Page 91 of The Saint

“I know. But…” She squeezed his hand. “What was your last assignment?”

He glanced out the window as they pulled onto the interstate. His thumb caressed her knuckles. “An arms dealer in Syria was playing both sides of the fence. Someone found out and took his children. We brought them home.”

She bit her lip but remembered Beth’s order to leave her lipstick alone. “It doesn’t sound like he’s a good guy.”

“Not at all,” Camden agreed. “But his kids don’t have a say in their father’s work. And they were young. One wasn’t even talking much.” His lips flattened into a thin line. “Actually, none had much to say. They were terrified. But now, they’re home.” He gave her a long look. “I can see the wheels turning, Amelia. What are you thinking?”

“You were probably paid with money earned in…” She paused to think over what she said next, not wanting to offend him. “Really questionable ways.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Does that mean his kids should be left to suffer?”

“No…”

“Did the guy learn a lesson?” Camden shrugged. “No idea. Not my place to play judge and jury.”

She drank in a deep breath. The world wasn’t black and white. Hers had been until recently.

“You did a good thing, then.”

“I did my job. We extracted kids that were in a bad place. Not my job to raise them or instill a moral compass. Their father’s an arms dealer. The odds aren’t great they’ll end up as UN peacekeepers—then again, they mightbecausetheir dad’s facilitating death for profit.”

“Do you remember every assignment?”

“Some, I try hard to forget.” He turned her hand over in his and traced the lines and creases of her palm as though mapping out a puzzle. “What about you? Any nightmare events that you want to forget?”

She tried to remember standout headaches. Then she tried to recall her favorite events. Everything seemed so pointless: the stress over guest lists, menu choices, motifs, and color palettes. She used to enjoy that part of work, even if she hated the business side of things. Whether she liked it or not didn’t change the truth—she’d simply been good at it.

“I don’t remember when work changed from something I had to do to pay bills to… thoughtless monotony.” She chewed the inside of her cheek instead of her lip. “Maybe Hailey knew that and never told me about her other job so I wouldn’t feel as completely uninterested in my company as I do now.” She shrugged, unimpressed with herself.

The driver exited the highway and said over his shoulder, “We’re five minutes out.”

Knowing she needed reassurance, Camden squeezed her hand. “You ready?”

She made a face.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

She might throw up. “You’re such an optimistic guy.”

“Baby, I am the king of optimism with you on my arm. Anything can happen tonight.”

His calmness didn’t help hers. The sheer lace was suddenly too tight. The feathery eyelashes obscured her vision too much. She might’ve been teetering on the edge of a panic attack.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

The driver pulled into the warehouse lot, lined with expensive valet-parked cars and a row of idling hired vehicles. So many people were at Esme’s warehouse. Her shallow breaths quickened as a sheen of sweat surfaced at the back of her neck.

“Look at me, Amelia.”

But she couldn’t. Instead, she stared at the ugly, dilapidated industrial building. It had been transformed into ashowy work of art. Blue-and-purple lights beamed artfully over the imposing imperfections of rusted and barred windows.

Her breath caught. “It’s so…” She couldn’t explain how the transformation changed everything into a sultry fairy-tale ball. Finally, she turned to Camden. “Magical.”

Their sedan paused before pulling into the line of vehicles snaking to the front entrance. The driver asked over his shoulder, “Are you ready, ma’am?”

If she were to freeze, if she forgot what to say, she was supposed to turn to Camden. Their eyes met. Tonight was her first step to finding Hailey. Amelia would be that much closer to answers if she walked into Esme’s party. The queasy storm in her stomach continued to protest, but she nodded to the driver. “Yes, I am. Thank you.”

They rolled into the queue, and with the driver’s quick reminder of their exit instructions, they stepped into the chilly night.

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