I reach up. It’s still on my head. “Told you it was staying on.”
“Who knew a little navy cap would turn you on like that, love?”
She giggles, and the sound makes me smile against her skin. She didn't giggle once in my presence at school. Now she giggles every damn day.
“Come on,” I say. “Let's move to the sofa before your arse gets a splinter from this damn desk.”
“Romantic,” she teases, but she lets me carry her to the sofa, settling her on my lap. I grab a throw blanket from the back and drape it over us, tucking her against my chest. The fire's burnt low, casting warm shadows around the room.
“Cavin,” she says after a while, “I'm glad you kept the hat on.”
“That's grand with me,” I say, running my fingers through her hair.
We're tangled on the sofa, her head on my chest, the fire burning low. I feel half asleep, content in a way I've never been. And somehow the contentment sets me on edge.
“You keeping that hat?” she murmurs.
“I'll wear it every day if this is the reaction I get.”
My phone buzzes on the side table.
“Cavin,” she whispers against my mouth, “leave it.”
It keeps buzzing, insistent.
“You know I can't,” I murmur. Between Bridget, the tribute, the damn intel from Declan…
It's Declan. The message on the screen stops me cold.
Declan
West Coast contact is pissed. The trade route doesn't fucking exist. Padraic played us. Call me now.
Her da.
Goddamn fucking traitor. If he were anyone else?—
But Christ. It’s herfather.I can’t bloody well murder the traitorous bastard. But therewillbe repercussions.
I can't let her know. No. She'll worry about Bridget and Dr. Rosenberg. Aboutus.She'll worry about her parents. And to be honest, she ought to. She's in trouble—but she'smine.
“I've been working on something, Cavin,” she says.
I turn my phone over so she can't see the message.
“The tribute payments. I've been tracking them like you asked me to. And I found something more.”
My hand stills in her hair. “What'd you find?”
“I think I'm getting closer to figuring out who's collecting them.” She sits up a bit, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. “But there's something that doesn't make sense.”
“What doesn't make sense?”
“The timing, the amounts…” She chews her lip, thinking. “It's like someone knows exactly when you're vulnerable, when to catch you off guard, when you're stretched thin.”
Ice slides down my spine. “Go on.”
She faces me, her eyes worried. “I think there's someone on the… on the inside. Someone feeding information to whoever's behind this. Possibly even?—”
