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“That was before you killed my father,” she said, twisting out of his grip. “Nothing in my contract specifies that I have to finish the job. I was raised to be prime. I know how to write a contract with twists and turns and alleyways. It’s your own fault for being too quick to sign.”
“Fine. Give us the data you’ve found so far.”
“Not on your life. I want to you feel what my father had to go through, what Mr. Shaw and I had to go through. The way I understand it, you and your friends have one year to sort out La Roux’s network, or at least make some measure of progress toward that end. You can’t exactly condemn Mr. Shaw and my father for going outside of Bullstow if you insist on doing the same. When you fail—and you will fail—maybe Dr. Booth might give you pills when the next disciplinary committee takes over. Let me assure you, senator, I’ll be here on the day of your death, gloating in the corner while your family grieves, just as you’ve done tonight.”
“For gods’ sake, madam, I wasn’t gloating!”
“Yes, I’m sure you were just paying your respects.” Lila turned and stalked through the compound toward Falcon Home, her side aching and calling out for rest.
Senator Masson did not follow her.
Chapter 33
Lila stopped before the dark guest cabin, opening the door with little noise. It wasn’t as if she needed to bother, though. Dixon would be in the oracle’s cabin tonight, curled up with Blair, watching movies, laughing, and writing long notes for his lover to read whenever she looked up. Connell and Mòr would likely do the same, whispering quietly while the film played on. Kenna would play the host, feeding her daughter sweets and hoping to take her mind off Camille and Achille.
Lila flipped on the lights beside the door, jumping at the figure standing at the counter, his fingers splayed out upon the granite. His brown coat hung limply upon his frame. A scarf trailed on either side of his neck.
“Lila,” Tristan said.
He had gone back to calling her by her first name.
Lila slammed the door behind her. She didn’t bother looking at his face. She didn’t bother saying hello. She prowled into the den, unplugged her laptop from the wall, and tossed it into her satchel.
“Lila, I came to talk to you.”
Lila ignored him. She scanned the coffee table for her star drives, frowning when she did not immediately spot one of them. Spying it underneath a folder, she snatched it up and slipped it into her satchel.
Tension hung on the air, like damp.
Lila hitched the strap higher onto her shoulder and stepped back outside, settling her satchel in the back of her sedan.
Tristan followed her out. “I’m not mad that you tranqed me, you know. I could see in your eyes that you were frightened. I don’t understand why. You know I’d never hurt Dixon. He’s my own brother.”
Lila shut the car door and entered the cabin, marching into her room. She swiveled her head, searching for her empty canvas bag before dropping it upon the floor. It landed upon the wood with a splat, metallic zippers twitching back and forth, jingling in the quiet.
“Will you please talk to me?”
Sweaters and trousers stared at her as she opened the bottom drawer, like quiet spectators in the first row at a play. She snapped up each item and dropped it into the bag, then opened the next drawer.
“You shouldn’t be packing. You should be resting.”
Lila paused, knowing someone had told him she’d been shot. She bustled around the drawers faster.
“Dixon didn’t tell me. The oracle did. Did you ask him not to?”
Lila dodged him and entered the bathroom, grabbing up her toiletries and ferrying them to her bag. On her last trip, Tristan grabbed her arm. “Lila, did you ask him not to say anything?”
They locked eyes.
Lila looked away. She couldn’t open her mouth, not for one word. If she tried to speak, words wouldn’t come out. Tears would.
Tristan didn’t get to see that from her, not ever again.
“What’s happened? What’s wrong with you?”
She tugged her arm away and finished filling her bag.
“What’s happened, Lila? Will you please just talk to me?”
