Riding The Edge - Elise Faber Page 0,56

and stabbing and bone-breaking. I think I’m done holding things to my chest.”

Silence.

Then Dan sank down on the bed next to me, took my hand. “Two years?”

“Yup,” I said then added dryly, “Anyone want to join me for the Toscalo family reunion?”

“If it means I get to obliterate them all, then yes,” Ryker said.

“Agree,” Laila said.

“I’m in,” Olive said.

“You don’t even have to ask,” Dan said.

Aw.

Planning the destruction of my biological relatives. Good times.

“I think we’d better start with pizza,” I said.

“Fair,” Laila said, loading her own plate, “but if we get a chance to take out the Toscalos, we’re going to take it.”

“Agreed,” Dan said.

I nodded.

Olive patted my hand.

Ryker met my eyes, inclined his head.

“In the meantime,” Laila said. “We focus on the Mikhailova. And we focus on finding out whether the traitor in our midst is Daniel or someone else.” Her brows furrowed, her expression intent and dead set. Then she relaxed, met my eyes, and smiled. “But first, pizza, and dishing on your and Dan’s kissy-face activities.”

“A lethal secret agent should not be saying words like kissy-face,” Dan muttered.

“Don’t try and put me in a box!” Laila exclaimed.

I sighed.

Olive grinned over at me. “Yes. We are women, hear us roar. Heels and guns, pizza and . . . all the kissy-facing.”

I groaned.

Ryker burst out laughing.

“Remind me again why I let you guys into my room again?”

“We brought treats,” Olive reminded her, snatching the paper bag with the cinnamon rolls back. “Anymore sass out of you, and I’ll eat this myself.”

“Tyrant,” I muttered.

“Friend,” she whispered as Laila grabbed the TV remote and she and Ryker began arguing over what movie to put on. “One who’s glad to finally be able to see the real you.” Olive leaned close. “And if you’re wondering why you don’t feel guilty about your father, it’s because you’re a good person, one who’s had to make a lifetime’s worth of tough decisions, and this one wasn’t any different. You did what you had to do, and you’re not going to look back and analyze every eyelash twitch.”

I released a breath, touched to the core. All these years I’d done my level best to keep everyone out, and . . . I hadn’t succeeded in the least. They knew me with or without the walls.

Then she gave me the death knell. The one that made my eyes sting. “And you’re not going to feel guilty because we won’t let you. We love you, Ava.”

“Fuck,” I muttered.

“What?” She frowned, even as Dan, all too familiar with my outbursts by now to react, simply squeezed my hand.

“I don’t know how you assholes made a place in my heart,” I told her. “But I’m damned glad you managed.”

“Don’t be too happy,” Dan said. He jutted his chin toward Laila.

Who had just come to an agreement with Ryker about which movie to watch.

It was Christmas-themed. It was a Christmas-themed romantic movie.

In the middle of summer. In a room of secret agents.

I gestured to Dan to come close, leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Spoiler alert,” I breathed. “I like it when the guy and the girl get their happy ending.”

“I heard that!” Laila crowed.

“Good,” I said.

And I decided that if this was the result of my walls falling, of me failing to keep everyone at a distance—a brightly lit room full of friends and a man I cared about deeply—then I could deal.

I grabbed Dan’s shoulders and hauled him close.

Then I kissed him until my head spun.

Yeah, I could deal with that, too.

Twenty-Seven

Central Georgia

Dan’s cabin

18:36hrs local time

Dan

“How did I let you convince me to deal with this humidity again?” Ava muttered, sitting up on the blanket I’d spread out for her. She poked a finger under the calf-high cast and began scratching. “This is going to smell like death when we get back to headquarters.”

“A little sweat never hurt anyone,” I said.

“Says you,” she said, still grumbling. “I’m the one who’s melting over here.”

“Come melt over here,” I said, still prone on the blanket, my head pleasantly full after the trio of whiskey-lemonades we’d drunk.

The sun was finally descending, taking the worst of the heat out of the air.

But the humidity was still intense, making our skin sticky, even in the shade of the trees.

“Fine,” she said, rolling toward me. “But it’s at your own peril.”

Two weeks from that night in Ava’s room, a little more than three since her injury, and she was finally more mobile. Her stitches were out, her antibiotics finished, and her cast