We’ve been in the waiting room for half an hour, and Ms. Crane finally comes hobbling through the double doors—even though an orderly is pushing a wheelchair behind her. She looks over her shoulder to shoot him a nasty look. “Bean-shaped looking motherfucker.”
“Christ, Ms. Crane,” Killian mutters in a disapproving tone.
Dimitri curls an arm around her protectively. “Give the guy a break. He’s just doing his job, you dusty old cunt.” The orderly’s jaw drops in outrage on her behalf, as if he hasn’t been subjected to her mood for however long now.
“Find me a bat. I’ll give him a couple of breaks.” Ms. Crane flaps a hand, shooing him off, and then turns to us. Her gaze takes us in, seeming apathetic at the reception. “So this is my welcome party? I see you spared me the balloons.” Tristian’s eyebrow arches, and then he whips out the bouquet of wildflowers he purchased in the gift shop twenty minutes ago. The oddest thing happens. I’m not sure at first what I’m seeing, but Ms. Crane stares at the bouquet, her mouth clenching up into a tight purse. Her shoulders curl inward, and it doesn’t even matter that she mutters, “Fucking limp-dick wasting money on glorified weeds that grow for free,” I could swear she’s blushing.
Dimitri notices, too, head snapping back as he scrutinizes her through his dark sunglasses. “Delores. Are you flattered?”
“No,” she snaps, seizing the bouquet. “You three are about as flattering as the selfish love pump your daddies made you with.”
“Guess I’m not your favorite anymore, you fickle hag.” Dimitri smirks, covertly pulling a brand new pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his leather jacket. “I know how to win you back, though.”
Ms. Crane's eyes actually twinkle as she grabs for it. “Hallelujah. Now move out of the way so I can get out of here and smoke one of these.”
But before they do, each of them press a kiss to her cheek, causing more of that grimace-shoulder-curl-blushing, and by the time I get to her, she’s stiff, uncomfortable, and—I don’t care what she says—flattered.
I hug her gingerly, whispering a soft, “I’m sorry,” near her ear.
“What the hell for?” she asks, shifting restlessly until I step back. “You didn’t hit me over the head and hold a knife to my throat.” I don’t tell her what I feel in my heart, which is that I’m indirectly the cause of all of this. Jack, Vivienne, Daniel, the home invasion. She sees it on my face anyway, mouth flattening into a grim line. “You’re going to have a lot of fuck-ups in life, girl. No point in taking on someone else’s.”
With that, she gestures to the door, leading us through. There’s a moment outside, as Killian goes to get the car and pulls it around, where she tips her face up to the sun, soaking up the warmth. It lasts for as long as it takes Dimitri to find his lighter.
“So,” I say, pointing to the doors. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”
A shadow passes over Tristian’s and Dimitri’s faces, but Tristian is the one to step up to me, palms framing my face. “You don’t have to,” he says, blue eyes moving between mine. “If there’s anyone left, we’ll find them.”
I wonder if my smile looks as artificial as it feels. “It’s not just about the intel.”
“Then one of us can go with you.” He tips his head to the side in that way that makes my stomach flip. Tristian is a lot to take when he’s being cool and unflappable, but when he’s like this—soft eyes boring right through the fa?ade I’ve built—it’s nearly too much.
I place my hand on his broad chest. “It’s just something I have to do.”
He searches my face for a moment, giving me a solemn nod. “I trust you.”
I turn to Dimitri, who lifts his sunglasses, revealing his battered eye. To Ms. Crane, I plead, “Would you see that he gets that checked out by someone? He’ll listen to you.”
She sucks another drag from her cigarette, eyes pinging between us. “You’re going to see the thundercunt.”
“Killian made some calls before we came,” I explain, nodding up at the building. “She’s still here.”
I don’t miss the ring of disappointment in Ms. Crane’s tone, but she does me the favor of not showing it, giving me a nod instead. “I’ll take care of your little fuckface, Lady. Don’t you worry.” I think I do a good job of hiding my surprise. It’s the first time she’s ever used that word with something other than mockery or derision. Lady. She points her fingers at me, cigarette wobbling between them. “I’ll tell you what I’ve told all these fuckers at one point or another. Just because someone brought you into this world doesn’t mean they made you.”