Chapter Twenty-Eight

We dropped the car off and took the train back to London.

I needed a shower.

And sleep.

We’d been on the go and everywhere and my internal clock didn’t know what time it was besides tired. In my room, door locked, and off came the coat, armor, boots, cat suit, socks…once in my underwear, I turned the taps for hot water. Buried my nose in the towel from home to remind me why I did this job, then stripped naked and let the shower wash away the stress built up over the past month.

I saw Mama only two months ago, but homesickness had settled in.

When the water ran cold, I dried off, put on sweats, braided my wet hair, and settled on the bed with the Walkman and my music collection. I needed to not be here.

At least in mind.

I zoned out to Willie Nelson until my stomach growled over the music.

Sighing, I put on shoes and headed for the cafeteria.

Sanctuary was quiet. Guess it was late. Or something. The kitchen staff was gone—which was fine as I preferred mine or Mama’s cookin’, anyway.

Only the kitchen lights were still on.

After taking inventory in the fridge, freezer, and pantry, I started some comfort food. Headphones still on my ears, my head bobbed to the beat as I chopped and mixed ingredients. Recipe choices were limited if I didn’t want to be here for an hour, but I’d come up with something that would give me a taste of home.

Dropped a chicken thigh and two drumsticks in the fryer.

Now for the gravy…

I mixed and mashed all the lumps away, stirring for the perfect consistency.

“Boo,” a voice said next to my right ear.

Hit-hit-hit-twist.

“I yield! Seven!”

My hands held Thirteen’s arm twisted at an odd angle as I stood over his body on the floor. Realizing what I’d done from the surprise voice, I released him and sprung back.

“Christ, woman, relax!” He shook out his wrist. Rolled his shoulder.

I pushed the headphones off my ears. “I didn’t hear you. What are you doing here?”

“I saw the lights on and there’s never more than a nightlight in the kitchen past midnight. Then I smelled fried chicken.”

Rolled my eyes and moved the gravy off the heat. He grabbed a backpack off the floor. “Did you just get in?”

“Yeah.” His hair was longer than a month ago and stubble covered the lower half of his face. “Nice welcome home.”

“Don’t spook me.”

“Got enough of that for two?” He hopped up to sit on one of the steel counters.

“No.”

“Could you?”

“I was plannin’ on eating in my room.”

The timer for my chicken chimed and I pulled the basket out of the fryer and let the oil drain. They’d be stupid hot right now. Grabbed a plate and stuck two leftover scones in the microwave. Closest thing to biscuits on short notice. Thankfully, they weren’t flavored, so the gravy would disguise the difference. Retrieved the plate, carefully placed the chicken, and ladled my gravy all over it.

By the scent, Mama would be proud.

I set the plate on the counter and gently cut into the thigh piece. Steam escaped the meat. I blew on the bite a few times, then popped it in my mouth.

And groaned.

“You’re killing me,” Thirteen said. I’d almost forgotten he was there.

“Learn to cook.”

I sat in the chair normally reserved for the potato peeler and tucked in. Already felt my soul lighten. This meal was exactly what I needed tonight.

“Share and I’ll owe you a favor.”

I glanced at him and laughed. “Do those puppy eyes actually work?”

“Sometimes,” he grumbled. I laughed harder. “Please?”

“Cook for you while my food gets cold? No.”

“Fine.” He hopped down and headed to the giant fridge and freezer. And pulled out the ice cream. Since I had my own ice cream tucked in the freezer in my suite, this had no effect on me. “No comment?”

“None of my business what you eat for dinner.”

He paused with spoon in hand. “Might be breakfast.”

I shrugged.

We ate our fat in peace and neither felt guilty about it.

When I finished, I did the dishes so Cook wouldn’t find a mess in the morning, and tossed a towel at him. “You dry.”

Thirteen yawned. “I’m going to bed.”

“Oh, no you don’t. Use something, you clean it. I’m not your maid.”

“But you did grow up in the back of a restaurant.”

I smacked him with a wet spatula. “Where I learned how to keep the books just as much as I washed dishes. I’ve run the diner when Mama was sick.”

“Sorry I touched a nerve.” He rubbed a pan I shoved into his hands with the towel.

“Until her lupus diagnosis, my mother worked at least twelve hours a day at least five days a week my entire life. The restaurant business takes more dedication than practically anything else and my family has run that diner for three generations.”

“Understood.”

He went quiet, the only sound in the room coming from the water in the sink as I washed.

Then, “You feel guilty for not being there.”

I sighed.

“Is your mom okay now?”

“Last I knew.” I handed over the last piece. “She’s fine as long as she rests enough and stays out of the sun. And avoids the flu in winter.”

“I may put my foot in my mouth, but I’m never trying to be a jerk when I tease you.”

“I know.”

The clean dishes went back where they belonged.

Lights off.

He waited for me at the door to the dining room, and we set off for the suites.

We reached his section first.

“If I don’t see you before they ship us out again, safe travels, kid.”

“You, too.”

I continued to my room.

Felt his eyes on me for a few seconds before I was around the partition wall and out of sight. I hoped to God my body would let me sleep now.

Brushed my teeth and hit the pillow face down.

The knocking on my door came way too soon.

Eyes crusty, I shuffled to it. “What?”

“Prepare to leave. We have our next assignment.” Amelia.

I groaned, shut the door, and found the sink to splash my face. Did I have time to eat breakfast? Screw it, they could wait. I munched on cereal as I dressed and packed.

Tossed some strawberries into a baggie.

Duffel, weapons case, and out the door. Amelia stood at the elevator with her luggage.

“Where are we going?”

“Klamath National Forest.”

Didn’t ring a bell. “Where?”

Amelia sighed. “Northern California.”

Oh.