And I wanted it enough that it scared me more than the possibility of danger ever could.
7
CONNOR
Ifound her at the gallery.
But I didn't go in.
Standing across the street in the shadow of a café awning, I watched through the windows as bodies moved inside—art lovers, poseurs, people with too much money and not enough sense. The kind of crowd that made my skin itch.
She was in there. I'd tracked her from the metro, keeping enough distance that she wouldn't notice. She hadn't.
Smart move, Ward. Real professional. Following a civilian like some obsessed stalker.
I told myself it was protective instinct. That I was keeping an eye out because Micah's warning had rattled me more than I wanted to admit.Your old friends are in Paris. They're sniffing.
If they found her—if they connected her to me somehow?—
I didn't finish the thought.
But the truth clawed at me, anyway, sharper than I liked.
Maybe I was going crazy.
Micah's revelation. The Sanctuary. The black DNA-coded card burning a hole in my pocket like it was radioactive. Thefact that fucking Paris was getting in my fucking head in ways I couldn't control.
And Mila.
Always Mila.
I couldn't put distance between us. Couldn't walk away like I should have. Every rational part of my brain screamed at me to leave her alone, to let her live her life without dragging my shit into it.
But rationality had stopped mattering somewhere around the third time I'd seen her and felt my chest tighten like I'd taken a gut punch.
So, here I was. Standing in the dark. Watching.
Real fucking hero material.
I was about to leave—force myself to walk away, go back to The Sanctuary, pour another glass of that ridiculously expensive bourbon and forget this whole stupid impulse—when I saw him.
A man. Mid-thirties, maybe. Well-dressed in that effortless European way that always looked calculated to me. Dark coat, scarf looped just so, hair styled like he'd paid someone to make it look careless.
He was watching her.
Not casually. Not the way you glanced at someone pretty in a crowded room. He was watching her the way I watched targets. With intent.
My jaw tightened.
He moved closer to her inside the gallery. I saw him say something. Saw her turn, smile politely. Saw the distance she kept even as she responded.
Good girl. You don't trust him.
But he didn't take the hint. He stayed close. Too close. Leaning in like proximity gave him permission.
Someone called his name—Julien—and he turned, irritated at the interruption.
Julien.
