"WHERE ARE WE GOING?" Mailah repeated.
Grayson's eyes remained closed. "You'll find out."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
She turned to look at his profile — the clean, unhurried lines of it, the particular quality of his stillness that she had learned to distinguish from sleep and from thought and from the specific variety of silence he used when he had made a decision and was not interested in discussing it.
This was the last one.
"Grayson."
"Mailah."
"If you don't tell me where we're going, I'm going to spend the entire journey asking you."
"I'm aware," he said. "I've factored that in."
She stared at him. He remained precisely as he was — eyes closed, arm around her shoulders, chin tilted slightly down in the attitude of a man who has barricaded a door and is waiting out the siege with complete confidence in his own fortifications.
She lasted approximately four minutes.
"Is it another estate?"
"No."
"A safe house?"
"No."
