War(34)

“Priest…” she replied, her voice a combination of plea and order that I would have found humorous in any other circumstance.

I finished buttoning my shirt and then tucked it in. Once I was satisfied, I turned to face her. “This isn’t a debate. You’re staying here,” I said, my voice steely.

If she noticed, she did nothing to show it, and instead she shook her head. “No way. No way.”

“Where I’m going, you can’t go.” Me saying even that was more concession than I wanted to give and took us far closer to the debate I’d just tried to shut down, but seeing the fear on her face had made it impossible for me to stay silent.

“Then you can’t go either. Because I’m not staying here by myself.”

“No one knows you here. You can relax,” I said.

“Or we could stay together and not have to worry about it,” she said.

“No. Not an option,” I said.

She continued to ignore me.

“It has to be, because I can’t stay here. I can’t stay here,” she said, her voice changing, the hint of franticness in it rising with each word.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, crossing the three steps that separated us and putting my hands on her shoulders.

She looked up at me with wide eyes that were as frantic as her voice. “What’s wrong? Someone came into my home and murdered my best friend, and now you want to leave me alone? You asked if I wanted what happened to her to happen to me. I don’t.”

“You’ll be fine here,” I said.

“What if I’m not?” came her reply.

Another fast retort might have convinced her. It might have also sent her over the edge. But that wasn’t why I held my tongue. I held it because I had no easy answer. As careful as I’d been, as much as I’d done to make this place safe, she was right.

There was no safe place and wouldn’t be until this was over.

But if she were with me…

I watched, silent, knowing that what I was going to do was foolish at best, but certain that they only way to be sure she was safe would be to keep her by my side, and even more certain that leaving her wasn’t an option. I’d thought it was, had decided doing so was the most strategically sound choice. Too bad strategy and smarts didn’t hold a fucking candle to the unknown but unrelenting impulse, no, imperative need to keep her within my sight.

Had I really thought it would be so easy to leave her? I had, and I’d been comically wrong.

“Speak to no one. Look at no one,” I said.

Her entire body sagged under the weight of her relief, and when she stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips against mine, I felt much the same thing. I hadn’t even considered bringing her, but now that I was, I knew it was the right thing, if only for the peace of mind of knowing she was okay.

After I put on my jacket, we went to the car and left the house. Milan was silent, seemed content, but my mind was abuzz.

I should have been thinking of what was to come next, but instead, I was preoccupied with thoughts of her. I couldn’t bring myself to regret touching her, nor could I deny how much I looked forward to taking her. But my desire aside, being with her added complications. Even now, my attention was divided, some devoted to remembering how her body felt against my hands, anticipating how it would feel again. Some devoted to examining what it meant that I was so quick to give in and bring her with me. Only a small part devoted to what was ahead.

I needed to get my head into the game and quickly. I tried to reason with myself, remind myself that this would be simple. I’d come, ask my questions, and go. Milan being here would change nothing. Easy.

That uncomfortably hollow assurance in my head, I stopped at Markov’s place. It was early evening, but the party was in full swing, probably hadn’t stopped, just the way Markov liked it.

I spared a single moment to consider what had brought me to the place where I was seeking his favor, his help. But only that single moment. My options were limited, and I wouldn’t let my pride get in the way of Milan’s safety. I grabbed her hand and pushed through the crowd, intent on Markov, who sat at the far corner.

Eyes were on me, and I had no doubt that everyone who had a reason to know was aware of my troubles. That uncomfortable walk reminded me of why I’d wanted Milan to stay back. I was as vulnerable as I’d ever been, and I had my doubts about whether respect for Markov would be enough to stay an unfriendly hand.

If it came to that, I’d handle it. But I hoped it wouldn’t.

When I finally reached Markov, he kept his eyes on his companions and only after he’d finished his drink did he finally look at me.