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My throat thickens, but I turn my mind away from the thought. I'm not ready to think about Lucas yet. We have a few more hours of bliss to enjoy first.
Liam must be thinking the same thing, because he sits up, rolls his shoulders back, and says, "I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving. Do you think this place has room service?”
I burst out laughing, thoughts of Lucas drifting out of my mind, and I couldn't be happier about it. "You know, Liam," I reply, "I like the way you think.”
ChapterForty-Two
We spend the rest of the night in a blissful utopia of sex andfood and wine, lying together on the big bed, talking and laughing and kissing, ordering in more food and more wine, until the entire night feels like one long, incredible dream. When it's over and we're cuddled together in the darkness, still half-naked, I'm almost able to forget the danger I'm in.
But I can't say the same for the following morning, and neither can the guys.
"So what's our move?" Tristan asks as we sit in the kitchen downstairs, sipping tea and stealing the occasional glance out the window. So far, no one's come for me yet, but that doesn't mean no one will... and if they do, the guys will be at risk as well.
"We have to move on Lucas," Liam replies. "Cut the head off the snake, so to speak.”
But Theo's shaking his head. "We can't, not yet," he says. "We still don't know who sold us out at the Bath safe house. Until we figure out who the rat is, we can't afford to make plans for Lucas. They'll end up tipping him off, and we can't let him near Vivian again.”
Liam sighs but nods. "Agreed," he says.
"Agreed," Tristan echoes, glancing at me. "So... the question now becomes, how do we find the mole?”
"I've got guys on it, but they're turning up empty,” Theo says grimly. “All of their leads have led to dead-ends. Even the guys you took out on the road, Liam. Whoever it was, they've covered their tracks well. Either that, or they never left tracks in the first place.”
"Everyone leaves tracks," I say, staring into my tea mug and thinking back to my conversation with Craig last night. That's when an idea comes to me, so suddenly that it makes my head snap up.
Theo raises his eyebrows at me. "Something on your mind, kid?”
"Yeah, actually," I reply, looking from him to the others.
“Don't leave us in suspense, Vivi," Liam teases.
"I think I may have a lead we can follow," I say slowly, "but you're not going to like it."
St. Thomas hospital might as well be at Ground Zero for London's mob scene, which is the first of several reasons why I'm shitting bricks when we arrive. The second reason is that it's the same hospital where I was sent after Lucas shot me. The third reason is that coming back here means facing the damage I've done to the people I care about, and I'm never, ever going to be ready for that.
"Are you sure about this?" Tristan asks as we enter the intensive care unit waiting room.
"Not at all," I reply, turning from him to Liam. Theo, for obvious reasons, can't be here, although he put up a hell of a fight about it, and I doubt he would have allowed me to go at all if I weren't with the others. "But it's a thread we can pull.”
"We still don't know the attack was related," Tristan points out.
"It was, I'm certain of it," I reply, glancing toward the nurse's station. "Craig Sterling said he thinks it was targeted. And the fact that it happened after I was in contact with her is a hell of a coincidence.”
"She's got a point," Liam says. "It's worth crossing off the list, if nothing else.”
Tristan sighs, crossing his arms. "I don't like it," he says. "We're too exposed here.”
"We were exposed the night we busted Vivi out, too," Liam points out. "We're just a smidgemoreexposed now.”
Tristan rolls his eyes, turning to me. "How do you know she'll want to talk to us?” he asks.
"I don't," I admit, my shoulders slumping. That's the most painful part of this whole thing. "I wouldn't be surprised if she doesn't, after the shit I've put her through.”
"It wasn't your fault, Vivian," Tristan says, putting a hand on the back of my neck, his sapphire eyes meeting mine.
"Thank you," I tell him somberly, "but it was." Sighing, I square my shoulders and turn to face the nurse's station. "Wish me luck.”
I'm bracing myself for the worst—to hear that she's in a medical coma, for instance, or that she's not accepting visitors—and the relief I feel when they tell me she's up and talking is beyond description.
