Long after I’vefinished my meal and the wineglass is empty, there’s another knock on my door. Hopefully it isn’t Faith hereto turn down my bed. I’m not up for another tête-à-tête. With a full belly, I amble to the door and pull it open to reveal not the redhead, but the blonde who brought me here. “What do you want?”
She shoves a rucksack toward me and enters without invitation. “My room is the one next door.”
“During any part of this were you going to inform me we were taking shelter in a brothel?” I blurt out, tossing the bag behind me at the foot of the bed.
“I did not think it was necessary to warn you.” Her eyes meet mine with a furrow. “You do not strike me as the prudish type, Miss Piccolo.”
“I’m not, but a heads-up would’ve been nice.”
“Duly noted. I am sorry your dinner was brought to your room. It was not a punishment. I needed to make sure Delilah’s employees understood who you were and how you were to be treated. These people are Order, but I prefer to gauge their commitment myself than take Delilah’s word for it.”
“But you trust her,” I infer.
“With my life. I won’t take the same chance with your life.” She says this as if it should be obvious. “I found their trustworthiness satisfactory enough for you to be seen inside the building without issue, as well as to be left here without my supervision.”
“You trust a lot of the people here.” Eyes suspicious, her blond eyebrow climbs on her forehead in silent question. “The young woman who brought my dinner couldn’t stop saying such nice things about you.”
“Jacqueline.”
“Faith, Jacqueline, whoever she is, so precious she cannot leave the palace grounds.” I let a smug grin play upon my lips. “So, what makes her special? The air of innocence? The damsel-in-distress act she has going on? Does big hero Taylor like to be needed?”
After a brief spasm of emotion, her face settles into a cool façade. “My friendship with Faith is irrelevant, Miss Piccolo.”
“I find it relevant.”
“If Faith was forthcoming with you, that is her prerogative. I am not here to discuss her. I am here to discuss you. A subject you actually like.”
Irritably, I roll my eyes. “Fine. Need another bit of trivia to put in your holo-file on me?”
Taylor walks around the room to stand in front of me, hands clasped behind her back. “No, I would like to finish our game from the boat.”
“What?”
“The game you made us play. With the questions. Technically, I have one more question to ask you.”
Despite my anger, a damn traitorous smile weasels its way onto my lips. To combat this, I look away from her and toward the window. “I thought you knew all there is to know about me.”
“I believe I know the answer to this too.” She sucks in a deep breath. “Would you like to join me on the mission?”
My mouth flaps open and shut a few times before I muster the ability to speak. “Of course I do. How—what changed your mind?”
“I thought about what you said to me on the boat, about not having any choices.” She scratches the back of her neck. “And Delilah thought you should come as well, for extra protection. Since I trained you, I trust you?—”
Pride balloons in me. “You trust me?”
Taylor rolls her eyes. “I trust you more than I trust a group of people who were not strictly trained under my tutelage.” My pride balloon deflates quickly and comically, bouncing around the room before flopping sadly onto the floor. “I will brief you inthe morning. For tonight, rest. I need you sharp tomorrow.” She pivots on her heel and begins toward the door.
“Hey,” I call to her, and she turns halfway toward me, twisting at the hip. “You owe me an answer, you know. About why you danced with me.”
She smiles shyly, and my body reacts without permission, heart fluttering. “Eighty-five percent of the time, my choices are made for me too. My missions are planned, my decisions are critiqued and approved, my every move is tracked.” Taylor lifts her hand off the doorknob to jiggle her wristwatch at me. “Dancing with you was the other fifteen percent.”
9
Getting to Thorne’s compound was easy. We traveled deserted roads, save for a checkpoint of Dusters who didn’t question the stolen van we arrived in. Mason, disguised as a Duster in one of their upturned-collar trench coats, chatted amiably with checkpoint guards out the driver’s window, while Taylor and I hid in the back under tarps like confiscated goods.
Getting inside was also surprisingly easy. Mason dropped us off in an empty alley populated only by rats and aggressive raccoons, and a functioning fire escape led us directly to the unguarded window. However, the rest of our night will not be going as smoothly. Below us, an unexpected party carries on, attended by a hefty number of guests and protection.
Taylor sits on the bed of Thorne’s late wife, elbows on her knees, deep in thought. I pad around the finely appointed death room, squinting at the various owl-shaped baubles adorning Mrs. Thorne’s furniture.
