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Patricia folded her arms and glared. “See, that’s where you’ve got it all wrong. The only person who thinks there’s anything wrong with you is you.”
The words echoed the ones Joe had thrown at her, making her heart clench.
“Rubbish. I can give you a list of the people who’ve sat me down over the years and told me I’m too much to handle. Or that I was disappointing. Or, my favourite, that I don’t try hard enough to change.”
Her gran waved a dismissive hand. “Well, they’re all idiots.”
“Thanks for clearing that up.”
“I’m telling you right now, young lady, if you don’t accept who you are and give that boy a chance to love you, you are going to lose him.”
Julia seriously didn’t want to hear it. “Gran, this isn’t a long-term thing between me and Joe. It’s casual.”
Patricia threw up her hands. “And I thought you were the smart one!”
“Ladies,” Callum interrupted.
Julia turned to him as her heart tried to escape through her ribcage. “Is there news?”
“No.” He held up a phone, a look of utter disgust on his face. “But your mother is on the line. Who’s talking to her?”
“Not me.” Gran backed away from the phone as though it was a rattler.
Julia frowned at her. Who’s the coward now? She took the phone from Callum and spoke before her mum had a chance to.
“Mum, guess what? I’m with Gran. Let me put her on the line.” She stalked over to her gran and thrust the phone at her.
“Traitor.” Patricia glared.
Julia turned away. So now she was a traitor on top of everything else. Family. There was a reason she limited her time with them.
“Libby, darling,” her gran crooned into the phone. “I’ve been meaning to call you.”
“She’s lying,” Julia called.
Her gran flushed and blurted, “Julia’s got a boyfriend.”
Callum groaned loudly. “I spent years in the special forces only to come out and use those skills dealing with women who think they’re still in high school.”
“You’re one to talk,” Patricia snapped at him. “You won’t even deal with your own issues. Talk about us when you’re proud of who you are, legs or no legs.”
Julia looked at the time on her phone. Only nineteen minutes had passed since she’d heard from Joe.
Nineteen long minutes. She looked back out the window and prayed he was safe. A world without Joe wouldn’t be worth living in.
Lake had sent a four-man team to back them up. The men came prepared with weapons and comm equipment. They were dressed in black tactical gear, from bulletproof vests to side-arms strapped to their thighs. The men only gave their first names, and their accents were too generic to place—even as far as picking a country.
“David,” the leader of the group said as he held out a hand.
Joe put him in his early thirties. He had the kind of standard good looks that made him blend into a crowd. His skin was a light brown, his hair a darker brown and his eyes almost black. It was hard to tell which nationality he belonged to. It could have been any.
Joe shook his hand and introduced his team.
Elle gave the ghost team a wide smile. “CIA? MI6? Mossad? Am I close?”
David’s lips twitched. “All you need to know is that we’re here to help.”
“Would it be rude if I asked for some fingerprints?” Elle eyed his black gloves. “You know, just so I can do some investigating in my free time.” She batted her eyelashes at him.
