Page 78 of Mile High Ruin

Not enough time, ideally, for information to move through several hands and reach someone waiting with rifles.

That’s the purpose. Reduce the opportunity for betrayal.

It’s not perfect. Tonight proves that.

“They were late,” Sloane says. “Because they had only just been told where to go.”

“Yes.”

“So if the attackers were already waiting…”

“They knew before my own security team did.”

The words settle heavily between us.

Anton turns fully this time. “This is exactly why she doesn’t need details.”

Sloane looks at him. “I’m sitting beside a man who was shot because somebody knew where his plane was landing, and I was on that plane. I think I’ve earned a few details.”

Anton’s jaw tightens. “You earned nothing.”

I look at him. “Enough.”

He faces forward again, visibly annoyed.

Sloane remains silent for a moment.

Then she says, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not pretending I imagined what happened.”

The answer affects me more than it should. I look away.

The city outside becomes denser as we move toward the hospital, old buildings giving way to glass and concrete, narrow side streets opening suddenly onto wide boulevards. Traffic is lighter at this hour, though taxis and delivery vans still move beneath the streetlights.

The wound in my side has begun to burn properly now.

I’ve had worse.

Much worse.

Still, every time the vehicle hits an uneven section of road, the muscles around the graze tighten involuntarily.

Sloane notices. “You’re in pain.”

“No.”

“You just flinched.”

“I shifted.”

“You shifted because it hurt.”

“I’m beginning to regret allowing you into the vehicle.”

“You carried me into your bedroom.”