Chapter 42

In the aftermath of our rescue, I"d had a million questions. Not questions. Demands. It was high time we were given a better explanation of what kind of fuckery we"d been dropped into.

Bill Mitchell wouldn"t tell me much of anything. As per fucking usual.

"You can turn off the high-octane quarterback charm because it doesn"t work on me," he said. "I have my orders, and they don"t come from you."

"We have a right to know why we were taken," I said. "You owe us an explanation."

"You already know too much."

"Surviving this bull..." I swallowed the swear since I would have to get used to talking clean again when I got back to Coach. "Surviving this crap means I know too much? Why isn"t that reassuring?"

"Look, Slate, here"s what you know. You provided material assistance in a federal investigation. American lives have been saved as a result of your actions. And that, my friend, is all you need to know. Your country is grateful."

I"ll bet.

As we flew away in the rescue helicopter, Noah slept at my side, his face turned toward me. We were all wearing headphones, but he was pretending not to be listening. Or maybe he really had passed out from exhaustion.

"Also," Mitchell said, "in case it slipped your mind in all the excitement, you signed an oath of secrecy to protect our national secrets."

Really? This again? You"re pretending to believe a gay quarterback can"t keep a secret?

"I think I"ve proven myself," I said. "I"m hardly likely to run screaming to ESPN with my late-breaking news. That"s not the kind of coverage they want from me anyway. So what"s the big deal if you let me know what it was all for?"

"I appreciate your input," Mitchell said. "And I"ll note your concerns for the record."

"Thanks for nothing," I said.

Mitchell would never be persuaded by my powers of argument. We flew the rest of the way in silence to land on the midnight lawn of what looked suspiciously like a medieval castle.

Inside, the building was less medieval castle monastery and more grand hotel. The interior architecture and amenities said the place had been modernized at great expense.

Who paid for all this? The American taxpayer? The CIA? Some international terrorist-busting task force?

What if Mitchell wasn"t even who he said he was? What if he was one of the bad guys too?

I could believe there were multiple Team Bad Guys more easily than I could believe Noah and I had been used as bait for a legitimate mission. But here we were, in a soft bed. Healthy, with all our pieces in all the right places.

My memories of Noah in that bed in that island house were still fresh and alive. Nobody had stolen them.

Things could be a lot worse.

No one knows where we are. The castle does have windows, but they"ve fitted them to show no light from the outside.

I pushed away a sudden, shaking shiver. Quarterbacks don"t shiver.

"I"m glad you woke me." I embraced a naked Noah in my strong arms. He felt good and right, but he was the only thing that felt right. "We were used. Trained agents should have been deployed to track down the bad guys. Not a homeless guy and a football player."

Noah hugged me back but didn"t say anything for a minute. That gave me time to remember the football player was the one used to track down the homeless guy. Our rescuers weren"t necessarily his rescuers. They"d taken him but not so they could free him.

"We need to talk," he said softly. "But let"s do it in the shower."

We both loved playing with each other in the shower. But I knew this was about more than sexy times.

Noah wanted to use the sound of running water to stop our conversation from being overheard.

"Yeah." I nuzzled him again. He still smelled faintly of the sea. "That"s a great idea."