"What's our play?"
"For now, nothing. He can't get to your position in this weather, and we've got people watching the roads. Soon as he moves, we'll know." Mace pauses. "But you need to tell her, Wolfe. She deserves to know what she's dealing with."
"I know."
"And you need to figure out what you're doing with her."
I stiffen. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I've known you for three years, and you've never called in a favor for a civilian before. You've never asked me to run a trace at midnight. And you sure as hell have never sounded like this."
"Like what?"
"Like you give a damn."
I don't answer. Can't. Because he's right, and we both know it.
"Storm should clear by tomorrow evening." Mace's tone shifts back to business. "Valentine's Day. Once it does, we'll move on Whitmore. I'll keep you updated."
"Copy that."
"Be careful Wolfe. Not just with the tactical situation."
He signs off before I can respond. I set the phone down and stand in my kitchen, staring at nothing, trying to sort through the mess of information and emotion tangled in my chest.
Derek Whitmore.Stalker. Obsessive. Dangerous.
Here. In my territory. Hunting the woman asleep on my couch.
The rage that floods through me is sharp and clean, nothing like the muddy grief I've been drowning in for three years. This I know how to handle. This I was built for.
I move back into the main room and lower myself into my chair. Sadie shifts in her sleep, murmuring something that sounds like my name. Probably isn't. Probably just wishful thinking on my part.
Wishful thinking. Christ.When did I start having those?
She wakes slowly, blinking against the firelight, her eyes finding me in the darkness.
"Hey." Her voice is rough with sleep. "What time is it?"
"Late. Go back to sleep."
"Were you watching me?"
"No."
"Liar." She smiles, soft and teasing, and sits up against the pillows. "It's okay. I talk in my sleep. I know it's weird. Derek used to complain about it constantly."
The name hits different now. I keep my expression neutral.
"Sadie. We need to talk."
Her smile fades. She reads something in my face, in my voice, and the sleepy warmth drains out of her.
"The trace. Mace found something."
"Yeah."
She pulls the quilt tighter, a defensive gesture. "Tell me."
