Page 57

“She better be,” he rasps. Then a growl rushes past his lips. “I need a drink.”
Stalking from the entry, he heads down the hall to the kitchen.
I cast a tentative glance in Lance’s direction, meeting his troubled gaze. Then I quickly follow my brother. I won’t make him wait up alone for his wife. I doubt I’ll be sleeping tonight either way, and as the saying goes, misery loves company.
Lance follows several steps behind me, keeping his distance, and I’m grateful. We both agreed after the decision was made to let Natasha slip into the Italians’ compound that it wouldn’t be a good time to talk to Killian about our relationship.
Killian has been incredibly stressed about his wife’s safety on this upcoming mission, so even though we’ve had plenty of opportunities to discuss it, we decided to wait until Natasha comes home.
The prolonged silence has made this week that much harder. For me, but mostly for Lance. I can see it weighing him down. But right now Killian needs us as his sister and his best friend. Not as a newly formed partnership that he’s probably going to have a cow about. So we can wait. For Killian, we have to. Because this has been one of the hardest weeks of his life, and I’m proud of my brother for having the courage to support his wife, even when he desperately wants to keep her out of harm’s way.
The sound of liquid pouring freely into a lowball glass greets me as I enter the kitchen, and Killian’s head tips back as he tosses the shot down his throat without tasting it. Then he pours himself a second.
“Care for one?” he offers, holding up the bottle as he turns to watch me and Lance enter the kitchen.
His hair is disheveled, his appearance bordering on mad now that he no longer has to hold it together for Natasha’s sake, and I think he’s closer to the brink of losing it than I’d realized before.
Stomach knotting, I attempt a bit of levity to keep the conversation light. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stick with chardonnay. One shot of whiskey, and I’ll be on the floor.”
“Suit yourself,” he says, taking the bottle and his lowball glass to the high-top bar counter and settling into a chair. Then he glares into his amber drink with an animosity that makes me wonder if he has a personal vendetta against Redbreast.
I glance at Lance again, silently passing the baton in the hopes that he might have a better way to console my brother. And I silently pad to the fridge to dig out a bottle of chilled white wine.
“The plan’s a good one,” Lance says, settling into the chair beside my brother and mirroring his pose. “She’s sneaky. And a good fighter.”
Killian nods, a hint of the tension leaving his shoulders, and I could cry with gratitude for Lance in this moment.
“You should stay sober. In case she calls.”
Again, Killian nods at the gentle redirection. “I’ll be sober again by the time she reaches the compound.”
Still, my brother gives the bottle of Irish whiskey one last violent glare before sliding it across the counter away from him. It clinks gently against the kitchen wall, coming to a stop without toppling. And I’m mildly impressed by my brother’s skill.
Sipping on my glass of wine, I pad toward them, choosing a spot on the kitchen counter and hoisting myself onto it. Then I cross my legs so I can form the third leg of our triangle. “So, as long as we have the time to spare…I say you give us the dirty details on exactly how Natasha tried to kill you.”
Relief floods my veins as one corner of my brother’s mouth quirks into a crooked smile. And when he looks up at me, I see the flicker of humor chasing away his haunted look. “You sure you wantallthe dirty details, Quinn? I may or may not have blackmailed her into having sex with me that first night.”
I gasp, exaggerating the horror on my face to encourage a laugh from my brother. Though I am slightly appalled and most definitely mortified to think Killian would do such a thing. But considering how crazy in love with Natasha I know my brother is—not to mention the fact that they got married—my curiosity outweighs my sense of responsibility as a feminist who ought to have her fellow sister’s back.
“Okay, maybe skipthosedirty details, but now I have to know the story.”
As I scoot forward to demonstrate my brother has a riveted audience, I’m just glad I’ve found a topic that might take my brother’s mind off his agonizing worry for a moment.
The dramaof my brother’s romantic pursuit of Natasha could probably fill a book. And I’m shocked to find that when the last details of his story come to a close, I’ve been listening for over three hours—as has Lance.
Lance has proven a far more stoic listener. But I start to worry when Killian’s tale draws toward its inevitable end. Because I can sense the ugly finish before it comes. And with Killian’s recounting of the charity ball—the night Natasha’s father died, and Killian nearly did also—I can see that same tortured look return to his eyes.
“I never realized you and Natasha went through so many…ups and downs,” I say gently as he falls silent. “She always seemed crazy about you, from the moment I met her.”
Killian’s lips twist into a bitter smile, and he gives a soft chuckle. “It just took a knife to the gut and nearly bleeding out for her to realize it.”
“Well, maybe if you hadn’t been such an ass at the start…” I point out, quirking an eyebrow.
“Maybe…” he agrees. Then his eyes flick toward the clock above the kitchen sink.
It’s nearly 5 a.m. And my stomach sinks as I realize Natasha’s been gone too long. A dark sense of foreboding settles around me as silence fills the kitchen. And I know Killian’s thinking it too.
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