“Agnes?” Horrified, he caught that teardrop. “You’re in pain. You need to be in a hospital. You need meds, you need to be checked out thoroughly!”
She shook her head. “I need you. I need you to stay with me, when this is over. I need to see if, together, we can have a wonderful life. Because I really, truly think that we could. If we just had a chance.”
“A Fed and a criminal?”
“We both know you’re more than that.”
And they both understood that a new life would not be easy. “Danger will follow me.” He would always have to be on guard, no matter where he went.
“I don’t care.”
She was tempting him. Making him think that more might just be possible. “I can’t be the same person, you know that. I’ll have to change everything.”
“Surface. The surface can always change.” Her hand drifted to press over his chest. “It’s what’s in here that stays the same. Will this stay the same?”
Was she asking if he would always love her? Because the answer would be yes. There was no life—or world—in which he did not love her.
But the van was slowing. Turning.
“Almost there,” Nash called back to them.
“We can have a chance.” Agnes did not look away from Cass. “Just say you want to take that risk.”
“I’d take any risk with you.” Done.
“Get your game faces on, people,” Nash barked. “Because I’m already seeing the guards on the outskirts. Men on motorcycles. Barbed wire around the fencing at the warehouse. But they recognize the van, and they are just waving me forward. Our lucky freaking day.”
“That’s just poor security.” Agnes sniffed. “They should at least stop to see the driver’s face.”
“Yeah, let’s not question their poor judgment,” Cass told her. “That just lets us get killing close.”
Worry flickered over her face. “You talked to Raz.”
Talked, threatened, hurt…
“Did he give you anymore intel about your uncle? Is he dead? Or will you walk into that place and see a real ghost from your past?”
“He didn’t have much to stay about Winston Striker.” Raz hadn’t provided him with much more intel on his uncle, but Cass was ready for whatever or whoever waited in the warehouse. “I’m not afraid of ghosts.”
“Neither am I.”
The van ambled forward. Cass pressed one more kiss to her lips.
She positioned her gun in the crook of her sling.
Cass had his own weapon at the ready. The van advanced. Slowly.
Turned.
He heard the grinding of a door—a garage door?
“Going through the side entrance of the warehouse,” Nash informed them. “Lots of unfriendly faces. When we go in, they may shoot first.”
“Nah.” Cass was aware of the slight weight of his gun. “We will.”
The van stopped.
Silence.
