“What’s the one thing?”
“Nuh-uh, that’s not how this works.” He grabbed the last piece of tape from the collection she’d assembled and added it to her back.
“Fine. One thing. As long as it doesn’t involve harming anyone in any way.”
“Deal.” Done with the bandaging, he readjusted her tank, shucked his gloves, and moved the metal cart out of the way.
She shoved her arm back into her sleeve and turned to face him.
“Your questions in order,” he said, getting right to it. “Are you safe here? Believe me when I say, you’ve never been safer in your life. Not only did Jay die and come back for you—there isn’t a person in this house who wouldn’t do the same. We trust him, and he trusts you, so that makes you one of us, period.
Question number two. Are we the good guys or the bad guys? Honestly, that’s a tough one. I guess you could say we’re both. We’re trying to stop a group of international terrorists from taking over the world by fighting for those who can’t fight for themselves. Right or wrong—good or bad—people have died because of the choices we’ve made. We have to live with that knowledge and come to terms with it every single day.
Third. Do I know who Adam really is? Yes. Whether he goes by Sam Black or not, he’s not who you think he is. And if it makes any difference to you at all, if something ever happened to me, and I wasn’t around to protect my wife and daughter, he’s the person I would trust the most with their lives.”
“But what if you’re wrong, and I’m not one of you? What if I decide I want to leave? Or what if I’m the bad guy, and a danger to your family? What happens then?”
“We need your help, Becca, but we won’t ever force you to give it. If you want to leave, you leave. As to being the bad guy, I already know you’re not, but sure, let’s play devil’s advocate. If you pose a threat to any one of us, including my family, you won’t have a choice in the matter, you’ll be asked to leave. But make no mistake, voluntary departure or not, Jay won’t let you go without him. So if you go, he goes, and if that happens, we’re all fucked.”
“But how do you know I’m not a threat?”
“We’ve all done things that land us in a morally gray zone, but you said so yourself—as long as it doesn’t involve harming anyone in any way. No matter what you’ve done to survive to this point, you’re not a bad person. Stinky? Yes. Bad? No.” He stood and waited for her to do the same.
“Jeez. Could you be a little less honest?” She pushed to her feet, and because she believed every word he’d said, she lifted her chin and looked him in the eyes. “Food first. Shower second. Deal?”
He grinned down at her. “Deal.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“It’s through here,” Jamie said.
Tired, hungry, and more than a little curious about her surroundings, Becca followed him down a short hall before they entered the kitchen.
“Wow.” Stunned by the sheer size of the space, she stopped dead in front of a closed door. She couldn’t help herself. She hadn’t been in a place this nice in…maybe forever?
Rustic chic combined with modern elegance; the kitchen looked like one of those designer jobs from a magazine. Huge island topped with marbled granite. Massive wood table. Sleek and shiny industrial appliances—she had no clue how to use.
And the tummy-tempting smells rising to the wooden beams above? Holy God in heaven. She wanted to dunk her entire head in whatever simmered in the large pot on the eight-burner stove.
But for all its beauty, the room also had a lived-in quality. A bowl of fruit on the back counter next to a stainless-steel coffee maker. A couple of dishes in the sink. A pile of folded laundry on the table. A pink baby blanket decorated with sleeping monkeys draped over the back of a chair.
One glance around, and it was easy to see a family lived here. Gathered in this room. Ate their meals together. Not hard to imagine, except these people were Kevlar-wearing, gun-toting soldiers. How did that work? Did they wage war from nine to noon and then break for lunch with the fam jam?
From what she’d seen on her short journey to the main floor, the building they occupied appeared to be more luxury hotel than evil mastermind headquarters. Super weird, but also, oddly reassuring. Or maybe she was just picking up on Jamie’s easy-going vibe.
“Okay, here’s where I leave you.” He rapped his knuckles against the door, and after a terse invite to come in, he swung it inward to reveal a cluttered office stuffed full of stacked boxes, piled folders, and one body, currently bent over the second-to-last drawer of a tall file cabinet.
In contrast to the kitchen, the entire office looked like a paper bomb had gone off, but the damage had been contained to this one room, and she would’ve laughed at the look of suffering on Adam’s face if her insides hadn’t automatically inverted at the sight of him.
Shit. Shit. Shit! She should’ve stayed downstairs with Jay. Insisted she needed sleep instead of food. Did she trust Jamie? Yes. Call it instinct, intuition, a sixth sense. Didn’t matter. She felt safe with him around.
This Adam guy?—
“Jesus Christ,” he grumbled, pulling out a thick folder before slamming the drawer shut. “Why is shit always in the last place you look?”
Jamie huffed, and crossing his arms, he leaned his shoulder against the jamb. “Because by nature of finding the shit you’re looking for, its location is the last place you looked.”
Adam straightened and pointed the folder at Jamie’s chest. “Not super helpful, asshole. How’s Jay?”
