Page 102 of Talk to Me
“No, I’m acting like I need coffee and you jackasses are too busy wondering if I’m dipping my dick to worry about whether you have a right to ask that question. What I do and who?—”
“The only who in the equation is Patch,” Remington said, cutting him off. “Don’t use her that way.”
“What makes you think I’m using her at all?” Every single part of that question was an insult. Did he think we were blind or stupid?
Remington held McQuade’s stare. The air around them crackled with danger and the oxygen began to leak out of the room. There was no way I wanted to be between them if a fight started…
The creak of her door opening might as well have been a gunshot, the pair backed up at the same time. They each gave ground and like me, they looked toward the bedroom. Patch emerged. She wore sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt. She loved the warmer, thicker clothes. Layers offered comfort.
Her disheveled hair was a lot like McQuade’s had been, but she was already pulling it back into a ponytail with a huge scrunchy. I rather liked the black tips on the golden silk hair. It was like she’d been the light, dipped into the darkness, but she survived.
If that wasn’t a metaphor for everything she’d gone through, I didn’t know what was. The effect with her hair all pulled back added another dimension to her. It registered that whenever she’d initially disappeared from her life, she’d changed her hair color.
I wasn’t entirely sure why that hadn’t occurred to me before. Of course she’d changed her hair color. Hair, eyes, and use a little cosmetics to change the dimensions or the contours on her face.
If she had any gift with stage makeup, she could also use putty to alter her nose and jaw. With the right glasses, the whole effect would change her entirely. I wasn’t sure they could reduce the magnetic look of hers, but she could look like someone else entirely.
“Guys?” Her voice came out a little raspy and hoarse. She had just woken up. “Is there a problem?”
“No,” McQuade and Remington answered in the same breath.
“Yes,” I told her, unwilling to lie and I ignored the dark looks the other two shot in my direction. “To be perfectly honest, it’s been a small miracle we’ve had few issues this long. We’ll work it out.”
Because I wasn’t dumping this in her lap, even if I’d been thinking about the kiss I gave her a hell of lot more than she had been.
Squashing that thought, I shook off the negativity. I had no idea what she’d been thinking about beyond obsessing over the information she’d been trying to coax out of her research.
“I’ll get your coffee started. What’s your plan for the day?”
She stared at me for a long moment, then glanced at the other two before coming back to me. “Are you sure?”
“That we’ll work it out?” I asked. At her nod, I pursed my lips. “For the most part, yes. Because currently, our goals remain aligned. We might not have met until we literally ran into each other at your house, but—we have proven we can work together to protect you. I’m confident enough in our skills and relative intelligence that we can maintain that.”
Doubt crept into her eyes and she chewed her lower lip as she studied us. The assassin and the mercenary were both unusually quiet. If I were to have picked which one would break first, I would have been right.
“Locke is correct,” Remington said. “We do have issues. We will, however, manage them and they won’t impact our work. You don’t need to worry about us.”
“Alright,” she said slowly, but despite my best effort, she clearly didn’t believe us. “If that changes, please read me in. I get that I am taking up a lot of oxygen in the conversation right now and I appreciate all of you for everything you have done. But if we’re a team, then we all have a voice.”
“No one here is arguing that,” McQuade told her. “You want coffee and food, right?”
“Coffee yes. Food can wait…” Then she sighed. “Or not because otherwise all three of you will hover, so something small and just make me whatever you are having. I should probably start volunteering to cook.”
“When you’re done with your part of the job,” Remington told her. “Right now, we need your brain on those tasks. We can handle the domestic chores for now. Locke, coffee. I’ll take care of food.”
“I guess I’ll just starve,” McQuade muttered.
“I have a faster way to kill you,” Remington offered in a low voice and I shot a look to where Patch had moved to her computer. The bruises were looking better but she didn’t seem to have caught that last.
“Bring it on, mate,” McQuade jabbed at him verbally.
“Stop calling me mate,” Remington ordered him in those same chilly tones.
“Stop it entirely,” I told them, with my back to Patch. These words really did not need to carry, at all. “I bought us time to resolve this without her being in the middle. At least respect it…”
They both gave me baleful looks.
“Or don’t, but if you keep it up, I will steal her away so she doesn’t have to deal with your shit.” With that said, I got the coffee grinder going. They didn’t say a word to me, but eventually, McQuade headed back to his own room and Remington got the food going.