Martin let out a shaky breath, visibly struggling to calm himself, but stepped back.
With one more glance at the stack on the desk—and the corner of the map that peeked from under the top sheet—Peter got up from his chair. Martin was the same height as his son, which meant Peter had a couple of inches on him. He made the most of them, his face a hand’s breadth from Martin’s, something he knew Marco hated, and glowered at the Black Eagle.
“I will inform you of any updates that I think you should know about,” Peter said. In his pocket, he speed-dialed one of the phones left in his bedroom. “For now, there’s nothing more I can do for you.”
Their staring contest continued for a few more seconds, until the phone rang in his room.
“Excuse me,” Peter muttered. His spine tingled as he turned around. He wouldn’t put it past Martin to stab him in the back, at least in his current mood, but the man stayed where he was as Peter slipped through the door and into his living room.
He shut the door and passed a hand over his face, cursing. He’d had the perfect excuse to be an asshole to the man, but still, it didn’t sit right with him. There had been something in Martin’s eyes, and even though the plan had already been set in motion, Peter wondered if he was wrong about it all. Once again, Luke’s voice sounded in his head—I thought your job was to keep them alive.
The phone stopped ringing. Peter crossed his arms and turned to look at the small screen mounted on the wall not far from the door. It showed two feeds, one from the camera in the waiting room, and the other from the office. It’s the right thing to do, he told himself as he watched Martin crane his neck forward and peer at the papers on the table. Because even if Peter’s bizarre guess about Martin working with the Commandos was wrong, giving away their biggest lead like that wouldn’t be completely pointless. He glanced at Luke at his desk in the waiting room, wondering what he’d say about this.
Martin didn’t waste a moment, stepping closer and moving the top sheet aside to see the map. He tilted his head, frowning as his eyes scanned the paper. Quickly, he leafed through the stack and put the papers back in place. Peter just hoped that the man was too angry to stop and think. To realize something that would’ve been obvious to him any other day—that Peter had been at this job for too damn long to be so careless.
When Peter opened the door, Martin was already gone.
Chapter 20
Dave didn’t know how much time had passed and when exactly he had gone from sitting and thinking to sitting and staring at the wall, lost in the nothingness inside him. This blank state of mind was beginning to feel natural, like it was the only state he had ever known, and his old emotions, reactions, and ambitions had been just an illusion. Now, there was only apathy—empty, numb, and all-consuming.
And that thing. That strange new feeling, quieter now, the only relief in his current condition.
A knock at the door tore him out of his stupor. “Come in,” he said, kicking his travel bag under the bed. He didn’t feel like unpacking anyway. He didn’t feel like anything.
“Where’s your friend?” Albert asked from the doorway in his grumpy manner. He was dressed as if he were heading out, wearing a brown leather jacket over a shirt and worn-out jeans.
Dave cleared his throat. “In the bathroom.”
Albert nodded, looking over the room. “You mind skipping dinner?”
“Not at all.” He was relieved, in fact. The mere idea of eating made him nauseous.
“Grab your jacket, then,” Albert said, waving him forward. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Dave did as the old man asked, halting only to scribble a quick note on a pad he found on the nightstand: Out w/Albert. Last thing he wanted was for Chad to lose his temper again when he didn’t find Dave anywhere in the house.
He zoned out the moment they stepped through the front doors. Feeling like no more than a floating head, his limbs distant and strangely light, he followed Albert out of the courtyard. The old man didn’t care to fill the silence between them, and some part of Dave was grateful, so tired of everyone tiptoeing around him. Too much effort was being spent on replying to their constant questions. Questions that required caring about mundane matters that just didn’t exist for him anymore.
He snapped back to reality at the sound of Albert’s voice. “Hey, I’m talking to you, young man.”
Dave blinked, seeing that they were up on a hill that overlooked the ocean and a small private beach below. “What?” he asked, dumbfounded. The old man must’ve been talking for a while now.
“I said, Peter told me what happened over the phone. You don’t have to explain anything.” Albert raised his voice as if Dave had trouble hearing him, which he guessed was somewhat true. “Now, quit staring at me like a wounded puppy and sit down.”
He plopped right onto the grass, staring up at Dave with irritation. It was a strange place to sit, but Dave didn’t particularly care. He bent to touch the dry grass and sat beside Albert.
“This is my favorite spot in all of America,” Albert admitted, looking at the ocean. “There’s the sky, the ocean, and not a damn soul nearby. No one here to tell me that I can’t live like a hermit. They all stopped trying a
