Page 24 of Never the Same

“They’re about to pull up.” The deep, growly-ish voice behind me had to belong to Gideon. “And as for you four, you shouldn’t be discussing the case with her, especially not without my presence.”

I turned to face Gideon, my spine tingling and right-hook fingers itchy to swing. What was with the compulsion I had in wanting to slug my own flesh and blood? “I’m not a prisoner, correct?”

“Of course not.” He propped his hand up on the doorframe, eyes sharp on me. “But they’re outsiders.”

I crossed my arms, feeling a bit stronger standing my ground with four elite operators behind me. Something told me they’d have my back.

Gideon lifted his head, straightening his posture while tossing out the order. “Do me a favor and don’t bring up Tristan to Mum or Dad yet. Let me talk to them first.”

I didn’t even know what to say or ask them, because I barely knew a thing myself.

“The only person I want you focused on is yourself, got it?” His tone of voice that time was as layered and complex as I suspected he was.

“And what will you do next?”

“Kill the bastards who did this to you . . .” He paused for a beat, his gaze flicking to the operators in the room. “And leave a trail of bodies behind so everyone knows never to screw with my family again.”

Chapter Eight

Reed

From the second-floor window, I watched Hollis outside as she stiffened when her sister hugged her. She remained like a statue, arms slightly raised and locked at the elbows. She didn’t hug her back, but she didn’t shove Lyra away, either.

Her parents approached next, the duke and duchess. Her mother rested her hand on Hollis’s forearm and gave her a small squeeze. Her father offered a nod and a quick hug. Neither lingered. It was depressing, and that was coming from someone with shitty parents.

Never, in all the months that I’d known that woman—whether she was busting my chops or not—had she looked at me like she had today. Staring at me not as a stranger, but someone who gave a damn about me. She even had me feeling off, almost drunk. Oddly warm in my chest and throat, a little lightheaded, wanting to word-vomit shit I knew I shouldn’t . . . So yeah, out of it, for damn sure.

I let go of the drapes and turned, finding Alex dragging a leather armchair over to the corner of the room. He began screwing around with the camera. “Don’t like being watched?”

“Who does?” he grunted in response, then hopped down from the chair. “We can talk freely now.”

Trevor checked his watch. “I’ll start a timer. I’m sure you only bought us a minute before her brothers come barging in.”

“Then talk fast.” Alex winked.

Ryder set his laptop on the coffee table and stood, waiting for someone to speak up with theories or news during the precious seconds Alex had given us.

“I got nothing,” I surrendered, and Alex nodded his Same right back at me.

We turned to Trevor next. He rested a hand under his chin, cracking his neck. Probably slept as bad as I had. We’d been exiled to a small place at the back of the property, forced to sleep in bunk beds where the stablehands used to sleep thirty-plus years ago.

I’d slept in much worse, but it was more a slap in the face that we were outsiders in their family’s trust circle. I didn’t totally blame them, since the only time we’d worked together, Hollis had been an intermediary. But still.

“This is probably not too helpful, but I remembered my cousin had her memories wiped a few years back.” Was Trevor kidding? That was the definition of something akin to a possible lead. “But she remembered who she was, just not what happened to her during the time she’d been taken. No way the same person’s responsible.” He’d shot down what little optimism I had. “I can still talk to them. See if Tessa ever got those memories back. Or find out if they know what drugs were used on her.”

“Make the call outside where you don’t have ears and eyes on you.”

“Roger that.” Trevor left the office, and Ryder turned our way as if waiting for us to pull another possible lead out of thin air.

I held open my palms in apology at the nothingness still there. “I’m sure she’ll be back to herself soon and can tell us what happened.”

“Well”—Ryder glanced at the camera, which was still off—“what about any other cases involving memory loss and operators?”

Alex stepped forward. “Only ones I can think of involve traumas to the head.”

“I’ll call Secretary Chandler,” Ryder offered. “See if we can get help putting together a list of possibles. Anything even close to what happened to Hollis could be helpful to take a look at.”

Don’t leave me alone with Alex.