I’m not sure if it’s the look on her face or the memories dredged up in my mind, but I have a flash of clarity that causes me to take a step back. I’m out of control, my anger over what happened to Stella is being transferred to Beaux, and the certainty I had ten minutes ago that she was trying to steal my story now has more holes in it than a fishing net.
I begin to speak, but instead just shake my head, run my fingers through my hair, and blow out a breath as I turn on my heel and stalk into the hotel. All I can think about as I jog up the stairwell is how my always sure self is nonexistent these days and how fucking hard that is for a man used to being in control of everything – work, relationships, instinct.
When I shove the door of my room open, it slams into the wall behind it. I push it closed with my shoulder, but I’m so distracted that all I can think about is hitting the gym to try and work this all out of my system before taking a scalding hot shower to wash away the day and the doubt that feels like a damn constant since I’ve been back here.
I forgo unbuttoning my shirt, grab hold of the back of my collar, and pull it over my head, tossing it to the bed behind me without glancing back. In a practiced habit, I pull the Glock from my waistband.
“You had a gun?” Beaux’s quiet but surprised voice cuts through the tension pulling me so damn tight, a fucking breeze might cause me to snap.
I grunt in response but look toward her standing in my door anyway. Her head scarf is off, hair pulled back like that first night we met with little curls falling softly on those defined cheekbones of hers, and sincerity is reflected in her eyes that keep darting to my weapon on the tabletop beside me.
“Ever heard of knocking?”
“It was open.” I hear the startled inhale of someone not used to dealing with guns when I release the magazine from the butt and set it on the dresser in front of me.
“Lots of places are open in this city that I wouldn’t go inviting myself into, FYI.” I slide an impatient glance her way as I double-check to make sure that the weapon is empty and safe.
“I – I just didn’t realize that you could carry a weapon here.”
“You can’t. Next topic or get the fuck out because frankly you’ve used up about all of my patience, and it’s probably best if you’re not around me right now.” I swear my anger must roll off me and slam into her, because she just stares with her mouth agape. “That’s what I thought. Thanks for the chat. Now if you’ll see yourself out…,” I say as I turn to the barely there closet where my suitcase is stowed to get some gym shorts, dismissing her and her surprised eyes.
“I’m sorry. I made a mistake.” My step falters at the contrition in her voice, causing me to turn to stare and wait for her to continue. The silence between us stretches, and I can tell that my gun sitting out in the open unnerves her by the way her eyes keep flickering to it. Does she agree with the brass? Think I’m losing it too? “Tanner…”
“You didn’t tell me you were fluent in Dari.” Screw waiting for her and her placating tone. I’m a man of action, and we need to get to the bottom of this right here, right now.
“You’ve been so busy holding a grudge against me, you didn’t care to ask.” She sets her camera down on the nightstand, and with her shield now gone, her posture changes and becomes more defensive.
“Don’t you think that’s something that was important for me to know?” I lean my hip against the edge of the dresser, but my eyes never leave hers. I’m trying to gauge her body language by her responses.
“Why didn’t you —”
“I’m the one asking the questions here. Not you.” I cut her off. I want answers, and I intend to get them. “Who are you working for?”
Her eyes widen slightly, and her brow narrows in confusion. “Worldwide News?” She answers hesitantly, drawing the words out as if asking me if it’s the correct answer.