Too Hard to Handle (Black Knights Inc. #8)(67)

“What makes you say that? Do you read minds? Is there a crystal ball hidden somewhere in your giant purse?”

“She didn’t know he was an alcoholic,” she said, ignoring the jab at her satchel. “So I suspect she doesn’t know he’s a widower.”

“Why would one have anything to do with the other?” he asked, frowning. “Dan’s ashamed of being an alcoholic. So maybe that’s why he kept it from her. There’s nothing shameful about being a widower.”

“Not shameful,” she said, her brow wrinkled in thought. “But…I don’t know. I think Penni would act differently if she knew.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. I just think loving a widower would be hard to handle. Not knowing if you were second best. Not knowing if—”

“You think she loves him?” he cut her off.

“Yeah, maybe,” she allowed. “Did he…love her, do you think?” she asked. “His wife, I mean.”

Zoelner blew out an exasperated sigh. “Where are you going with this? And how can I make sure to go the opposite way?”

“It’s not like I’m sticking my nose is someone else’s rose here, but—”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said.

“I keep thinking about her,” she continued as if he hadn’t interrupted. “I keep thinking about her and about Dan and about Penni.” She turned to blink at him.

“Your words form a statement, but your face forms a question,” he grumbled. His usually stoic expression was anything but. He actually appeared discombobulated. Imagine that. Dagan Zoelner feeling awkward. It was such a novelty she knew she just had to keep pressing.

“My question is, do you think Dan loved his wife?”

“Yes,” he ground out. “I think he loved her. And I know her death nearly killed him.”

“Mmm. The drinking?”

“Yes, the drinking,” Z confirmed.

“I figured as much,” she said a little sadly. That a man such as Dan, a loyal man, a courageous man, a good man could be brought so low…it didn’t bear dwelling on. Yet, dwell she did until the silence in the cockpit grew, until the hum of the engines seemed to fill the space inside the plane and all emptiness inside her chest. “You have to be really brave,” she finally said, almost to herself.

“What do you mean?”

“To be in love. Knowing that something terrible can happen and your heart can get smashed into a million tiny pieces. Knowing that you’re giving someone that kind of power over you. Knowing that you have that kind of power over another.”

For a few seconds, Z said nothing. Then he admitted, “I…think you’re right.” He waited a beat before adding, “You do have to be brave. Braver than I’ve ever been.”

She searched his face and wondered why she should feel both thrilled and saddened by the knowledge that he’d never been in love.

“Me too,” she murmured, swallowing and glancing out the window. A million stars dotted the black fabric of the sky overhead. A soft bed of clouds spread out like a quilt below them. “And to experience that kind of heartbreak and then have the courage and fearlessness to open yourself up to it again…” She trailed off. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was she wanted to say. Whatever it was, it felt big. Too big to put into words. So she ended with, “I really admire Dan. I think he might be the bravest man I’ve ever met.”

When she turned, she saw that for the first time ever Z’s eyes weren’t piercing. They were soft. Liquid. Like mercury, only warmer. “I know you’re right about that,” he said.

And then they simply stared at one another. Their eyes searching. Their hearts beating. Their breaths mingling in the small space. Chelsea wondered what was going on inside his head, wondered if he could guess what was going on inside hers. And for a while she thought perhaps it was possible for them to—

“So what did Morales have to say when you talked to him?” He turned away to fiddle with one of the digital displays, and whatever magic there had been in the moment was obliterated. Just…gone.

She mourned its loss. And for a couple of seconds she could form no words around the sudden lump in her throat. It was only an apparition anyway, right? That brief second of communion, of shared understanding was only real in my head, right? Running fingers through her hair—Ow! It was a mess. The rain had really done a number on it—she was happy her voice was steady when she finally said, “Not a lot. I asked him if he could pull some strings to compensate the owner of that van we demolished. I have no idea if there’s such a thing as theft insurance in Cusco.”

He snorted.

“What?” she asked.

“Only you would worry about the smelly van guy when you’re in the middle of bringing in the most traitorous agent the CIA has ever trained.”

She twisted her lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

Wha—? She reached over and put her hand against his forehead. He went completely still beneath her touch. She noticed how warm and smooth his skin was in contrast to the few strands of cool hair that had fallen over his brow.

“Chels,” he said, his voice low and strangely husky. “What…uh…” When he swallowed, the sound seemed particularly loud inside the little cockpit. “What’re you doing?”