Page 33 of Code Name: Reaper
“We’ll engage with him tomorrow, then,” she decided.
I moved closer to Amaryllis, positioning myself within arm’s reach. Her reaction time was slower than usual, as if her brain was struggling to process information.
“We should call it a day. Regroup in the morning.”
Wren looked between us. “Nem already ordered it, plus Wilder’s arriving soon with our daughter.” She grinned. “He’s started calling her ‘Katatoria.’”
Amaryllis appeared confused.
“Katherine Victoria,” Wren explained. “Named for both our mothers. You’ll understand better once you meet my husband.”
I guided Amaryllis toward the front door with a light touch on her elbow. She didn’t resist or snap at me, or worse, tell me to keep my hands to myself. Most likely, exhaustion had drained the fight out of her like it had me.
The SUV’s engine hummed as we pulled away from the estate, the headlights cutting through the gathering dusk. Amaryllis leaned against the passenger window, clutching her laptop bag against her chest like armor.
“You’re running on caffeine and stubbornness.” I turned onto the gravel driveway of a stone structure that looked like it belonged on a postcard. “Once we’re inside, I’ll make us something to eat.”
She looked over at me like she heard me but didn’t say a word. Which, from her, was scary.
The cottage sat nestled between ancient oak trees, and its honey-colored perimeter walls were covered with ivy that rustled in the evening breeze. Blackjack had chosen well—the place felt secure but welcoming, isolated enough for privacy yet close enough to the main estate for backup if needed.
The front door opened into a living area with exposed wooden beams, a stone fireplace, and furniture that invited relaxation. The kitchen occupied one corner, separated by a breakfast bar, while three doors flanked a short hallway.
To my surprise, Amaryllis didn’t argue about my preparing a meal. She followed me inside, her gaze automatically cataloging exits and defensive positions with the ingrained habits of someone trained for survival.
“Have a seat.” I pointed to the dining table near the kitchen.
Amaryllis sank into one of the wooden chairs and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. “I should review the DoD material again. There might be connections I missed.”
I opened the refrigerator, grateful to find Blackjack had had it stocked with eggs, cheese, fresh bread, and vegetables like theprevious safe house. “What you should do is give your brain a break.”
She was quiet for so long I thought she might have dozed off sitting up. When I glanced over, she was staring out the window at the darkening countryside, her reflection ghostlike in the glass.
“You need to take care of yourself, Charity. You’re not on the run anymore. Use the downtime for a hard reset. When’s the last time you did?”
“Not since Mercury disappeared,” she began, seemingly not noticing I’d used her given name. “Everything else started feeling selfish. Sleep, food, comfort—they seemed like luxuries I hadn’t earned while she was...”
She didn’t finish. I’d seen agents consume themselves with guilt before, watched good people destroy their health pursuing cases that had become personal. The difference was most of them were chasing strangers. Amaryllis was hunting for the closest thing to family she had left.
I cracked eggs into a bowl. “Mercury would kick your ass for neglecting yourself. She trained you better than this.”
A ghost of a smile flickered across her face. “She used to keep protein bars in her desk drawer and made me eat them when I’d get too focused on a case to remember to eat. She said a sharp mind required proper fuel.”
“Smart woman.”
I whisked the eggs with more force than necessary, channeling my frustration into the task. Watching Amaryllis slowly destroy herself in pursuit of answers made my chest tight—feelings I shouldn’t be having over a woman who, if she had any energy left at all, would be fighting me tooth and nail about everything, including how hard I was being on the eggs.
The kitchen was well-equipped despite its compact size. I found a decent pan, heated oil, and added the vegetables I’ddiced while she watched. The simple domesticity of cooking while she observed felt strangely right. No arguments about methodology or approaches. No verbal sparring over who was in charge. We were two worn-down people sharing a living space.
I poured the egg mixture into the pan. “How was working with Wren today?”
“We learned a lot. Crazy how someone like her and Nemesis can get people to talk who wouldn’t give me the time of day.”
I wanted to know what they found out, but neither of us had enough energy for a heavy conversation.
She nodded slowly, weariness making her movements deliberate. “Each time I find something new about her, it hurts. I’m still not over the fact that I never even knew her name.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be.”
The anguish in her voice made me consider turning the heat off under the eggs, take her in my arms, and ease her pain. I wanted to tell her names were labels, that actions and care mattered more than official identities. But I could see how deep this betrayal went for her, how it undermined everything she’d believed about the most important relationship in her life.
