“But—”
“Holden, will you—just respect my fucking decisions for once.” Daggers. Her eyes are full of them, pointed and gleaming. “It shouldn’t be this hard, dude.”
I’m about to break my teeth, clenched together like a vise as we finally reach the back entrance. Cleo opens the door the second the car stops and throws herself out, clutching the bag to her chest.
I sit there for a few strained seconds until the driver clears his throat. Then I’m moving.
At least there are cameras. I notice them behind black half globes bolted to the ceiling.
By my guess, they’re covering the whole service entrance, which looks secure.
Cleo presses the intercom next to the door. “Hi, Cleo Blackthorn here for a meeting with Mr. Talbot.”
“Yes, one moment,” a voice says back.
There’s a loud click as the tall door unlocks. She doesn’t look back as she walks inside and I hurry in after her.
“Clee,” I say, catching up and grabbing her arm.
She shakes me off. “How many times do I need to say it, Holden? I know what I’m doing. We’re all here in one piece.Thanks.”
I never thought that word could hold so much acid.
We’re both exhausted.
It’s been a long day, a long season.
“I did this for you. To help you. Everything.”
For a split second, her anger fades into sadness.
“I said thanks, didn’t I?” She sighs. “Look, I’ve had enough of other people deciding what should happen. I’m good now. You don’t have to wait up for me, unless you really want to.”
“I will,” I mutter.
Reluctantly, I step back.
She brushes past me again, and this time I don’t stop her.
Fuck.
My chest itches. I scratch it like I can wipe away the burning scars she’s left behind.
Another door off to the side opens as she reaches for it, and a nervous-looking man with thin dark hair above his upper lip greets us.
“Thrilled you could make it, Miss Blackthorn,” he says with a polite nod for me.
I recognize him from my research. Eric Talbot might look unassuming, but his résumé is exemplary. He’s overseen plenty of precious objects coming through this museum without ever having a serious crime happen on his watch.
That should be reassuring, yet I’m still twitchier than a live wire.
Predictably, that bite in my knees deepens, and I ignore it.
“Mr. Talbot, it’s a pleasure.” Cleo shakes his hand. The briefcase hangs in her other hand now, and I keep my eye on it as I glance behind at the street through the glass.
Nothing looks out of place here, inside or out.
Maybe I really am too worried, keyed up by mistakes with Cleo instead.
