Page 74 of Talk to Me

“We may be risking her by not taking her. She needs antibiotics.”

“We can get her those,” the stubborn mercenary argued. “The only reason we haven’t so far is we don’t know what, if any, allergies she might have. She’s awake now—we can ask her.”

“When she wakes up again,” Remington stated. The assassin was on his feet and gathering up her dishes. I hadn’t missed that he waited on her, but he just prepped stuff for us.

Worked for me.

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I turned over what details she’d shared. I hadn’t missed how she held back. Why shouldn’t she? I’d trust her with my life and my freedom. No question.

I had trusted her. No one had to tell me that Remington and McQuade were the same. We’d all trusted her. She was our operator. The woman we called when we needed anything and she’d never let me down.

Not once.

So of course we trusted her.

“She doesn’t trust us.” Maybe it was obvious to them and I was slower on the uptake. But I’d spent the past couple of hours hoping she would trust us, tell us who hurt her, and let us take care of it.

“We can hardly blame her,” Remington said, turning from where he’d finished washing up their precious few dishes. Arms folded, he leaned back against the counter and stared out at me.

“I don’t blame her,” McQuade said, the gruff tone punching up the sobriety in his words. “She hasn’t had a reason to trust us as we have her.”

That was it in a nutshell.

“But, I think our actions will settle that debt soon enough.” McQuade shrugged. “We can’t do anything else. Who sleeps next?”

“Not tired.” It was a lie, to a point. I was tired, but I didn’t think I’d sleep. Not while I was trying to figure out who was behind this and what we should do. “We could go back… two of us anyway. Clear out that site.”

“If they haven’t already erased it,” Remington said. The measured delivery didn’t betray an emotional involvement. The more I got to know him, however, the more I recognized the reserve was just a part of him. “McQuade and I have already discussed cleaning it out, and appropriating anything of hers they may have taken.”

“If we can identify it,” McQuade said, reclaiming his mug. The cup seemed too small for his massive hands. Almost dainty, but he didn’t seem troubled by it. “Frankly, I don’t really care what they took so much as making sure they aren’t alive to exploit it—or her.”

Couldn’t really argue with that. Except…

“I want to just agree,” I admitted. “But I don’t. Because I don’t want to invade where she doesn’t want us.”

“We’re not planning on using whatever we find to hurt her.” In fact, McQuade sounded insulted that I might even be suggesting it as a possibility.

“If I thought you would—I’d shoot you myself.” It wasn’t an idle threat. I didn’t have their experience or training, but it wouldn’t stop me from trying to protect her. Our gazes locked for a long moment, then he nodded once.

Acceptable damage.

“It feels invasive,” Remington said, speaking slowly as though he needed to inspect each word, “because she doesn’t owe us any explanation. We want to know because we want to protect her. There is a fine difference.”

McQuade glared. “None of us have the info we need to eliminate the threat. How are we supposed to get her secure and walk away if we don’t know what threat to eliminate and make sure it’s gone? We need to know to protect her.”

“She didn’t ask to come and she’s never made us any promises except that she would be there when we needed her.” Then she wasn’t. It made all of us come running. “She’s kept those promises. That she was taken at all—not her fault.”

“Nor hers that we came.” Remington seemed to understand me, but McQuade’s irritation climbed.

“So what do you want us to do? Pack it up and walk away? She’s out…we did our part. So we leave?” Every single word was a damn insult and he had to know it.

“No,” I told him. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until she tells me to get lost and for the moment—particularly while she’s hurt and in the field? I probably won’t go away then. I’ll stick with her until she’s got control back.”

I’d also attempt to change her mind. Now that I was here, I didn’t want to be anywhere else. McQuade’s scowl and brusque attitude didn’t faze me. Apparently, grumpy was his love language or communication style—personality defect?

“I ain't budging till she's safe. End of story.” Remington and I really were absolutely on the same page.

“I want to know everything,” I told them, setting my cards on the table. “We’re here now, we can be effective now. We might have helped to get her out, but she isn’t safe—not yet. As long as the threat is out there, she’ll never be safe.”