Page 57

Mirage

Mirage stayed silent for most of the flight.

There was a lot to digest, and he still vibrated with energy from the two men they’d battled.

If Meridian hadn’t come, they may have been killed. His and Grace’s skills were formidable but had been no match for the masters.

Mirage turned his gaze from the window and locked eyes with Grace.

They held eye contact for almost thirty minutes before Grace spoke in his own language.

Do you believe them?

“Yes.” Mirage had no doubts.

I do too.

Mirage nodded. He was unsure where they would go from here.

“We have to look further into this, but we don’t know who we can trust or how deep the corruption goes.”

Grace clenched his jaw and signaled their stewardess for a drink.

She poured two fingers of brandy into a snifter and brought it to him, but Grace didn’t reach out to take the glass.

“Not the usual, Amy. Bring him a shot of the Blanton’s Bourbon.”

She smiled, then returned to the bar to prepare what he asked.

“I swear to God, if Spectre knows anything about this, I’m gonna snap his fuckin’ neck.”

Grace grunted in agreement, downed his shot, then motioned for another.

Mirage didn’t worry about Grace’s mind becoming impaired. Their metabolism ran too high to get drunk.

“I think we should lie low for a while. We both have injuries.”

Mirage drank more of his Japanese gin and club soda, his thoughts moving a mile a second.

“I don’t want any more missions until we can gather more intel.”

Mirage watched every flutter of Grace’s long lashes, the tic of his jaw, the pulses at his temples, and the dips of his Adam’s apple, every subtle movement revealing his thoughts.

Grace’s captivating gaze held him while he searched inside of him. There was no doubt or indecision there but a shift toward something else.

They were almost home.

Home was where they’d left their love for each other.