17. Daze

SEVENTEEN

DAZE

Fuck. There's something wrong with me. As I tiptoe through the darkness to find some clean clothes for us both, I have no right to feel…content. Relaxed, even. This part of the warehouse is empty—no doubt because of Ben who had greater foresight than I do, apparently. He's also the one I presume is responsible for the neat pile of clothing I find a few paces away—jeans and a shirt for me, and sweats for Frey. When we're both finally dressed, she's silent, adjusting her oversized clothing while I linger around her like a damn idiot.

"Make yourself comfortable," I choke out. Voices from the front of the building trickle back to us. It's only a matter of time before some nosy bastard wanders this way, eager to catch a glimpse of her. "I'll show you where you can sleep," I grate out.

She just nods, eyeing the remnants of that wedding dress lying in a heap on the floor. There is nothing else I can do except lead her into the back part of the warehouse, cordoned off by plywood strips nailed to support beams.

It's certainly no fancy manor but, in all honesty, this is the gist of what I could ever offer her—a shitty corner in a proverbial dump. The thought never used to sting like it does now. I've never felt so damn out of my element with a woman before. Even without a trace of judgment on her face, she still seems out of place. An angel who landed in hell.

"I know it's not much, but you should get some sleep," I say, inching toward the main warehouse. "There's another place we can crash at later. It'll have a bed, at least." Before I can take another step, she reaches over and brushes her hands against my chest.

"It's okay," she says, and I stop dead in my tracks. Damn. In my gut, I know she's talking about more than this. Like the fact that I spilled my guts out back there, and she said nothing in return.

Not that I expected her to. It's too fast. Renna and I rarely traded the words, and we'd been together for nearly a year before Sam came along. I'm not an expert in emotional attachment, but I think it should take longer than a couple weeks to develop something as strong as love. Right?

Wrong. It's not in my nature to play games. I know what I want when I want it. Growing up in a world where a prison sentence or bullet to the head could end your life at any moment, long-term wasn't part of my vocabulary. I'm used to fucking for one night and moving on to the next.

No one else has ever had this kind of hold over me.

I can't lie. There's something inside me that itches to lash out at her and demand an answer. Yes, she feels the same? No, she doesn't? I tell myself I can handle whatever she says, as long as she gives me something . Something other than a polite, blank stare I can't get a fucking read on no matter how hard I try.

"Alright, I'll let you get some sleep?—"

"Wait." Her back is to me, her hair falling limply down her spine. My fingers are itching to run through it. She is so damn beautiful. My heart beats in sync with hers, bound by some invisible thread. She has me in the palm of her hand, hers to crush or destroy at a moment's notice.

And I fucking hate it.

At the same time, I can't imagine living without this bitter sting. I'm addicted to her like nothing else…

And she knows it.

"Can you stay with me?" She looks back at me through a fringe of white-blond hair. "Just for a little while."

In all honesty, the answer should be no. With Heywood's plans alone, there are so many moving parts to coordinate. Ben would kill me if he were here to see how easily I relent with a nod.

"Of course." I sink onto the narrow mattress beside her, throwing my arm around her waist. Now would be a good time to force the issue about my previous confession. I consider it.

Then I feel her body go limp in my arms, and bothering her at all becomes the furthest thing from my mind. I don't need an answer, I decide.

It doesn't matter if she feels the same way or not. I may not be an expert on love, but I can recognize it when I feel it. How she may feel in return doesn't matter.

I love Frances Heywood, and that's a fact.

Maybe she's smart enough to see that as more of a curse than a blessing.

After she's deep asleep, I finally disentangle my limbs from hers. When I step out from behind the makeshift screen, Damien is already there to block my path, arms crossed, scowl fixed.

"It's about damn time," he mutters. "I know you two needed to reconnect and all, but did you forget that you're kind of in the middle of something right now? I don't know, like tracking down a psychopath before he potentially blows up all Westpoint City to score political points?"

