“It’s rainin’ cats, dogs, and every other animal ya can imagine.” He nodded toward the rivulets racing down the glass.
“I’m not made of sugar. I won’t melt.”
“I’ll come too.” He started to stand, but she blocked him with a hand.
“No. The whole point is peace and quiet. Besides, the last time you rode with me, your knees were practically touching your nose. I kept picturing a head-on collision where your kneecaps ended up in your skull.”
His frown deepened, eyes going almost black. “Ya might still have enemies out there.”
Enemies. Right.
A chill raced down her spine and made her shiver.
What a strange thing it had been for her to have enemies.
Before her brother got mixed up with a Charleston cartel, before Eddy Torres changed the course of her life, the only enemies she’d had were the mean girls in middle school who’d teased her mercilessly about her hand-me-down clothes and dime-store shoes.
“Eddy Torres is dead,” she said with a decisive dip of her chin. “And the cartel’s kingpin and top lieutenants are behind bars. It’s over. I’m safe.”
The FBI agents in charge of her case had assured her the danger to her had passed and she could resume her regular life.
“But it’s dark out.”
But it’s dahk out.
That accent—lord help her—it always made her melt. It was almost enough to make her let him come with her. But she needed to think. And if there was one thing that was impossible to do with Hew near, it was think.
“I adore you for worrying.” She smiled softly. “Truly. But I’m fine. Even in the rain. Even in the dark.”
She blinked, a little surprised—and a whole lot proud—to realize she meant it.
She was fine. For the first time in months, she felt like herself. Like maybe what had happened to her back in Charleston was simply a chapter in her life and not the whole damn book.
Fifteen minutes later—and after more arguments from Hew that she handily batted aside—she cruised past BKI’s gates, waved to Toran Connelly on security duty, and turned right into the night.
Rain whispered against the windshield as she navigated the city streets. Ella Fitzgerald crooned “Dream a Little Dream.” And her thoughts unspooled in a long ribbon of questions.
Am I ready to take a lover?
Can I be with a man without panicking?
Is it fair to Martin to even try if I’m not sure?
She was so caught up in her own ruminations that she didn’t see the black van slip in behind her. Didn’t notice it match her speed.
Didn’t realize she was followed out of town.
2
White Pigeon Road, Lake Geneva, Wisconsin
Out on the forgotten stretch of country road in bumfuck Wisconsin it was all deep shadows and slick pavement. Rain pattered against the windshield, soft as satin, steady as a heartbeat.
Vivian Drake sat in the passenger seat of the rented cargo van, legs crossed, gloved fingers resting loosely on the pistol in her lap. She didn’t need it yet. But it was comforting nonetheless.
Like silk sheets, she thought with a sly grin.
“Where the fuck is she going?” asked the man behind the wheel.
