Page 65 of Zeus

Sadly, it only takes me ten minutes to pack my room. I do my best not to let the knowledge that I could be ready to uproot my life back at the Cerberus cabin in just as little time get too deep into my head.

I've never even considered putting down roots. I'm always too quick to run from any complication that may arise in my life. I can't help but wonder if I've put myself in a position that I'm going to have to do exactly that when this case is over because of the choices I've made, and for the first time in my life, thinking about hitting the road and leaving Cerberus behind causes a twinge of pain right in the center of my chest. What I can't let get too deep in my head is knowing full well that it's walking away from Zayne again that makes me second-guess my next move.

Way to fucking complicate your life, asshole.

"This may cause problems for you," Zayne says when I walk out of the bedroom, duffel bag strap in my grip.

"How so?" I ask, not following where he's trying to lead me.

"What did your court case manager say about where you live?" he asks, playing his role of Curtis Allen perfectly.

"I can file for a change of address," I mutter, not wanting to play this game, but also knowing that if Casper is listening, this is our way of letting them know where we're going if the conversation with Scott earlier wasn't clear enough.

"And you think they're just going to be okay with you saying you're living at the wrecking yard?"

I pull in a deep breath, frustration over this entire fucking situation eating away at me. We aren't supposed to be packing and getting ready to enter the lion's den. We were supposed to come down from our respective orgasm highs with a bowl of cereal before climbing into bed, hopefully together, before getting some much-needed sleep. At least that's how I thought the rest of the night would go.

"Do you really think they take the time to worry about that shit? Or would even do enough research to know exactly where it is?"

"May need to ask Bobby what you should do before contacting the court," Zayne suggests.

"Yeah," I mutter, dropping my duffel bag near the door. "That's a good idea."

I feel as if we're talking in riddles. Knowing why we're doing it doesn't make me feel any calmer. Cerberus, knowing where we're going, is exactly what we need. But the reminder that everything we've done or said in this house, especially in the living room, has been monitored not only by our group but also by the enemy we're facing.

It makes me think about every single word, every sigh, every sound we've made since we moved in.

Did either group hear something that made them suspicious? With Cerberus, it would be an explanation.

With The League, it could mean death.

Did Scott really buy our story?

Are we packing our things, thinking we've made progress on this case, only to have bullets put in our heads because they somehow guessed what we've been up to?

As if my questions have been spoken, Zayne steps closer to me, his eyes searching mine.

"This is perfect," he assures me. "Exactly what we wanted."

I nod, letting him know that I'm on board. A small dose of paranoia is good in any situation. But if I take an honest step back and evaluate the situation as a whole, I can see that there has been no hint that we're facing any immediate danger by going where we've always planned to end up.

"I can't fucking wait," I say, taking a step back because if he touches me right now, I don't know how I'd respond. "Maybe they'll have bigger and better water heaters, and we don't have to argue over the fucking shower."

He laughs, the sound genuine and exactly what I needed to calm my nerves enough to move forward with our plan.

We work for the next half hour, gathering everything they'd expect us to bring and leaving it near the front door, then make several trips to our beater of a truck to load it all up.

"Ready to go home?" he asks as we take one final look around the living room to make sure that we don't miss anything.

I look at the ceiling, knowing the Cerberus-issued computer is up there, but he shakes his head. The guys will come and clean the place out, retrieving anything we left behind.

"We can't forget to call the landlord," I say. "Let him know we're out."

"I'll do it," he says, walking toward the front door. "Let's go home."

"Home," I scoff after we're outside, where there's less risk of being heard.

He locks the door behind him, leaving the keys off the side of the porch, and it makes me wonder if that direction came from Casper once we were given access to the compound. If it is, it's just one more thing I missed by not reading that fucking file I was given before the start of this fucking job.