It was warm. The air covered me like a thick heated blanket, shielding me from the air around. It was almost silent with the exception of a television droning in Dutch. That was when the reality of the situation hit me; the Netherlands. Bullet. Ashton.
My eyes shot open, adjusting to the cozy tan living room where I laid on a couch, piled on by darker tan blankets. The middle-aged woman across the room looked up at me suddenly, her hands around a mug of coffee. It was still dark out, the moonlight seeping through the solid shades of the windows behind the couch. She must have been up for the past few hours, watching me in her long sleeve black T-shirt and blue plaid pajama pants.
"You shouldn't move too much. Your stitches are only four hours old," she warned me from where she sat in an armchair next to the other end of the couch.
"You didn't have to stay up," I spoke cautiously, eyeing her suspiciously. Had Ashton said anything to her before he left? I knew exactly why he had done it.
Ashton wanted a head start on his witch hunt for Kavyat. For weeks he had tried to track the man only to come up with next to nothing. He was going to do something stupid. If anyone could pull it off, it would be Ashton, but there was still a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that he was about to do something stupid to draw Kavyat out. He was stalling me because he knew my injured self would try and beat him to the source.
He was probably feeding someone their eyeballs at this very moment. You think I'm joking, but I couldn't be more serious.
I've been saying we're psychopaths since the beginning. It's your fault if you don't believe me."If I didn't stay up, you would have left. I might not know you, but you don't seem like the type to take it easy. Believe it or not, I don't wish death on people, even those who show up at my home with guns," she responded carefully, her cool eyes studying my probably paler than usual face.
I jumped in front of a bullet for the man who broke my heart today and then he abandoned me after telling me he loved me. What part of that is supposed to make me feel like anything other than shit?
"What did he say to you?" I asked suspiciously, wondering if the truth had come out. She had to suspect it. Maybe that's why she suddenly seemed more relaxed in my presence; her son's lover wouldn't harm her after she saved their life, right? Or maybe she was just being nice.I usually prided myself being able to read people and Jen was no different. The only thing that made me waiver was the uncomfortable glint behind her pupils. Was it because she knew the truth or because she didn't? I didn't know which was worse; thinking you met your dead child and they ignored you, or knowing your last living family member was one of the most wanted criminals in the world and your new life was paid for via the blood they spilt.
"He didn't say anything. He was gone before I was back; he left a gun and this," she stood from the chair, placing her mug on the end table and opening her other palm to reveal a silver band the size of my finger with a date from four years ago engraved on the inside.
I instantly recognized the price of jewellery I had worn for over three months without fail. I had removed it after our final transaction in Israel. I should have known Ashton would keep it; a good operative always leaves a sign when they want to. This was a clear message; one I didn't want to accept.
Despite myself, I reached out and took the ring from her palm.
"Is he your husband?" she asked me, sitting on the edge off the coffee table right next to the couch I had been laid out across.
Part of me wanted to snort with laughter at the notion. This was the first time in months that I had ever had the chance, to tell the truth about my relationship with Ashton but I didn't. The truth was that I didn't want to make this woman question me, but I also didn't want to admit to myself that there was nothing tying me to the Palestinian soldier.
