Page 79 of I Know You

I can’t help the burst of wry laughter. “It’s flattering that you still care enough to argue as well.”

His expression hardens. “I never once implied that I didn’t,” he says in a tight voice. “I will never want you in danger—no matter what happens between us—and neither does Ben. Please, love, go and be safe in your room.”

Love. I’ve almost forgotten how that word makes everything in me dance a rapid minuet. Had he meant that, or had it slipped out? Considering the way he clenches his jaw and looks away, I guess it slipped.

Even so, I resist the urge to melt at his request. Whether we have a future or not, he has to understand that I will never be the little obedient wife. “I was trained for this mission just as much as Ben was. I’m going to be right beside him when Gibbons tries to sneak in here.” I square my shoulders for good measure and stare Quint down.

He clenches his fists, his expression fierce. “I watched you get shot once before. So help me if it happens again…” The jagged edge to his voice stops any smart-aleck remark or petty retort from me. His desperation in my memories from the night I was shot steals any possible triumph in convincing Quint to let me in on the action—especially the memory of him clutching me in his arms, kissing my temple, whispering for me to come home to him.

“I told you,” he says, his tone so tight I think it might snap in half, “I didn’t know if you were dead or alive, and I’ve been trying and failing to live a life without you for ten years. Is it that important to prove that you can do this as well as him to risk me … or Ben,” he adds, as though he’d forgotten that part of the equation, “having to live through that again?”

How do I respond to that? No, I would take all that pain from him if I could. Guilt burns away all my frustration. I spin on my heel, catching a sigh of relief from Quint as I do so, and march back into my bedroom, shutting the door with a snap.

If I stay—I catch myself thinking that again. If—if there is a chance for us, I can make sure later that he understands I won’t meekly stand behind him in life. Because now? No. It isn’t that important to prove right now.

Once I lie in bed and analyze what Quint’s passion in demanding I stay in my room means about his feelings, and after I replay over and over in my head the way he called me “love,” my thoughts finally spin to Gibbons. He’s a trained, ex-CIA operative, who in the near future will turn his sights and his talents on Quint’s house and those inside it. Mrs. Barrow, the maids. Ben. Quint. Who knows what damage he can cause? What weapons has he brought from the future besides the horrific poison he plans to use to take over the governments of at least two powerful nations, if not the entire world?

As the minutes drag on, I strain my ears for any sounds of commotion, a fight, and heaven forbid, gunshots. None come. Any noise, no matter how slight, makes me guess at all the awful things that must be happening below me. Gibbons could have already killed his way through the house in search of the pills he needs to make his fortune and take over the world, and I would be none the wiser.

Unable to sleep, I walk over to the writing desk in the room and pull out some paper, filling it with the dozens of memories of my life with Quint that swirl in my head. If anything, maybe spilling them out will help me forget them—if I must. When I’ve filled page after page, writing down every detail I can recall of the little girls, I lay my head down on top of the pages.

They’re so real. How can I walk away? I close my eyes, silently begging for a solution.

I drift off to sleep, only to be woken a few hours later when a cold hand clamps over my mouth.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“I know what you’re thinking,” a voice whispers in my ear. “How in the world did I manage to get into your bedroom with almost twenty men guarding this house, one of them right outside the only window to your room and another right outside your door?”

A guard right outside my door? It shouldn’t surprise me, considering the vehemence Quint had argued with me to stay safely in my room.

I recognize the voice, and even though I can’t see his face in the absolute blackness of my room, I don’t doubt it’s the infamous Simon Gibbons.

“But you already know,” he continues. “I was trained by the CIA.”

He pulls me away from the desk while keeping a firm grip over my mouth. I can hardly breathe, let alone scream. I try stamping on the floor, but Gibbons catches me before I can bring my foot down, pressing my body against his with his other hand.

“You’re quite feisty.” He chuckles. “Didn’t Dr. Cooper and Burke tell you all about my background? Did your friend really think his pitiful excuse for a security team could stop someone like me?” He turns me around so that he holds my back against him, his arm still wrapped around my waist. He leans close to me, speaking right into my ear again. “Now here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to walk to the door and tell the man there to fetch your friend with my pills and only him. I’ll be pointing a gun at your head. It has a silencer on it, my dear, and I won’t miss, I promise. Do as I say, and if anyone else comes through the door, you’ll be dead then too and so will they. Do you understand?”

I nod.

“Excellent. Go to the door and give him the instructions.”

I wait for Gibbons to release me. He pulls my head back toward him, whispering in my ear again. “Don’t worry your pretty head that I’m going to shoot my way through this house and do something foolish. If you do what I say, everyone will stay safe—and I assume you want Quint Allen alive, correct?”

I try to gasp at his knowledge but can’t. I nod again.

“Very good. I knew you were smart. Remember, be a good girl,” he warns, stepping away from me. It’s not lost on me that Ben asked the same thing of me just hours ago.

My heart thumps in my chest as I pad across the room to open the door. I see no way to prevent Gibbons from either getting the pills or killing me, or Ben—or Quint. He’s trained to be a shadow, trained to eliminate every guard on Quint’s property without alerting a soul.

I quietly pull open the door. “Coles?” I whisper the name of the man guarding my room when I recognize the gardener’s face in the dim light. It’s a comfort that the man Quint thought to ask to guard my room is the one who’s been with the house the longest.

“Is everything alright, miss?” he asks, worry saturating his tone.

“Please listen very closely to me. I need you to bring Mr. Mitchell here—Mr. Mitchell and no other. Tell him it’s important. That my life depends upon it.”

I can’t see Coles’s expression. “But miss, what—” he begins.