I sink back onto the edge of the bed, studying him.
This man who's been my target for years.
This man who's been inside me.
This man who just saved my life, allegedly.
For all I know this is a scheme to make me think he’s saved me but instead a ploy to stop me.
"How convenient that you happened to be outside my apartment," I say, the suspicion in my voice unmistakable. "Were you following me?"
His jaw tightens. "Yes."
At least he doesn't lie. But that doesn't mean I can trust him. For all I know, this could be an elaborate setup. Get me to trust him, feed me false information, manipulate me into dropping my investigation.
“Why?”
“Because I knew you’d poke a bear and someone would come.”
"Why should I believe anything you say?" I ask. "You could have orchestrated that attack yourself."
"If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn't have gotten sliced up protecting you." He pulls back his sleeve, revealing a hastily bandaged wound. “
My legs feel weak, my body drained.
The truth is, even if I wanted to leave, I'm in no condition to defend myself.
And if someone in the FBI is truly behind this, my apartment isn't safe.
"Fine," I say finally. "I'll stay. For now."
Dom nods, visibly relieved.
What he doesn't know is that staying serves my purpose too. If there's any chance Dom knows more about Blackwood's involvement in these cases than he's letting on, this might be my only opportunity to find out.
I need evidence, not just suspicions.
"But this isn't a vacation," I add. "And it doesn't change anything between us."
"Of course not," he says, but the slight curve of his lips tells me he doesn't believe it any more than I do.
I look away, refusing to acknowledge the flutter in my stomach. This is about survival and justice, nothing more.
I wake with a start, my FBI training kicking in as I register unfamiliar surroundings.
The events of yesterday flood back.
The attack, Dom carrying me away. The doctor examining my injuries.
My head still throbs, but the fog has lifted somewhat.
"You're awake." Dom's voice comes from beside me.
I turn to find him sitting in an armchair next to the bed, dark circles under his eyes suggesting he's been there all night.
His protective vigilance stirs something in me I'd rather not examine.
“What time is it?”
