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Hugo’s hand tapped a nervous beat on his knee as Lancelot took a left, weaving them out of Sylvia’s neighborhood. “Trinity Masters.”
Lancelot nodded. “That would be my guess. They must know we weren’t there last night.”
“What are we going to say if they ask us about that?” Hugo asked.
“If they’re still there when we get back, and they’re in a talking mood, we’re going to do what the fleet admiral told us to do. Lie through our arseholes.”
“If they’re in a talking mood?”
Lancelot jerked his head toward the bag he’d stowed in the back seat that contained his weapons. “When we get there, I’m going to sneak in the back door, search the place to make sure whoever broke in isn’t still there. You wait in the car.”
Hugo frowned and started to shake his head.
Lancelot didn’t have time to worry about the professor’s male sensibilities. “Dammit, Hugo, our skill sets and reasons for being on this mission are different. You were sent here because of your connection to Sylvia. I’m here to ensure no one gets in our way. I can’t do that if I’m worried about you getting hurt.”
They fell silent for several minutes as Lancelot got them to the highway. The safe house was at least a forty-minute drive from Sylvia’s even with the lighter evening traffic.
Lancelot tried to focus on what came next, what they were about to walk into. He needed to get his head in the game, but too many times his thoughts lingered to what had just happened.
Sylvia made him want, made him hope for too much, which was insane. They lived on two different continents, in two different worlds. Hell, she didn’t even know his real name.
And if it was just Sylvia messing with his emotions, it would be one thing. But he was struggling to accept that Hugo was getting under his skin as well. Not in a bad way, but in a what-the-fuck-is-happening-to-me way.
Hugo sighed when the silence lingered too long. “We shouldn’t have taken her again.”
Lancelot knew they both had reasons to feel guilty, but he refused to hear Hugo talk about the actual experience as if it was a mistake. It wasn’t.
Nothing about what they’d shared had been wrong. What was wrong was Lancelot was letting his desire to do it again—preferably a million more times—distract him from the danger that lay ahead.
“Don’t ever call that a mistake. Ever. Besides, I didn’t see a whole lot of remorse on your face when you had your hand fisted in her hair and your cock in her mouth.”
Hugo stopped tapping his fingers and shot him a malevolent look. “Sucer ma bite.”
Lancelot grinned. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”
His quick reply obviously took Hugo aback. “You know French.”
Lancelot shrugged. “I was a little prick growing up, la. Thought it made me cool to say shitty stuff in different languages. Kept me out of trouble with me mum, too. She would have beat my ass if I’d told someone to suck my dick. But she didn’t realize what I was saying. And saying it in French,” Lancelot repeated Hugo’s words back to him, “sucer ma bite has a bit of flair to it.”
Hugo chuckled. “I suppose it does.”
Lancelot ran his hand through his hair, trying to get a grip on his emotions. “Can we talk about Sylvia later? I need…”
“I’m sorry,” Hugo said. “Of course, you are right. We need to focus. Whatever we discover at the safe house…we will face it together.”
Lancelot was accustomed to being a one-man band, typically working on his own. The idea of having a partner, someone who would have his back, was more appealing, more comforting than he would have expected.
He and Hugo fell silent as they traversed the quiet roads back to the safe house. Lancelot needed that time to figure out his game plan. Best case was whoever had broken in was gone. Worst case was there’d be someone inside waiting for them, looking for a fight.
Lancelot turned off the headlights, creeping slowly down the long, winding driveway of the safe house until they were just to the turn where they’d be seen from the house. He was careful to keep the car out of sight, wanting the element of surprise on his side.
Exiting the car and using trees as cover, he walked a few yards until he could see the house. He wasn’t surprised to find the entire house still dark. If someone was still inside, they wouldn’t want their presence known.
Lancelot returned to the vehicle and reached into the back seat, grabbing the bag. He pushed the car seat back as far as it would go and strapped the Bowie knife to his ankle, then pulled his jeans back over it. He made sure both of the guns—which Lorelei had pre-purchased, and they picked up from a man who had an entire arsenal in his garage—were loaded, keeping one for himself and handing the other to Hugo.
“The safety is off. If anyone comes toward the car who isn’t me, shoot first, ask questions later.”
Hugo shook his head. “No. I’m going with you.”
