As it turned out, finding someone to help me with the blow dryer was the easy part. The Costas mansion and compound was crawling with people. No telling how many souls worked and lived here in the shadow of Sean Costas and the shifter empire he’d built, along with his various business enterprises. Forgetting my reaction to Carter was much harder. Even with the blow dryer in my hand I was reluctant to return to his room and face him, but returning was the only way to hide the fact that I was affected by him. If I fled, he might guess the reason why, so I went back.
I have to admit I was uncertain what to expect when I reentered the room, but Carter was simply sitting there on the bed, eating breakfast and watching TV as if nothing had ever happened. Maybe it hadn’t, to him. Maybe I was being an idiot and overthinking the whole thing.
He glanced up from the screen as I entered and closed the door behind me.
“Find what you were looking for?”
I held up the blow dryer.
“Yep. Easy enough.”
“I knew someone would help you out.”
He didn’t say anything else, just stuck a forkful of eggs in his mouth, so I took advantage of the lull to scoot myself into the bathroom and take care of my hair. There were a couple of hair products I could have used, but I didn’t see any on the counter and my hasty search earlier of the bathroom cabinets hadn’t revealed anything helpful. I figured I’d take care of it later, since I didn’t want to go hunt someone down and ask for help again. I hated feeling like I was imposing on people. Carter was so used to life in the mansion that he didn’t seem to think anything about telling people what to do or requesting whatever he wanted. Despite Mr. Costas making it clear he considered me a part of the family, I wasn’t comfortable with it. I still felt over my head here, and way out of my league. I wondered briefly if that would ever change, but decided it didn’t matter.
Not like I’m going to be here that long anyway, I told myself as I finished with my hair, wrapped the cord around the dryer handle, and stashed it under the sink.
When I emerged from the bathroom, Carter picked up the remote to turn down the volume on the television.
“Ready to eat now?”
“Yes, thank you.”
I went to fix myself a plate. As if he’d somehow read my mind or decoded my thoughts, he said, “I had a call while you were doing your hair. Your family’s relocation is going well.”
I looked up from spearing a pancake.
“My parents cooperated?”
“I don’t know how cooperative they were. They didn’t like it. Word is they kept asking where you were and demanding to talk to you. Sean’s people had to promise you’d call them later today; let them know you’re okay.”
“Oh boy. That’s a conversation I don’t want to have.”
I took a seat in the arm chair closest to him, balancing my plate in my lap.
“Do you know what you’re going to do now that I’m back here?” Carter asked. “You know you don’t have to stay. I’m safe now.”
I swallowed a sip of the hot tea I’d laced with honey.
“I don’t know. I mean, I need to go back to my family at some point, obviously. I just— I guess I’m not in a big hurry to face the music.”
A minute ago I’d been starving, but now, as I stared down at the food on my plate, it had become utterly unappetizing. The thought of facing my parents and brothers again after forcing them into another mysterious relocation made my stomach hurt. How were they going to take it? They’d forgiven me once, but just as we’d been settling into our new lives there in Washington, here came Carter, bringing his world with him, and ultimately forcing us into another dramatic change.
Not that I was putting all the blame on him. It wasn’t his fault Joab wanted the money for the bounty Nosizwe had apparently placed on Carter’s head. Wasn’t his fault I’d had to fight and maybe kill Joab’s ally in the hospital. It was what it was. Unfortunately, for my family it meant a world of secrets I couldn’t divulge and that they had to suffer for. At this point, I felt reluctant even to call them, much less see them. I didn’t have a choice, though. I didn’t want them thinking I’d been kidnapped or was in danger.
Perhaps I’d been staring down at my plate too long. I heard Carter say, “I’m sorry, Ellie,” which prompted me to look up.
I sighed. “It’s not your fault. In the end, whatever you or I do or don’t do, it all goes back to me saving Jackson, doesn’t it? And there’s no way I can take that back. So…” I let the sentence dangle, shrugged. “It’ll be okay. Not like they’re going to disown me.”
I was thankful he let the subject drop and returned his attention to the television. Picking up my fork, I started eating, knowing I needed to even if I didn’t exactly want to. My mind was spinning, trying to determine what and how much to tell my family, when a news anchor’s statement about a, “Shockingly brutal murder,” caught my attention. Carter was riveted on the story, and I immediately knew why.
The anchor was discussing how Fort Worth had been stunned by the news of a body found, split from neck to naval, in a warehouse district. The police were working the case—the camera panned to a crime scene, roped off by yellow tape—but reported no leads or suspects at this time. The victim had been identified as twenty-five year old Ricardo Gomez from Columbia, and speculation soared as to whether this heinous crime could possibly be tied to the cartel.
“Stay tuned to Channel 8 for further developments on this breaking story,” the news anchor said before the station cut to commercials.
Carter swore, picked up the remote, and turned off the TV.
I set my plate aside on the night stand and picked up my mug of tea, really more to warm my hands than to drink. Carter’s face was drawn into an absolute glower, leaving me at a loss as to whether I should break the silence. I felt awful. Despite his sometimes callous attitude towards killing and what I might consider crime—or activities definitely outside the law—I’d been around him enough to sense he cared about the people he worked with. Clearly, he didn’t like it that one of his own had been brutalized like this. I wondered if he might even feel somewhat responsible: like, if he hadn’t been in Washington with me, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.
I figured he did, especially when he muttered, “She’s going to pay for this. Someone’s going to die.”
I guess the look I gave him must have shown my surprise. He caught it and snarled, “Don’t say anything. I don’t want to hear it. It’s all there in your Book, isn’t it? Eye for an eye, and all that stuff?”
“That was talking about civil authorities punishing wrongdoers, not personal vengeance,” I replied, purposefully keeping my tones mild.
It didn’t help.
“Civil authorities, my foot. They don’t care about us. They won’t do anything.”
“I’m sure they would, if they knew about you.”
He snorted derisively.
“Keep telling yourself that. You’re not a shifter. You’ve never had to live in the shadows.”
“Maybe. Maybe that’s true,” I conceded, twisting the mug around and around in my palms, thinking, trying to say the right thing. “But I also know all of this attacking and killing each other isn’t doing anybody any good. How does this war between Mr. Costas and Nosizwe ultimately help shifters? Wouldn’t it be better to find a truce, based on common ground, instead of slaughtering each other?”