SIXTEEN
Decima
The cops hadn’t saidas much, but I could tell as soon as my blindfold came off that the apartment they’d brought me to this time wasn’t any kind of safe house. To them, this was home.
Julius insisted on replacing my wrist brace with a new one, considering the old one had cracked in the fighting. Then they backed off, giving me space to explore the place and take in all of the intriguing details.
I hadn’t been able to track the route we’d taken, which had mostly been by car but also involved a descent down stairs into cooler air with a metallic scent, the squeak of a couple pairs of hinges, and a distant rumble that’d made me wonder if we were near a subway line. The last part of the trip had been by elevator, though, and the bright light that assaulted my eyes confirmed that this place was no basement.
The open concept of the room resembled the basement safe house, but it was larger and much more welcoming. A plump leather sofa and matching chairs stood in a cluster around a widescreen TV. The island by the kitchen was longer, and the countertops marble. There were three normal looking doors at either end, which I’d gathered led to the men’s bedrooms, the bathroom, and a workout room were Talon was currently unfolding a cot for me.
It would have looked normal—just like an everyday if somewhat posh home—if it weren’t for a few details.
The windows all along the wall opposite the front door allowed in plenty of light, but they were overlaid with a film that blurred all view of the outside—and presumably any chance of anyone else seeing in. From the time we’d spent in the elevator, I suspected it was a long drop to the ground.
The front door had a lock that took a keycode, and I could tell the deadbolt it activated was very solid from the sound of it thudding into place after they’d let me in. Another door in the far wall was similarly secured. Where did that lead? Weapons? Case files?
I’d just have to find out as soon as I had the chance.
One corner of the apartment had a desk with a massive computer and four monitors. I recognized that as Blaze’s domain, so I assumed that the dartboard a few feet away was also his. Whenever he’d last been playing, he’d gotten two in the bullseye.
I had no idea who the knitting bag sitting beneath the small coffee table belonged to. The bag was black and as masculine as a bag could get with screen-printed skulls and knives printed on the surface, but there was no mistaking the needles and skeins of wool poking from the top. Interesting.
Beside the TV sat a movie stand, and plenty of familiar titles greeted me. Many were dramas, a few were horror movies, and the vast majority were action. No surprises there.
I glanced over my shoulder when Talon came out of the exercise room. He walked over to join Julius by a small wooden table next to a whiteboard set up like an easel. Julius had taken out a few plastic army figures which must have represented whatever he started talking to Talon about. He moved them on the board with careful precision and pointed something out, but I couldn’t tell what he was getting at.
I wandered closer, hoping to catch a snippet of the conversation, but unfortunately that brought me closer to Garrison. He’d gone right to the stove and put on the kettle, and now he was pouring instant cocoa into a mug.
I resisted the urge to lick my lips—and the more insistent urge to ask him for some. I’d lived with chocolate only once a year for my whole life. Better I went without than trust anything he mixed for me.
Julius and Talon fell silent when I came closer, Julius running his hand over the short brown strands of his close-cropped hair. I put on my best show of not even noticing they were nearby, studying the frame around the nearest window instead.
It was actually worthy of examination. Hand-painted thorns and roses wove around the glass pane in an intricate pattern it was hard to imagine had been done by hand. If it weren’t for the slight smear in the corner, I would have assumed it was some kind of wallpaper.
I leaned closer, taking a closer look. The thorns in the painting appeared to wind around and trap the vibrant roses, encompassing them and cutting them off from the rest of their brothers and sisters. Some of the petals looked cut and scratched by the same thorns.
For such a beautiful painting, it was vicious. Had one of the men around me done this? It was hard to picture any of them with a paintbrush in his hand, but then I’d say the same about the knitting needles.
I turned back toward the kitchen just as Garrison put away the box he’d taken the cocoa packet from. My eyebrows leapt up. There was an entire shelf stuffed with similar boxes, with different brand names and logos.
“That’s quite the collection,” I said.
“Some might even call it an addiction,” Blaze piped up. He’d plunked down on the sofa with his laptop, which apparently he preferred to his more elaborate workstation.
I should have known better than to try to make any conversation with Garrison. He frowned at me and shut the cupboard with a thunk. “It’s a collection I don’t want you messing with.”
I quirked my lips up into a cocky smile and lifted my hands in feigned defeat. I wasn’t going to admit how much the thought of all that chocolate—so many different kinds!—made me drool. After all, the last time I indulged my own addiction, I could hardly walk back to my room before passing out.
I took in the whole room again, and another thought occurred to me. I hadn’t spent much time questioning the men’s living situation in the old apartment, which had felt distinctly temporary. This home was well-lived-in. They’d been here for a while.
I knit my brow and asked the room at large, “Is it normal for cops to live together like this? Can’t any of you afford your own place?”
“We’re married to our work, and that means practically married to each other,” Blaze said, shooting me a grin.
“It’s easier when we’re undercover,” Julius clarified.
I guessed that made sense. I didn’t know much about the inner workings of law enforcement, other than it was best to steer clear of its agents altogether. You never knew when a pesky law might get in the way of seeing a job through.