When she got back to the hotel, he would have questions she wasn’t ready to answer…like who taught her how to fight with zero hesitation and pure muscle memory.
The kind they both knew Quantico didn’t build.
It was the type of skill a person learned when their life depended on it.
Opal had no intention of telling him how she learned.
SEVEN
Where the hell was she?
Sinner stood in the middle of the hotel room with his phone in one hand and a handful of small tracking devices in the other, his jaw set hard enough to ache. He’d already slipped one into the side pocket of her duffel bag and superglued a second to the sole of her boot.
She was late. Dammit. Why hadn’t he thought to put a tracker on her before she walked straight into a drug deal?
He’d texted her a dozen times since her midday message about “getting some” after work, but she hadn’t read a single one. She must have switched off her phone.
Now Sinner could see why Con had concerns about Opal being a team player. Partners needed to be in contact at all times. Their lives depended on it.
He gripped the third tracking device in his fist so hard it felt like it might crack under the force. In two strides, he reached the closet and stuffed the tracker deep in the pocket of another pair of trousers she’d hung there for the next day.
If she lived that long.
He was checking his phone so often and pacing so much that anyone who saw him would think he was tweaking.
When he noticed the time, he gritted his teeth. She wasn’t just a few minutes late—she was late enough that his instincts werebellowing.
In quick strides, he crossed the room and peered through the blinds at the parking lot.
Just then, the door burst open.
Opal rushed in, eyes bright. She didn’t look at him but shut the door hard enough to rattle the cheap frame. She twisted the lock, crossed the room and tossed a baggie onto the bed like it offended her.
Pills scattered across the stiff bedspread.
“Got them.” Her voice was clipped and a little breathless.
Relief slammed into Sinner like a fist to the gut, immediately followed by an anger so potent it made his hands clench.
He took a step toward her and stilled when he caught sight of her face.
Any relief he felt at her walking through that door curdled in his gut.
He looked at her—really looked.
Her blouse was missing a button. Two more were torn open. An ugly scrape marked her cheekbone, already swollen and pink against her pale, freckled skin.
Her spine was rigid in a way he’d seen before.
Sinner took a step toward her before he could stop himself. “Opal—”
“I’m fine.” The words came out fast but with a flat, practiced tone. Her gaze dropped to the trackers scattered on the bed. Her eyes flashed. “What do you think you’re doing? You’re tracking me?”
“I didn’t know where you were.” His tone was as rough as whatever had grazed her face.
A beat throbbed between them, loaded with questions neither wanted to answer.
Opal narrowed her eyes. “You can’t just—”
