“It’s not your job to protect me.” I kept my voice soft. He looked on edge.

“I’ve made it my job.” The words sounded like a gruff promise.

“I can’t pay you much, but I’ve got some money.” I played with the blanket, afraid to meet his gaze. If he was looking for money, then I could keep him at arms-length. If he was doing it for something else…I was in a whole different type of trouble.

“I don’t need your money, Ava.” He stood up and looked at me. “I have a hundred thousand quid in that safe and this place is only one of my safe homes.”

“Why?” My voice cracked. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because you need it.” His eyes ran over my face. “Because I want to.”

I wanted to say something, anything, but I didn’t know what. Instead I stood up and folded the blanket and placed it back on the couch and smoothed it out. I turned back to Owen and met his stare.

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” He stepped back and bent over to pick up his laptop.

I watched as he moved over to the small dining table and opened the computer again. Without another word I went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. He’d bought eggs and milk the night before and I was ready for something other than soup.

We spent the day quietly, each of us lost in our thoughts. He was busy on the internet, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. It wasn’t until I heard him mention bodies that I asked him to clarify.

“Are you talking about dead bodies?” I tried to not shiver.

“Someone discovered eleven dead women in a ware house in Singapore. Normally that wouldn’t make our news, but most of them were from England.” His eyes narrowed. “They’d been raped and drugged. Most of them were malnourished.”

“You think that’s linked to Mr. Song.” I let out a sharp breath.

He nodded his head. “And to us.”

I had nothing to say for that and we lapsed back into silence. At one point he hopped up from the table and took three steps before turning around and walking back to his seat. He found a phone book and looked at the pages as if he were reading a map.

For my part, television wasn’t an option. My face was on every channel and the panic it inspired wasn’t helping anything. I sat on the couch and read my new book. Helpful Heather had been right. The book was good.

“I thought you might be hungry.”

I looked up from my book to see Owen and a plate of sliced fruit and cheese. The pen he had been using earlier was tucked behind his ear.

“Thanks.” I set the book on the table and made room for him to sit down beside me

“Well, you made breakfast. Figured it was my turn.” He bit into a slice of apple.

“Did you find anything interesting on Facebook?”

His face darkened. “Nothing good.”

I layered a slice of apple with a piece of cheese. “More people disappearing?”

He nodded. “There could be a number of reasons for it, but I think it best that we assume those that aren’t active are looking for us.”

“Huh.” The apple in my mouth suddenly didn’t taste as good. “And how many is that?”

“Seven.”

“I guess it could be worse.” I swallowed. “Seven highly trained assassins out looking for us is better than twenty highly trained assassins out looking for us.”

“I’m more concerned with the disappearance of my sources.” He leaned back on the sofa and put his feet on the table. For some reason I found it fascinating that he wasn’t wearing shoes or socks. You’d think that assassins were always fully dressed, ready for a fight.

I forced myself to focus on what he was talking about. “That would mean someone you trust is removing your resources.”

“Yes.” He ran a hand over his face. “I trust very few people and none of them have access to all of my contacts.”

“So, at least two people are working together.” I picked up another slice of apple and looked at it. “Or someone has been keeping tabs on you.”

“That would be nearly impossible.” He shook his head. “I’m thorough, but one thing is certain. They aren’t just after you, love. We’re in this together.”

“Have you heard back from your handler?” I knew it was a common expression, but I always felt a thrill when he called me ‘love.’

“No.” He didn’t elaborate and I didn’t push for an explanation. I could sense that careful boundary of his just behind the scenes.

The rest of the night followed the same pattern. He checked email, watched the news, surfed the nets, and I read my book. When I realized I was nearing the end, I slowed down, trying to savor the ending. I put the book down and stocked the fireplace so we could stay warm through the chilly night.

I curled up in my spot on the sofa and watched the flames dance along the bark. The couch seemed to mold to my body.

“Who knows about this house?” I leaned my head against the arm rest.

“My handler might, but it’s more likely that he wouldn’t even think I used it.” He looked away from me. “He doesn’t know I own it.”

I wanted to ask him why. I wanted to know why this particular place was a little more important than the others. The answer danced just out of reach, but I couldn’t figure it out. My eyes were too heavy to keep open, my mind too tired to search the maze of Owen’s mind. I fell asleep in my same spot, content to bask in the warm glow of the fire.