Page 34 of Silver Lining (The Diamond Trilogy 3)
My fingers freeze over the keyboard.
I’m not thinking.
It’s not because I was about to text London for comfort, either. My brain has been in a fog since yesterday because of what she told me. Because she told me that she’s seeing Adam.
And I sat on that information for a full day, then put all my hopes in Liam North’s basket.
My winter jacket feels enormous on my frame but I zip myself into it, put on a hat, and leave my apartment for the first time in weeks.
It takes fifteen minutes in an Uber to get to London’s apartment, and then it’s three floors up. I’m burning up inside the jacket by the time I’m pounding my fist against the door.
“London. I need your help.”
It’s insane that we haven’t talked about this. Sure, yes, it would be hypocritical to fight with her about the fact that she’s with my original kidnapper, but a good sister would at least ask. A good sister would press for the details before she leverages that man for everything he’s worth.
The deadbolt disengages on the other side and the door opens.
I’m not surprised to see Adam on the other side. I knew he was with her in some capacity, but to see him standing here sends a wave of indignation tearing through me. That, and the fact that he’s in a pair of low-slung sweatpants and nothing else. “Are you living here?”
“For the moment.” Adam ushers me inside and it is irritating, it is infuriating, how easily he does it. He looks completely at home in the cluttered, bohemian apartment.
“Where’s my sister?”
“I’m right here.” London steps out of the bathroom in a t-shirt and leggings with a towel around her hair, looking wide-eyed and wary. “Are you okay?”
“Are you okay?” I cross my arms over my chest and stare at her. “You told me you were seeing him. You didn’t say you shacked up with him. He kidnapped me.”
“For what it’s worth, I am sorry about that,” Adam puts in.
London holds up both her hands. “It didn’t seem like the best time to mention—”
“That this man is living in your apartment? Living here, London, not just dating you, not just hooking up with you, living here. What were you thinking?” London and Adam exchange a glance, which pisses me off even more. “Oh, so it wasn’t you. It was Adam’s idea.”
“There were extenuating circumstances,” he says.
I stab a finger in his general direction, cutting off whatever pointless explanation he’s about to give me. “Elijah is in danger. He’s going to be tried for treason—or worse.”
“Why should I care?” He puts a hand to his side and drops it. “Last time I saw him, he shot me.”
“Because you deserved it. And also he let you leave.”
Adam sighs. “Look. It’s complicated. The colonel has too much power for one man. I know that more than anyone, but that doesn’t change the reality. He’s too strong to beat.”
The colonel, the colonel. If I never have to hear another word about the colonel it will be too soon. “Not exactly. He’s dead.”
I’ve never seen Adam look so surprised. I wasn’t sure he was even capable of this expression. He looks...stunned. “What? No. What the fuck did you just say? He’s not dead.”
“Oh yes.” I give him a sharp nod. “He’s really dead. I shot him myself.”
Adam sits down heavily on the couch, his hands folded under his chin, and without his shirt he looks somehow like a lost little boy despite the large muscles and three days of scruff. “That changes everything. Jesus Christ. The colonel. Dead. Shot by a civilian.”
“It changes nothing.” My voice is so sharp it’s cutting my throat and bringing burning tears to my eyes. “I did it to save Elijah, but it only made things worse.”
He frowns. “How is it worse?”
“Because now the U.S. government thinks he did some kind of treason plot. They think he was paid by a foreign country or something.”
“But you’re the one who shot him.”
I swallow around the knot in my throat. “Yes.”
His solemn eyes meet mine. “You should leave it alone. Elijah sacrificed himself for you. This is how he’d want it.”
“No, damn it.” Adam blinks at the raw edge of my voice. “I refuse to give up on him. He never gave up on me.”
16
Elijah
I have no explanation for the airport hanger.
It’s a change of scenery, at least. No more cinder block walls. Only massive ceilings coated in fireproof sealant foam. The sound of fists hitting flesh echoes off those high ceilings while a new set of henchmen take turns with me. Possibly they’re just using me for practice. Someone has to be the test dummy for torture school, after all.
I’ve had just enough recovery time to be conscious for this latest session. Lucky me.
They’ve been at it for fifteen minutes or so when a door opens at the other side of the room and a man in a suit and overcoat walks in like he’s late for a board meeting. One of the Army men makes a show of pulling out a chair for him, which he takes.
