It’s just me and the man holding my arm.
And he’s unmistakable.
Those sharp cheekbones, that smug smirk, the piercing eyes that locked onto me in the diner last night. The espresso-sipping, Kindle-reading poser…
“You,” I gasp, my voice barely a whisper.
Fear claws at me, but there’s something else too—shock, maybe even a flicker of that stupid attraction from last night. Mycheeks burn as I remember my late-night fantasy, his image pushing me over the edge.
Not now, Miles.
“Me,” he says, his voice low and mocking, like he’s enjoying this.
His grip on my arm is firm but not painful, his fingers warm through the thin fabric of my uniform. He’s taller than I remembered, his broad shoulders filling out a black tactical jacket.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demand, yanking my arm free. My heart’s racing, but I force myself to stand tall, channeling every ounce of bravado I’ve got. “I’m just delivering a package.”
He laughs, a short, sharp sound that sends a shiver down my spine.
“Cute. But that disguise?Amateur hour.” He steps closer, towering over me, and I catch a whiff of his cologne—woodsy, sharp, distracting. “You think you can waltz in here and spy on…me? Big mistake.”
My stomach drops.
He knows.
How does he know?
My mind scrambles, piecing it together. The diner, the way he watched me, the two couples who showed up—were they all part of this?
Was the leak a setup?
I swallow hard, my mouth dry.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie, clutching my clipboard like a shield.
He smirks, plucking the clipboard from my hands and tossing it onto the table.
“Miles Nadal, investigative lawyer with a knack for sticking his nose where it truly doesn’t belong. You’ve been poking around our systems for weeks. Did you really think we wouldn’t notice?”
My knees wobble, but I lock them, refusing to show weakness.
“So you’re admitting you’re Night Ops Guard? That’s a start.” I force a defiant grin, even as my pulse thunders. “Care to tell me why you think you’re above the law?”
His eyes narrow, but there’s a flicker of something—amusement, maybe?—in his gaze.
“Bold. I like that. But you’re in over your head, boy.” He steps closer, his voice dropping to a growl. “You’re playing a dangerous game, and you’re about to lose. Preciselyhowbadlyyou lose is up to you though…”
I glance at the door, calculating my chances of bolting.
Slim to none.
My phone’s still in my pocket, but there’s no way I can reach it without him noticing. I’m trapped, and the realization hits like a punch. But I’m not done yet. I lift my chin, meeting his stare.
“If you’re going to threaten me, at least tell me your name,” I say, doing my best to hide my nerves. “Or do Night Ops Guard goons prefer anonymity?”
He chuckles, and it’s infuriatingly charming.
“Travis,” he answers. |And I’m not just any goon—I’m the one who’s going to teach you some manners.” He leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “You’re not exposing anyone today, Miles. You’re coming with me.”
