Page 73 of Talk to Me
“We need to know,” Locke said. “I’d prefer sooner rather than later. We already know the trouble they went to in order to get you and to keep you.”
“You’ve already done more than I could have asked for,” I told them. Or expected for that matter. I’d been on my own for so long, I knew how to do that. “I should probably go.”
The moment the words left my lips, my stomach sank. Leaving them meant facing the potential hazards on my own—again. Only this time without the preparation I’d taken, the supplies, or even the cover.
Frankly, it was a stupid idea to separate from them. Especially while I was vulnerable. My mind produced a dozen different reasons to reject the plan before I could even formulate one.
“You can go anywhere you want,” McQuade said. “We’ll make sure you get there. However, until we’ve identified everyone involved in your capture, incarceration, and torture, we are going to stay with you—or at least I am.”
“So am I,” Remy said even as Locke added in the same breath, “Me too.”
“It’s not a new cage,” Remy continued as though he’d been the one to begin the conversation. “It may seem like one because we are making this decision for you. We will continue to make it until we’ve dealt with the opposition and are confident that it is safe for you to return to your home or a new location—I’d recommend new location with improved security methods, which we can all vet for you.”
They’d made the decision without even an aside between them. Maybe they had made it before I even woke up. While I didn’t like being “informed” of what was going to happen, I could also respect the need for it.
Hadn’t I nearly made an epically bad decision a few minutes ago? The cognitive dissonance was real. I trusted these men—I should trust them. I knew them well, or at least how they worked and how they kept their word.
That was enough to at least trust them for now. Remy was right, it wasn’t a cage of iron bars, abuse, and pain. It was security and care—with ham and cheese sandwiches made with spicy mustard.
I lifted the second sandwich and took a bite. It lasted a little longer than the first had. The food was a balm to my blasted and battered soul.
“How long before we need to leave?” This didn’t feel like a permanent location and interior decor matched none of the men I knew.
“Soon,” Remy said. “We need to make arrangements, but we have enough time for you to get more rest.”
It was an offer of escape, a life line as I floundered beneath the should I or shouldn’t I question.
“That’s a good plan,” Locke said. “Do you need assista?—”
McQuade had already stood and scooped me up without waiting for my comment. Thankfully, Remy saved the plate before I dropped it.
“I can walk,” I informed McQuade.
“Of course you can,” he retorted. “But your feet need to heal and you need to rest. We can debate the rest of it later.”
He strode into the bedroom and set me down as gently as he’d picked me up. When he took a step back the air seemed colder somehow.
“Get some sleep, Sugar Bear,” he told me, the barest hint of mirth in his grave eyes. “Tomorrow is coming whether we like it or not.”
Well, that was a cheerful way to view it. Pivoting on his heel, he left me alone and closed the door on his way out. Unsurprisingly, the softest murmur of voices penetrated the closed door.
They likely needed to discuss what to do with me and the problem I presented.
Sinking back against the pillows, I put a hand over my eyes.
They weren’t the only ones…
Chapter
Twenty-Three
LOCKE
None of us spoke until after McQuade closed the door on the bedroom, leaving her inside. It made me itch to have her out of sight. It had earlier when she’d been unconscious. Letting her sleep had been the right call. Whatever doubts I may have had cleared away when we got a good look at her injuries…
“She needs a doctor,” I said, revisiting a subject the three of us had been dancing around.
“Agreed,” McQuade said with a shrug. “The problem is we need one we can trust, implicitly. I won’t risk her.”