“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she snarks, unable to hold back the tiny upward curl at the corners of her bruised lips.
“Maybe.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“But I’m yours.”
Her cheeks flush, and she squeezes my hand. “You’re still bossy as hell.”
“Occupational hazard.” I chuckle.
“Yeah, yeah,” she murmurs, and finally—finally—she takes a bite of her breakfast.
I sit back, watching her eat, a small smile playing at the corner of my mouth. The world outside is still dangerous. There are men who’d kill us both before breakfast if they could. But here, in this kitchen, with the morning sun spilling through the windows and the smell of coffee filling the air, this almost feels normal.
She looks up after a few bites, eyes catching mine. “So what now?”
“Now?” I say, leaning back in my chair. “We make a plan. You rest, I call Mattis and Jagger, and we start piecingtogether the rest of the trail. Once we know who’s behind this, we burn them down.”
“And my story?”
I nod. “You’ll finish it. You’ll tell the truth. And when I know you’re safe, you’ll publish it.”
Her expression softens, but there’s still the spark of defiance that made me fall in love with her. “You realize I don’t take orders easily.”
“Oh, I know.” I round the counter to stand beside her. “That’s why I give them.”
She looks up at me, eyes glinting with a challenge. “And what happens when I don’t listen?”
I lean down and rasp against her ear. “Then I get to remind you who’s in charge.”
The coffee has gone cold by the time I realize I’ve been staring at him.
Chris is leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, the sunlight knifing through the kitchen window and catching the hard edges of his stubble. He’s watching me, too, though not with that hard-edged intensity that used to make my stomach twist. This is quieter. Warmer.
With the phone pressed to his ear, Chris pushes from the counter and walks toward the window. He’s talking with Mattis. Although from the low, sharp tone barking into the phone, it sounds a lot more like commands than conversation. I catch bits and pieces. “VPN reroute… firewall breach… armed patrol… traceable server routes… Advance security team… by tonight.”
Most of those words used to mean nothing to me, but now—knowing they’re all part of his protection—they cause the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. I wrap myhands around the mug before me, seeking the warmth it doesn’t hold.
I should be writing. Every second I sit here doing nothing is another second the men behind the massacre keep breathing free air. But I also can’t bring myself to move, not while all I can really think about is last night.
Last night wasn’t supposed to happen. It was perfect, and I wouldn’t trade that level of intimacy with him for anything, but it gave us both a sense of peace. An illusion that the world isn’t still burning outside his front door and that this thing between the two of us would just be that easy.
Chris ends the call, exhaling like it’s cost him years. He catches my gaze and forces a smile. “Mattis traced some of the IPs tied to the memo,” he shares, setting the phone down on the counter. “All US-based. DC and Houston primarily.”
Oil. Politics. Corruption. The worst combination.
“That aligns with the pipeline contracts.”
“Yeah.” He nods. “But the servers are shielded behind government proxies. We’re not touching that without drawing unwanted attention.”
“Then we find another way in.” I shrug, unwilling to let this go. “Someone leaked that authorization order. That means there’s at least one person in their chain of command who doesn’t agree with what they did.”
“Or it’s bait.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “You think everything’s a trap.”
He meets my look dead-on. “Because I’ve spent twenty years walking into them.”
