“And is there a plan if they spot us?”
“We kill them.”
“Oh. Well. Sounds like it will go swimmingly. Literally.”
Taylor leans back in her chair. “Relax, princess. We timed our exit with the changing of the guard. Not the hours we need to get to Detroit, but this late at night they are sluggish with the changeover. Have I given you any indication I venture into matters without a plan?”
“Aside from my kidnapping?” Her head lolls to the side in exasperation. “No.”
“Precisely. Let’s be quiet, please.”
“Not so fast. I am not going to sit here, freezingandbored.” Taylor groans and closes her eyes, like that is going to block meout of her world. I’m not so easily dissuaded, as she should know by now. “Let’s play twenty questions.”
“Let’s play no more talking.”
“Nope, sorry. Twenty questions. You get two passes.”
Taylor gives me a look of straight annoyance, but she doesn’t outright object. “I will allow you to ask five questions and I will answer them without evasion.”
“You know that’s not a game, right? That’s a conversation.”
Taylor shrugs. “I do not want to play a game, nor do I want to have a conversation. My offer is a compromise.”
“Okay. Deal.” A billion questions batter my brain like shutters in a storm. But ultimately, my mind comes back to this mysterious brunette who appears to have an effect on my captor like no one else. “So, the way I figured it out is this: Mason is your driver and backup. You’re the assassin. What was Hunter’s role?”
Taylor licks her lips and I spot Mason catching her eye in the rearview mirror. With patience—which is not my strong suit—I wait for my first answer.
“Hunter is the assassin. I am recon and planning.” I pause. Taylor is an exceptional fighter and an outstanding marksperson. Why waste that talent by keeping her on the sidelines? Additionally, that means someone else should’ve infiltrated Papa’s party. I would’ve never met Taylor, or been kidnapped. I’d be dead.
More soberly, I ask, “What happened to her?”
Taylor heaves a sigh and rubs her temples with her fingers. “She was abducted.” Her voice drops and she aims her gaze out the darkened windows. “Two years ago, our camp was invaded and they took her from me. From our cabin, I mean. In the middle of the night.”
My line of questioning comes to an abrupt halt. How did someone get inside headquarters? It’s in the middle of nowhere,surrounded by guards and populated with soldiers. “She lived with you.”
“Is that a question?”
“No. I’m wondering how they succeeded with a lock on your door and two trained killers inside.”
“Isthata question?”
“No.”
Taylor threads her fingers through her hair. “There was no lock on our door then. No reason for one. No one has ever gotten into our headquarters before and no one has come back since. It was one time. One night. We were both asleep.”
Shame and guilt are so heavy in her expression I have to physically hold my own hand to prevent myself from offering comfort. The tight set of her jaw and the clear anguish in her eyes is enough to make me back down on the Hunter questions, at least for now.
“When’s your birthday?” Her eyes spell relief.
“Not sure,” she says. “Theia tells me it is probably in the last week of December. They found me the day after Christmas, and an infant can die from exposure in a day.” She shrugs her shoulders. So much for brightening the mood with my lighthearted question. “I would ask when yours is, but you know I already know.”
“Yes, your stalker knowledge is quite charming.”
“Funny.”
“Anyway, I have two more questions.” She is not amused but nods her head to allow me this indulgence. “Who took her?”
“Are all of your questions going to be about Hunter?”