My heart sinks, because how can I leave him?
As awful as this entire thing has been, I don't want him to be hurt. I don’t want him to face charges or consequences of any kind for what happened to me. I don't hold any ill will towardhim. He was acting on impulse based on fear, and he'd never say that but that's what I know it was.
He knew Lombardi's ledgers were screwed up and he needed a fix. He was desperate. He just did what desperate men do, the way I did what desperate women do when I saw a way to manipulate him by using my body.
And all of this tangled us together in a disgusting mess of lies and manipulations. Now I don't know what to feel.
He says he wants me and that I belong to him, and I want to feel that more than I feel the fear of what might happen if I stay here. What I do feel is connection. It's deep and strange, but it's beautiful and I can't shake it.
Rafe and I have something real. Most people don't ever get to be this vulnerable with another human being, showing all the ugliest darkest parts of their heart and still being accepted. But Rafe and I have that. It reaches for me and curls around my heart, beckoning me back into the house where it's warmer.
And I feel stuck.
The thumb drive clutched in my hand feels like a million pounds now. I hold the single most dangerous bit of information in the palm of my hand, bringing it up where I can stare down at it. My hand still trembles, but now shivers join in the frenzy.
Rafe is trusting me to protect him.
And I'm hoping he can protect me.
And isn't that all love really is? Two people who expose the most sensitive vulnerable parts of their heart to one another with full trust that they will be accepted for who they are in a space that is safe.
I sigh, a huge puff of air that the breeze whisks away so quickly, it's like it never happened. The cold bites down on every bit of exposed skin and tears through the light fabric of my shirt and pants. My teeth chatter, and I stare at the drive knowing what I have to do.
I can't turn Rafe in.
I can't run away from him and not know what happens to him.
And I can't think that destroying another human being, no matter how morally corrupt their behavior is, is a good thing. I can't do it.
Turning slowly, I slog back through the fresh powder and into the house, but I'm still shivering. My shoes track in snow, and my nose is running, so I sniffle. I shut the door behind me quietly and turn the deadbolt, then replace Feodor's keys on the counter and stand there shivering as I shove the drive into my jeans pocket.
I came so close to just walking away, and I almost did it. But I love that man. As much as I don't want to. As much as it pains me to even think about it—I know it's true. I’m in love with Rafe Ferretti and I care what happens to him.
"You okay?" I hear, and I look up at the back door to see Feodor walking back in. He must think I've been crying or something. My nose is probably red.
"Yeah, fine…" I grunt, and I walk to the counter where the coffee maker is to get something hot to warm me up. Feodor walks past me and I hear the chair creak as he sits back down in his perch, but I ignore him because the revelation of just how incredibly weak I am when it comes to Rafe is still torturing me.
I should be on my way to freedom, and instead I am choosing bondage, all so I can protect a man who doesn't deserve it.
And I'm not unhappy about my choice.
Now I just have to buckle down and finish my work before Lombardi's files get released to the authorities… Or maybe I can search his system and find that dead man's switch and turn it off. Either way, I have to protect Rafe.
It's the only way both of us get out of this intact.
22
RAFE
Iwalk through the warehouse with the dock supervisor trailing behind me, and he's talking through the manifest details while I nod along without really listening. The pallets are staged and ready. The trucks are fueled. The drivers have been briefed. Everything is in place, and there's nothing left for me to do except watch it all roll out and hope nothing goes wrong.
But my mind isn't here. It's back at the safehouse with Riley, wondering if she's still working through the files I left her or if she's finally taken a break. I told her this morning that she'd done enough, that she could rest, but I know her well enough by now to know she won't stop until every loose end is tied off.
The dock supervisor says something about timing windows and I make a noncommittal sound in response. He keeps talking, walking me through the route schedules and the backup plans if anyone gets flagged at a checkpoint. I've heard all of this before. I went over it with my men yesterday, and again this morning while I drove into the city, and the repetition is starting to grate on me.
This shipment has to work. The toy drive has been our cover for years, and this is the last big push before the fiscal deadline. If the trucks get stopped, if someone decides to open one of those barrels and look past the toys on top, we're done. But standing here staring at pallets isn't going to change the outcome. Either the plan holds or it doesn't.
I cut the dock supervisor off mid-sentence. "You have your orders. The trucks leave at twenty-two hundred hours. Call me when they reach the first checkpoint."
