Opal caught it. Her head snapped toward Sinner, eyes sharp. “What?”
Sinner didn’t answer.
Con did.
“Opal,” he said slowly, carefully, like he was handling a live grenade. “The man you just described matches Cipher’s physical profile.”
The air seemed to be sucked out of the room.
She curled her fingers slowly into her palm, still stained with dried blood. “I stabbed the man you’ve been hunting?”
“Opal, didn’t your handler show you a photo of Daniel Sheen—Cipher—when you were given this assignment?” Sinner’s hands shook with the effort not to pull her against him.
She shook her head but didn’t speak, as if words were beyond her now.
Con’s voice filled the beat of silence. “It wouldn’t have mattered if she did see a photo. She still had to get away. Sinner, Opal, don’t do anything until I give orders.”
The line went dead.
Sinner finally moved—yanking her into his arms, locking his body around hers like a shield.
Cipher had made his move. Opal had survived it.
Now she was a loose end he’d have to take care of.
Unless Sinner got to him first.
* * * * *
Opal drifted to the bed and sank onto the edge. For a moment she didn’t move or even breathe.
All at once, the adrenaline in her system ran out, making her bones go limp. Slowly, she lowered herself to the mattress and curled up on her side.
Sinner rumbled low in his throat. “Shit, sweetheart.” The mattress dipped beneath his weight. He stretched out behind her, fitting his body to her spine and anchoring her against him with a muscled arm.
He didn’t speak, and she was glad of it. She couldn’t bear to hear him say what she’d already seen in his eyes—that he wanted to hunt Cipher’s blood trail right to the source and finish him off. As if Blackout and the FBI weren’t already on it.
“I survived a brush with Cipher,” she whispered. “How many people can say that?”
He was silent for a beat. Then he said, “Seven.”
She went still.
“And three of them are on the Charlie base.”
She flipped over to look at him. “You’re serious.”
“Yeah. Chase, Alyssa and Kennedy.”
She sucked in a breath. “Guess I’m not that special.” She issued a humorless rasp. “I’m just part of a small club.”
His stare roamed over her face and he directed a lock of hair off her brow. “I have an idea that might distract you.”
She gave him a flat look. “This is no time for sex.”
“You’re absolutely right—it’s tattoo time.”
She blinked at him. “You brought your machine with you?”
