door toward the stairs. “I’ll be fine. Just need to finish this job and get my share of the money. The sooner the better.”
Bob poured some fresh kettle chips onto a plate, dusted them with salt, and brought them over to Greyson. “Ready to put Aura behind you?”
“I know what yer up to, ye salty old bastard.” Greyson rolled his eyes and took a bite of a crunchy chip.
It was still warm and fucking delicious. It didn’t solve anything, but Bob’s food was a bright spot in a hurricane of shit.
Greyson grabbed another chip, pointing it at the one-eyed pirate across from him. “Don’t plant any of your matchmaking seeds in my head. I’ve got enough problems without giving her any more rope to hang me with. I didn’t escape one noose to end up in another.”
“I’m not planting anything.” Bob popped a chip into his mouth with a shrug. “I’m a cook, not a farmer.” He swallowed and added, “I’m here if you need an ear to listen, though.”
Greyson shook his head, taking another handful of chips. “Nothing to say. She drank from the cup, and she’s doing her job. We’ll get the sword. She’ll lock it up, and I’ll never see her again.”
The thought of never seeing her again hobbled him, and saying the words out loud gutted him. How had she gotten under his skin? She’d entered his life like an angry gale-force wind and somehow had become the air he needed to breathe.
Bob shrugged, munching another chip before dusting the remainder with more salt. “Seems to me in this age of computers and cars and planes, it wouldn’t be tough to see her again. If ye wanted to, of course.”
Greyson glared at Bob. “Not so simple. She’s married to her job. I’d only be in the way.”
Bob adjusted his eye patch with a smirk. “She probably worked really hard to get where she is. Maybe she’s scared she’ll lose it.”
Greyson frowned. “I’d never make her choose. She knows that. I said as much.” Or at least he thought he had. “Doesn’t matter. She doesn’t love me anyway.”
He hadn’t meant to allow that last bit out. He jammed another chip into his mouth before more feelings spilled out. What was happening to him? Fucking heart.
“Did she tell you that?” Bob reached across the table, giving Greyson’s arm a swat. “What better way to keep her life in order, right? Now you won’t go making her life messy. Smart lady.”
Greyson’s brow furrowed. “What the fuck are ye talking about?”
“Have ye ever talked to Aura about her life?” He shook his head. “I have. She doesn’t have one, mate. Her work is her life. It’s who she is, or who she thinks she is, at any rate. You can see it in her eyes when we’re all in the galley for meals. She’s an outsider looking in, but she wants to come inside, Greyson. She’s afraid to ask or even dare to wish that she could have what you have.” He shrugged. “Much easier to push you away than risk being rejected.”
“No.” Greyson frowned. “She rejected me, mate. I put my feelings out there. She’s the one who said she didn’t love me.”
Bob sobered, leaning in closer. “Did she speak those words?”
Did she? Greyson tried to replay it in his head. “Maybe not those exact words.” Shit. Was Bob right? “She said she didn’t know how to make a relationship work. She wanted to be sure I understood she wasn’t drinking from the cup so we could be together.”
Saying the words out loud shone a new light on Bob’s theory.
“Doesn’t sound like she doesn’t have feelings for you, mate. Sounds more like she doesn’t know what to do with them.” The cook took another chip and stood up. “I’ve got more food to cook. I could use an extra set of hands.”
Greyson followed him deeper into the galley, struggling to find some balance between the sting of her rejection and the hope that maybe Bob could be right.
Chapter Twenty-Three
David stared at the digital scan of a centuries-old map on his laptop and glanced over at Kingsley on the tablet. “You’re sure this is the one Flynn wants?”
Kingsley nodded. “Appears so.”
“Why would he want the location of the Fountain of Youth? He already drank from the Holy Grail.” David shook his head, staring out at the clouds outside the jet. “Why would he need this, too?”
“Double immortality, sir?” Kingsley’s clipped English accent made the sarcasm even thicker.
“I don’t know what he’s up to, but I don’t see how it could put anyone in jeopardy if we gave him this digital image.” David glanced his way. “Are there any notations in the file about the accuracy of this map?”
King clicked a few keys and pulled up a scan of handwritten notes. “The last notations are from 1879. The area was searched, but they didn’t find a fountain or spring of water on the island. Either the map is fiction or the agents misread it. Impossible to tell at this point.”
Even if it turned out to be real, what harm would it do if Flynn ran off in search of the Fountain of Youth?
“All right. Send it to my phone, and I’ll text it over to Flynn.”
“Good luck in Glasgow, sir.”
David ended the call and checked the time. He was halfway there. He just needed to hold Aura off from facing the demon for a few more hours. His phone dinged, and he downloaded King’s scan of the map. He sent the text to Ian Flynn and followed it up with one more.
Don’t let Agent Henderson leave the Sea Dog until I get there.
His phone rang before he could set it back down. “This is Bale.”
“It’s Agent Henderson.”
He leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “I’m almost there. We land in three hours. Wait for me.”
“You don’t need to come. The sword can’t hurt me.”
He frowned and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “What are you talking about?”
“I took a drink from the Grail.”
He blinked, speechless for a moment. “That’s a big step.”
“Yeah.” She paused. “My commitment to the department hasn’t wavered, sir.”
“Good. My orders still stand.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’ll wait for me. Then we’ll retrieve the Tyrfing.”