* * *
Alex waited outsideon the porch for Sylvie to arrive.
And stopped the moment he saw her. She looked like hell. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her inside. As soon as he closed the door, his lips were on hers. She melted his anger, bringing out only a desire to protect her instead.
He cupped her face in his hands. “I’m sorry about this morning. That’s the first thing I want to say.”
She sighed. “I thought you’d invited me here to tell me we weren’t going to work.”
“No, Sylvie.” She stroked her hair and walked her over to the porch swing. When he’d first moved in, he’d eyed it thinking he should just take it down. But now, he was happy to sit down and pull Sylvie into his arms. He glanced over at the window to see three dog heads lined up, watching them, and couldn’t help but chuckle. He pointed them out and Sylvie laughed. Alex got up and opened the door so the goofy mutts could join them. Sylvie buried her face in Chewie’s fur. If he didn’t know better, he’d say it was only because she missed the dog. But there was an edge of desperation to the way she clung to him, like she was trying to draw out as much strength as she could before she let him go roughhouse with the other two dogs on the front lawn.
Then she was back in his arms on the patio swing. He loved the way her body relaxed against his. But that also made it harder for him to say what he needed to. He didn’t want to break the spell the Colorado night had cast over them. They silently watched bats wheeling through the sky as it darkened from blue to black.
At last, Sylvie was the one who broke the silence. “So. What was so important that we’re missing a perfectly good concert right now?”
“I know we went over this, but it came to my attention that there was a photo—”
Her soft body immediately stiffened. She pulled away from him and studied his face.
“Carla. She’s the only one who knows. Shit. I’m going to kill her.”
“Hey, she’s looking out for you.” But Sylvie was shaking her head almost violently.
“She can’t. You can’t either.”
“Sylvie—”
“No.” She stopped and looked at Alex again. Her breath came out on a hot, exasperated puff of air. “You have to forget you saw that, and so does she. It’s not what it looks like.”
“How can you even say that?” Alex straightened up. “Was it Frank or Tom?”
Sylvie shook her head slowly, looking away.
“Which one set you up and why are you protecting…”That’s gotta be it.“It was Frank. It was Frank and you don’t want to tell me that because he was your mentor.”
“And he still is.”
Rage boiled over. “How can you believe that, Sylvie? He—”
“Hehadto! He’s working undercover.”
Her words were a bucket of cold water on his anger. But the cost was devastating. She looked like she’d just shot her best friend. And that was his fault for pushing. But dammit! There was no way he was going to let this go, no way he was going to let some fucking asshole treat his woman like this.
Undercover. That explained a lot but not everything.
“What part of slut-shaming you plays into being undercover?”
“You know I can’t talk about it. It’s ongoing. I could get them killed if I say or do something wrong.”
“Them?”
She winced.
“Tom too? He the one who wrote that word?”
“Alex,” she warned. But it was too late; he was working himself up again.
“I can’t do this, Sylvie. I can’t just let this stand.”