"Keep it down!" I glance back over at Frey. She stirs in her sleep but doesn't seem to have heard Damien, thank fuck. Still, I take a few steps toward the front of the warehouse, ensuring she's out of earshot. "But you're right," I say, turning back to Damien and Ben behind him. "So, let's get to it. Any luck tracking down where Heywood went?"

"No," Ben admits. "But your cartel buddy seems to think that he must be ready to coordinate their final plans. There is some dedication of some statue happening downtown in three days. That might be when they strike."

"And what about the fire?" I add, crossing my arms. "Any news of the stepmother?"

Damien frowns, shaking his head. "Not so much as a fucking whisper. I bet they're working overtime to keep it under wraps. They even put a notice in the paper of the princess' wedding to Mr. Burnt-n-crispy."

"Maybe now isn't the time for jokes," I point out, though sympathy for the bastard husband-to-be is far from my mind. I'm more worried about something Frey said. "Frey's stepmother could have died there too."

"My sincere condolences," Damien says with a scoff. "You know what does deserve my emotional focus right now? Getting you clear of this mess and putting Silas in check."

"Silas," I say, unnerved by a sudden realization. "He wasn't at the manor."

"No," Ben says. "Which means that Heywood thought it more prudent to have him somewhere else, tidying up loose ends."

"Sounds about right to me," Damien pitches in.

But something still doesn't add up. "How do we know that Catherine set the fire in the first place?" I counter.

Grunting, Ben strokes his chin. "You thinking it was a setup?"

"Otherwise, why would Heywood leave his daughter and new son-in-law in the middle of nowhere, unprotected? My guess is that the fire was planned to get the unfortunate new husband out of the way."

"But by who?" Ben wonders. "Silas or Heywood himself?"

"That's the real question. And how long will it take them to realize who really went up in the blaze and who didn't?"

"Another mystery to solve," Ben says with a pensive frown. "You seem to be an expert at racking them up these days."

"Well, call me fucking Nancy Drew," I counter. Hell, it's a better nickname than "ex-almost-felon." Or "murderer." In a twisted way, all this shit is squarely my fault. "The fact of the matter is that everything stems from the same two-headed snake. Silas and Heywood. We cut them off, and we slay the beast."

Ben raises an eyebrow. "So, what's our next move?"

Even though it's self-serving, I can't deny that there is some benefit to a certain approach. "We lay low," I say. "Put out feelers. Keep our heads to the ground. The men can base here, but if Frey really is essential to this whole scheme, I say we move her somewhere else. A place that's easier to defend."

Ben scoffs. "I agree, but do you have any idea where you'd like to hide the daughter of the most powerful man in the city for a few days?"

"I'll think about it," I say, heading past him toward the front of the warehouse. "Speaking of hiding, where are Lyra and Sam? You got them out of the city like I told you, right?"

Ben winces as his face turns beet red. "About that… Damien knew of a place, and it turned out to be perfectly safe. Actually, you know, it was more convenient than any other solution."

I raise an eyebrow at his cautious tone. "But?"

He shrugs. "It may or may not be legal."

"Ben…"

"Damien may or may not have had Lex hack a real estate listing for a waterfront cabin and made it so some random alias of his shows up as the owner in perpetuity."

"That definitely doesn't sound legal," I point out. Not that I'm in any position to quote property laws.

"So what?" Ben winks. "You don't really care, anyway. It can't be traced to you, either. Besides, Kane is there now, and Lex even rigged the security system so that a fly can't get close to the place without us knowing. Legalities aside, it's safe. Now we have to focus on more important things, like getting your little princess out of town."

"Any ideas?"

"I think a lakeside retreat would do her some good," he says. "But you need to get back as soon as possible. We need you if we're going to take down the Heywood bastard, not to mention Silas."

"So I take her there, but then come right back," I suggest, hating the idea almost as much as I know what a good idea it is.

"Better than putting her in harm's way," Ben replies.

I nod. But something tells me that what I want won't matter a damn bit if Frey refuses to leave.