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“Of course they are.” She tried her best to keep the bitterness out of her voice and knew she wasn’t going to be able to. “How many of them have you been in touch with before today?”
“Ash and Serena.”
“And Kate.”
“Yes. And Kate.”
The admission didn’t surprise her, though it did sting. How many times had she gone to the woman she had called friend, begging for information? Pleading for anything. Each time, Kate had sworn she hadn’t seen or heard from Hawke. She’d said she had no idea where he was or what had happened to him.
And now Olivia knew that Ash and Serena had also known he wasn’t dead. They had never let on, treating her like a murderer, just as the others had.
“I see.”
“No, you don’t. But in time, I promise you will.” He paused, then said with a harshness she could not begin to comprehend, “I have questions, too, you know.”
“Well, please.” Her hand flew out in an angry gesture. “Don’t let me stop you. You’re the man of the hour. Ask your damn questions. I have nothing to hide.”
Again, one of those silent, searching looks crossed his face. At one time, she would have been able to read him, but with that beard and the hardness in his icy eyes, she hardly recognized him as her husband.
“Everyone is waiting to come back in.”
She pulled out a chair at the end of the large conference table and sat. “By all means, have the team return. They hate me and won’t want me to be here, but they’ll just have to deal with it.”
“They don’t hate you. If they hate anyone, it’s me.”
“They blamed me for your death.”
“Our plan worked, then.”
She drew in a shaky breath. Yes, it had worked. Despite the fact that one part of the plan had gone exactly as they’d intended, it could not erase the memory of the hurt. The people she’d thought of as family had treated her like a pariah. The lame excuse she’d given for Hawke’s death had not flown with them. They had believed her when she’d told them that he was dead. And they’d believed it was her fault. As she had intended.
Just because she and Hawke had set the scenario in place, and it had worked the way they’d planned, didn’t mean it hadn’t been without cost.
Seconds later, the OZ team walked into the room. She didn’t acknowledge any of them. A part of her felt childish for not doing so. Acting this way made it clear to them that she was still hurt by their attitude. She wasn’t sure how to act, so she went with her fallback—when hurt, she shut down. She’d gotten even better at that over the years.
Ash went to the head of the table and addressed the room. “I know everyone has questions. I have them, too, but Hawke said there was some urgency. So let’s hear him out.”
Hawke stood in front of the group again. Even though they were furious with him, he couldn’t help but feel lightness in his heart. This was his family. They’d had one another’s backs in some of the most dangerous situations imaginable. He hoped they would forgive him someday.
He shot a look at Olivia. She looked so alone and miserable. The bruises on her face and neck were painful to look at, but he knew they were only a small representation of what her entire body looked like. She had bruises everywhere. She had fought four men, all of whom were twice her size. He had never known anyone tougher or braver in a fight.
Everyone was looking at her now, and she looked more uncomfortable than he’d ever seen her. She had never liked the limelight. Even when she’d done extraordinary work, she would always brush it off and give credit to the team and not herself. But he wanted these people to remember the good she had done and what she had once meant to them. They owed her that.
And what did he owe her? He simply did not know. They needed to talk, but he wasn’t sure how to go about it. At one time, there was nothing they couldn’t discuss and work out. Now, they were like strangers. Question was, were they also enemies?
Someone cleared his throat, bringing Hawke’s attention back to the fact that he had nine very pissed-off people waiting to hear his story.
“Ash is right,” Hawke said. “I know you all have questions. Now that Olivia is here, I’ll do my best to answer them.”
Gideon turned to Olivia, his tone unthreatening, almost tender. “How are you feeling, Liv?”
She gave him a quick look and said, “I’m fine. It’s mostly superficial.”
“Did you see a doctor?” Jazz asked.
“No.” Apparently regretting her shortness with Jazz, she sent her a strained smile. “I’m fine. Really. But thanks.” Returning her gaze to Hawke, she said, “One of the men who attacked me had an Albanian accent.”
Her voice was cool and unemotional, but at least she was talking to him. That one of her attackers was Albanian was new information but corroborated what his hostage had said. Her attackers had no allegiance or cause. They were a group of mercenaries hired to do a job.