Page 102 of Dark Soul

“I can tell you something now, something that will likely change everything. It will change the way you see the world, the way you see Dark … it will change a lot of things. Or, I can not tell you. You can go back to New Hampshire, to your job, to your friends, to your life.”

“So if I don’t want to know …”

“We will order dessert—I’ve heard they have a great chocolate and avocado cake—and then we’ll go our separate ways. You will never see any of us again.”

Alexia swallowed thickly, wishing she hadn’t had quite as much food. It was getting really warm inside the restaurant. “And if I do listen to you, will I be able to be with Dark?”

“That’s not up to me. It depends on you and on Dark. But yes, you would be able to be with him—if that’s what you choose. But you’d be giving up everything you’ve ever known.”

Thorne was presenting it as a choice, but really, there was no choice.

No choice at all.

32

* * *

Dark

Dark sat alone in the darkened office. The rest of the team had gone out to dinner with Pascale and Carrie, but he hadn’t felt like joining them.

He didn’t feel like doing much of anything.

Thorne walked into the office, not bothering to turn on the light. The man seemed altogether too comfortable in the dark.

“Good. You’re here,” he said.

“You need something?” Dark asked. “Everyone saw the shrink this morning.”

“Dr. Devlin told me. Apparently, she had a lot of interesting conversations about the new furniture.”

Despite himself, Dark’s lips curled into a wry smile. “I didn’t tell the men not to talk to her.”

“But you also didn’t talk to her yourself.” He raised his hand. “About anything real, I mean.”

“Give me a break, Thorne. You got what you wanted. Kvyat’s out of the picture. The plans are safe … we even found out a dangerous criminal who everyone thought was dead is alive and well. That’s worth celebrating, isn’t it?”

“She’ll be back next week, Dark. Make sure the men know how important it is that they speak with her.”

Dark nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll speak with them.”

“How are you doing?” Thorne asked. He walked to one of the cabinets and pulled out a bottle and two glasses.

Dark read the label.

Knockando.

Single Malt Scotch Whisky.

“15 years. I guess we are celebrating something.”

“What can I say? Life’s too short to drink bad whisky. I don’t have any ice. I hope you take it straight.”

“Straight is fine.”

Thorne poured them both a generous shot—looked more like two shots, even.

“So,” Thorne tried again. “Are you okay?”