“And then what? After we get out?” I had to ask, had to know if there was something beyond this nightmare.
He brought his hand up to cup my face. “Then you’ll be safe.”
“What about you?”
He was quiet for a long moment, water running between us. “I don’t know. The feds will probably want to maintain my cover for future use. Make it look like I’m overseas, working international deals or something. Keep me viable in case they need Coop the arms dealer again.”
I didn’t like it, but I understood.
We finished showering in relative silence, just the basics of getting clean while maintaining the illusion for our unseen audience. When we finally turned off the water and stepped out, I saw the dress Oliver had sent.
It hung on the back of the door like a taunt—deep burgundy silk that would cling to every curve, with a neckline that plungeddangerously low. The kind of dress designed to make a woman look like an expensive possession. Beneath it, a small bag held delicate black lace lingerie.
“Controlling bastard,” I muttered, holding up the lingerie. “He even picked out underwear.”
Coop’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything. We both understood the game we were playing.
I dried off and started getting ready, trying not to think about Oliver choosing these items, imagining me in them, maybe even watching me dress in them now. The lingerie felt like spider webs against my skin—beautiful and treacherous. The dress slipped on like water, the silk cool and foreign.
But when I saw the heels Oliver had selected—four-inch stilettos that I was likely to break my ankle in—I drew the line. I grabbed my Converse from beside the bed. I wasn’t wearing those damned heels.
Coop dressed in the tuxedo Oliver had provided for him—classic black, perfectly tailored. He looked devastating, like James Bond’s dangerous brother. The contrast between the civilized clothing and the lethal man wearing it made my breath catch.
“Ready?” he asked, offering his arm.
“As I’ll ever be.”
The party was already in full swing when we arrived at the main lodge. The transformation was stunning—what had been a militant compound earlier now looked like a high-end hotel ballroom. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over couples in evening wear. Servers in crisp uniforms circulated with champagne and hors d’oeuvres. If I didn’t know better, I’d think we were at a charity gala in some big city, not a militia outpost in the Montana mountains.
Everyone, buyers and Oliver’s men alike, was dressed in their finest. There were new additions to the crowd—several womenin expensive gowns who definitely hadn’t been here before. They moved through the room with practiced grace, their professional smiles and careful distance from each other marking them as hired entertainment. High-end escorts Oliver had brought in for his guests’ pleasure.
What a thoughtful host.
I recognized Snake in an ill-fitting tuxedo, looking deeply uncomfortable as he nursed a beer instead of champagne. Diesel stood near the bar, his scarred face incongruous above the bow tie.
“Dance with me,” Coop said, after we’d walked around for a while, leading me onto the floor where other couples swayed to the live quartet Oliver had somehow procured.
This level of overkill would’ve been painful even if I hadn’t been here against my will.
Coop’s hand settled at my waist, the other taking mine, and we began to move. Even in a tuxedo, even playing this role, he moved like a warrior—controlled, aware, ready.
“I haven’t told you enough how amazing you’re doing,” he said against my ear as we turned.
I shrugged. “I’m not sure about that.”
He pulled back enough to meet my eyes. “Trust me, no one would say you’re anything less than a natural.”
“I don’t want to be a natural at this.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. “I want to go back to taking pictures of barns and mountains. I want normal.”
His expression softened. “I know. Just a couple more days. Once the weapons sales are complete, everyone will scatter. We’ll leave with them, and you’ll never have to see any of these people again.”
We danced through several songs, moving together with the muscle memory of lovers who’d once known each other’s rhythms. I hoped someday I’d be able to enjoy a dance with himwithout studying the other people around the dance floor in case they tried to kill us or others.
But I still loved being in Coop’s arms. Strong, sure, capable…just like they’d always been.
“Mia.” Oliver’s voice cut through the music. “May I have this dance?”
He stood beside us, immaculate in a tuxedo that was probably worth more than most people’s cars. His pale eyes held that same calculating gleam I’d come to dread.
