Page 76 of Stolen Voices

Irrational jealousy has me snapping at her. “You can go.”

“Sorry,” she mumbles, her cheeks flaming red as she hustles from the room, leaving me alone with Eli.

He spins, looking at me in question. “What was that about?”

“Nothing. Can we go now?” I slowly place my feet on the floor to stand, but the pain makes it hard for me to do so without flinching and wobbling like a newly walking toddler.

Eli is at my side in four steps, lifting me into his arms bridal style.

“I could have done it.”

“Yeah, but this way is faster.” He places me in the wheelchair.

“Whatever,” I mumble. “What’s this about Portland?”

He walks over and grabs my bag, placing the strap over his shoulder before returning to me. “I’m taking you out of LA.”

“Why?”

Eli squats down, bringing us eye to eye. “You need some time to recover, and we need to talk.”

His words are like a bucket of ice-cold water. “About?”

He sighs hard enough that I can taste his minty breath on my tongue. “A lot of shit, Callie.”

A prickling sensation skates over my skin, giving me shivers. We do have a lot to talk about. There’s so much he doesn’t know. He’s probably going to hate me for lying all these years.

But before we can, I need to make a stop. “Can we make a small pit stop before we go?”

He stares into my eyes, trying to decode my thoughts. “Depends.”

“On?”

“On where you want to go. You can’t go back to your apartment,” he says flatly, leaving no room for discussion.

If he thinks I’m going to fight him on that, he’s wrong. The penthouse is not home. I lost that a long time ago.

“Good thing it’s not my apartment, then,” I muse.

“Should I be worried?” he asks.

“No.” But I am.

Eli deserves to know the full truth. He needs to know about what happened all those years ago. Dread settles like a ball of toxic vomit in my stomach, waiting to be expelled. How he reacts to my truth will define how we move forward. If we move forward.

“Here, put these on.” Eli hands me the same Evaders’ hat I wore to our dinner and a large pair of aviators that probably belong to him.

“Does it really matter? Everyone probably already knows I’m here,” I moan.

“They don’t. Now, hurry.”

“How?” I place the hat on my head.

This time, he grazes his fingers over the lobe of my ear as he tucks a strand of my curling hair behind it. Goosebumps break out across my skin at his touch.

“Because I’m the best damn agent in Hollywood, and I have the best damn people working for me,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Cocky much?” I cover my eyes with sunglasses.