Ivy finished putting the last of the glasses away and started cleaning the sink with scouring powder. I gave her a sour look. The sink didn’t need cleaning. She was just being nosy. Upon opening the fridge, I silently assessed the take-out bags from four different restaurants. Apparently Ivy had been grocery shopping. Shuffling about, I found the bologna and a head of browning lettuce. My eyes went to the tomato on the windowsill and I bit my lower lip, hoping Nick hadn’t seen it yet. I didn’t want to offend him. Most humans wouldn’t touch a tomato with a gloved hand. Shifting to block his view, I hid it behind the toaster.

“Still eating, are we?” Ivy murmured under her breath. “A moment on the lips …”

“I’m hungry,” I muttered back. “And I’m going to need all my strength tonight.” I stuck my head back in the fridge for the mayonnaise. “I could use your help if you have the time.”

“Help with what?” Jenks asked. “Getting tucked into bed?”

I turned with my hands full of sandwich stuff and elbowed the fridge shut. “I need your help bringing in Trent. And we only have until midnight to do it.”

Jenks’s flight bobbled. “What?” he said flatly, every drop of humor gone.

I pulled my weary gaze up to Ivy. I knew she wasn’t going to like this. If the truth be told, I’d been waiting until Nick was present, hoping that with a witness, she wouldn’t make a scene.

“Tonight?” Ivy put the back of her wrist on her leather hip huggers and stared. “You want to make a run for him tonight?” Her eyes went to Nick and back to me. Tossing her rag into the sink, she dried her hands on a dish towel. “Rachel, can I talk to you in the hallway?”

My brow furrowed at her implied insult that Nick couldn’t be trusted. But then heaving a sigh of exasperation, I dumped everything in my arms onto the counter. “Excuse me,” I said, giving Nick an apologetic grimace.

Peeved, I followed her out. I abruptly slowed at the sight of her standing halfway down to our rooms, her waspish outline looking dangerous in the dark hallway. The overpowering smell of incense in the close confines pulled me wire-tight. “What?” I said shortly.

“Letting Nick know about your little problem isn’t a good idea,” she said.

“He has been a rat for three months,” I said, backing up. “How on earth could he be an I.S. assassin? The poor man doesn’t even have any clothes, and you’re worried about him killing me?”

“No,” she protested, moving closer until I found my back against the wall. “But the less he knows about you, the safer you both will be.”

“Oh.” My face went cold. She was too close. Having lost her sense of personal space was not a good sign.

“And what are you going to accuse Trent of?” she demanded. “Keeping you as a mink? Putting you in the city’s fights? If you go whining to the I.S. for that, you’re dead.”