Spy Games (Tarnished Heroes #1)(35)

She wiped her mouth on a napkin, still glaring at him. “I don’t know.” She tried to pull out of his hold, but he didn’t let her go.

“Let’s talk about last night.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re right. We need to. We’re going to be cooped up together for days, maybe weeks, and we need to be able to trust each other.” He offered her another strawberry as a peace offering.

“We’re fine.”

“No, we aren’t.”

“Sure we are.”

“Then look me in the eye and tell me we’re fine.” He leaned forward.

“Rand, what do you want me to say? That I’m not hurt you picked up and left us? That I’m not angry that you abandoned Matt and me? That I don’t want to strangle you every now and then?”

He nodded. Each question was a direct hit. He’d made a lot of shitty choices over his life, and though a week ago he would have said they couldn’t be fixed, now he wasn’t so sure. For one, Sarah had kissed him. She’d turned to him for…whatever they were calling it. Comfort. Protection. She wanted or trusted him, at this point he’d take either, because where one was, the other could follow.

“I always thought I was doing the right thing, but maybe you’re right. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do. I just thought I was the last person you, Matt, or your family would want to see. Then I landed my contractor job and…just kept going.” He let his gaze drift over her shoulder to the table at her back. “They’re back, and looks like they’re placing their order.”

“Right now ?”

“There’s a new guy in the group. He’s talking to the waitress for everyone.”

Sarah tilted her head to the side and tucked her hair behind her ear. Her brow furrowed.

“Is that guy—”

“Shh.” She took the strawberry from him and bit into it.

Rand followed her lead, picking at the food.

“About last night? And before?” Sarah squeezed his hand, then pulled away. Here goes… He wiped his palms off on his jeans. “We wanted to. What that means…I don’t know. I don’t know what I want or where anything is going. I still think making decisions right now, under this much stress, is a bad idea.”

The knot of tension in his stomach eased. That wasn’t the go-fuck-yourself answer he’d halfway expected. She wasn’t writing him off, she wasn’t turning her back on him; she just wanted to wait and see.

He hated those nebulous non-decisions, but he could also appreciate the wisdom of it. Movement in the hall leading toward the restrooms caught his eye. “Seven o’clock,” Rand whispered.

Sarah squinted at him.

“Ms. Collins?” The young Chinese man who’d spoken for the table gently pressed his fingers to Sarah’s arm.

She started, nearly knocking her water glass over. “Oh, my gosh.” She chuckled, hand pressed to her chest.

“I am so sorry.” The young man recoiled.

“No, no. Mister…?”

“Li Qiang.”

She twisted in her seat, smiling and effervescent. The words coming out of her mouth were no longer English. Rand didn’t stand a prayer of keeping up with them, so he busied himself splitting the food, watching the young man’s body language.

His posture was stiff, as though he were making an effort to appear at ease. The smile was at least genuine, so maybe Sarah could use the connection to their benefit. She gestured to Rand, a warm smile on her face, but didn’t change to include him in the conversation.

He’d hoped Sarah would be familiar with the delegation, not be on a first-name basis with them. Still, it was a detail Rand trusted Hector to have factored in. Maybe this was their ticket into the suite and closer to the briefcase.

…

Mitch stalked down the hall.

The damn camp was a warren of hallways and rooms. Where the fuck was he? He’d been here a handful of times and never could tell what direction he was facing in the place.

Charlie was still radio silent. The body of whoever had been killed in that alley would arrive later today. The first thing the medical examiner would do would be to match dental records to those on file. Mitch had to stop that from happening. There was no way the records they had would match the body—much less the real Charlie.

Mitch was beginning to suspect that he’d been played. Why else would Charlie beg him to change the records, then fake his death?

A man stepped out into the hall, a suitcase behind him.

“Hector,” Mitch roared.

The man started and turned. Everyone took Hector for a nice guy, but the slow smile and cheerful disposition were an act. Under all of that, Hector was a heartless bastard who would sacrifice his people in the field if it meant getting ahead. It was why he’d been transferred over to handling their contractors instead of their direct operatives.

In the scheme of things, management wasn’t as concerned about the death of contractors.

“Morning, Mitch.” Hector sipped his coffee.

“Where are they?” Mitch leaned in close enough to see the redness in Hector’s eyes.

“Who?”

“You know goddamn well who I’m talking about. You sent them out last night, didn’t you?”

“I made a judgment call, is all.” Hector shrugged.