“We got our girl, that’s all that matters.”
“I guess my injuries were enough to convince them that I’m not one of the bad guys?”
“Something like that. You’ll be interested to know that Trevor was transferred to a secret maximum-security location. As far as the Benefactors know, she’s gone missing.”
“What about her crew?”
“Along with jamming transmissions from 1532 back to our time, we jammed her transmissions to her ship. They believe she died at the grist mill.”
“Are we sure the LensCam transmissions from those two days were scrambled enough to keep the Benefactors in the dark about what really happened?”
“There’s no way to be one-hundred-percent certain, of course. But the chatter we’ve heard leans in that direction. They currently believe Trevor is MIA.” He rocks back on his heels. “They will, of course, have questions for you about the incident. Our hope is that they’ll approach you sooner rather than later with a recruitment offer.”
Bile backs up into my throat as Carter’s earlier words echo in my head: Everything’s special about you: you’re clever and skilled enough to get the job done and emotional enough to go off half-cocked and step over that ethical line if it meant saving your family.
“What does the chatter say?” Nico asks.
Carter wags a finger at us. “Most of the answer to that very broad question is classified. Upshot is: It’s been fairly quiet since we got home. If it were imminent, as in the next few days, we’d give you a heads-up. Get some surveillance set up at your place to catch ingoing and outgoing transmissions. Trevor notwithstanding, the Benefactors are not usually careless or stupid. They’ll find an unconventional way to contact to avoid getting on our radar.” His posture changes and he herds us toward the door. “Enough soul-baring. You want to know more than that, talk my boss into giving you his job and the security clearance that goes with it. Bottom line is this: You just be ready to go when we call out the next mission. You tell us the second any Benefactor—or one of their Consiglieres—tries to recruit you. For now, get the fuck outta here. I’m going back to bed.”
When we return to my apartment, Nico cooks breakfast. Eggs. Bacon. Pancakes. Fresh New Orleans Style coffee. I swallow without tasting; my mind is stuck on Fagin.
Nico runs his fingers over the section of my hair that hides the bald patch, the spot where the doctors shaved so they could stitch up my head wound. Beneath the gauze patch, the stitches are almost gone.
“There’s gonna be a scar,” I say, brushing his hand away in a sudden swell of self-consciousness. “Good thing my hair will hide it.”
Nico tilts his head and considers me with a cock-eyed smile. “Scars are sexy.” He leans forward and kisses my forehead.
“Fagin said ’I love you.’” I fiddle with a piece of bacon, trying to focus my swirling thoughts.
“Yeah. Guess she wanted you to know. I mean, after the wringer we’ve all been through, it’s good to say what you’re feeling, right?”
“Guess when she said those words to me for the first time,”
He shrugs. “Haven’t a clue. After she brought you to the future, maybe? On your birthday? My madre use to say ‘I love you’ a hundred times on every birthday. She said it brought good luck.”
“Today,” I drop the bacon back onto the plate and brush the crumbs from my hands. “The first time Fagin ever said that she loves me was on that call.”
Nico nods in understanding and places a warm, comforting hand over mine. “I’m sorry,” he says.
“Don’t be sorry. Be worried. She could have said those words at any time, especially in the two weeks we’ve been home. But, she chose to say it for the first time as she leaves on some super-secret mission? She’s still scared and this whole situation stinks to high heaven.”
Nico moves to stand next to me, leaning his athletic frame against the solid surface of the counter, one foot perched on the bottom ring of my stool. “Carter’s not going to give us any more information. We don’t have a tracer on Fagin and she’s not answering her phone. All we can do is wait.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, waiting isn’t exactly my best skill.”
“Good thing you don’t have to wait by yourself.” He leans in for a kiss.
It’s sweet and soft and I wish I could forget everything but this.
I wish.
I pull back and look him in the eyes. “Nico, I’m not so sure this is a good idea. After Fagin’s call, and everything coming at us in the next God-knows-how-long, being together could make us vulnerable. People have a way to hurt us.”
He nods. “They had a way to hurt us before. Carter figured that one out when he used us as leverage against each other to seal this deal-with-the-devil crap. It’s too late, Dodger. They know we’re a thing.” He moves closer, snakes his fingers gently into my hair and rests his forehead against mine. “If you’re gonna pull this ’I’m no good for you, you have to stay away from me’ bullshit, it’s going to annoy the hell out of me. So just don’t, okay?”
Pulling him closer, I breathe him in: He smells more of delicious morning sex than bacon and coffee. Maybe it’s because I want that scent, need that scent. Maybe it’s because I know he’s right.
“The way I see it,” he continues, “we’ve got two choices until Fagin gets back: Let the bastards divide and weaken us or stick together and get stronger so they can’t break us. You’re not stupid, Dodger. Neither am I.” He pulls me off the bar stool, kisses my forehead. “I know which one I choose.” He kisses my eyelids and my cheeks. Finally, tilting my chin up, he kisses my lips. “Maybe pick a side?”
He gives me a wink—damn him—and heads for the bedroom, stripping off his clothing as he goes. By the time he reaches the
