Chapter Twenty-Four

My Guide didn’t care I fell asleep around 4:00AM.

She was pounding on my door at 7:00. If I shot her through the door, he’d help me hide the body, right? This had to be waking him up, too.

“For fuck’s sake, Thornhill!”

Yep, definitely awake, and sullying my ears.

The knocking stopped and heated voices bickered at the end of the hall.

I covered my head with the pillow.

What was this nonsense? She hadn’t been this rude before we got here. This mean.

Then silence. A minute. Two.

Did they kill each other?

I peeked out my door. Thirteen was carrying a limp Amelia into her room.

“What happened?”

“She’s fine.”

Hurrying over, I checked her pulse. “Did you knock her out?”

“Choked her asleep.” He scratched his chest, yawned, and left the room.

I followed. “You submitted her?”

“What else do you do with an unreasonable person at this hour?” He kept going into his bedroom.

“She’s going to be just as mad when she wakes up!”

“Or she’ll realize the error of her ways and let us sleep.” He sat on his bed, the only queen size in the house.

“I don’t think I can, now, thank you.” The room was a mess, his stuff littered everywhere like he dropped it wherever he’d been done with it. “You’re a pig.”

“Oink, oink, baby. Now go away.”

Argh.

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I closed his door with a little more force than necessary.

Of course his room had blackout drapes. Mine had regular curtains that let the sun in. Like now. Sigh. Once I was awake during daylight, there was no going back to sleep.

Could I find a blanket to cover the window?

I was on the stairs back up after locating a closet when Amelia appeared at the top. Her mouth screwed into an expression of deep displeasure, she let me pass and continued the way I came. Alright, then. She hadn’t met my eyes, so she was conceding.

I draped the thick blanket over the curtain rod. It helped. I lay down. But it was only rest. Still couldn’t sleep. Six hours total and I gave up.

Downstairs, I found Thirteen with a laptop. No Amelia.

“She’s arranging your ride,” he said when I entered the kitchen.

“Eat yet?”

He grunted. Take that as a no. No plate or bowl next to him, only a half-downed mug of coffee. A little mental inventory of the fridge and I started breakfast.

Soon felt his attention on me at the stove. When did I last have a chance to cook for someone? Probably two years ago, at least. Mama always insisted on making a meal unless she couldn’t get out of bed, so it would’ve been during her last relapse. The diner moved too fast for me, but I enjoyed cooking at home, and this morning.

When I set the loaded omelet by Thirteen, he immediately stabbed it with the fork.

“Oh. God. You’re an angel. You need to travel with me all the time.”

“And be your food slave?” I swatted him with a dish towel. “Not on your life.”

Little more butter in the pan, then eggs for mine.

“I’m a benevolent master, I promise,” he said around a mouthful.

“You can make this for yourself, you know. Omelets are easy. Eggs plus filling and you’re done.”

“I guarantee I won’t make something this tasty.” The laptop had been pushed aside in favor of shoveling food into his face.

“It’s ingredients, not technique, lazy bones.”

Glass of milk… Any more fruit? I pushed everything around in the fridge and opened all the drawers. Aha! One small basket of strawberries.

I needed to leave a thank you note for the caretaker.

Thirteen’s eyes zeroed in on the berries when I sat down.

“Uh-uh. Finders keepers,” I said.

“You’d deny a California boy a local strawberry?”

They were big, richly red, and mmm, juicy. “Yup.”

Made a point of really savoring it, too.

“Evil.”

“You’re too old to pout.” I kept the basket close to me. He couldn’t be trusted and I knew his reflexes. One second of not watching his hands and he’d snatch a prize.

The front door opened. “Good, you’re finally up. Don’t dawdle, Seven. We have a schedule to keep.” Amelia continued upstairs.

Dangit, two berries were missing.

“Thief!”

Thirteen laughed.

“See if I make breakfast for you again.”

He pouted for one second before he couldn’t hold the face. Plate empty, he slid the laptop back in front of him.

I hurried through my omelet, then took the basket upstairs to munch while I packed.

Thirteen had cleaned the guns sometime before I came down after attempting to sleep.

Amelia sat on the sofa with her suitcase at her feet when I returned.

Don’t dawdle, indeed.

Thirteen gave me a guy-hug, the type that starts with a handshake, then you’re pulled in for a slap on the back. “Remember your training and you’ll make it back alive,” he murmured.

“Yeah. Good seeing you.”

He nodded. Closed the laptop, picked it up, and moved toward the stairs. “Until next time, kid.” Then left.

Sigh.

Amelia was such a party-pooper.