When she puts it like that, I realize how ridiculous my frustration is. “You’re right.”
“Care to repeat that?” Sidling up to me, she drapes her arms around my neck. “I’m…what?”
I dip my head to kiss the smile off her face, and she leans into me. Her nipples harden under her t-shirt, and fuck. I need her.
“I’m still waiting,” she says breathlessly when I pull back.
I scoop her up in my arms and carry her into the bedroom. “You’re right. About a lot of things.”
* * *
Jerkingawake from yet another nightmare—dying chained and alone, in that tiny cell on the lowest level of The Crypt, unable to move or even speak—I reach for Dani. But I find only mussed sheets, no longer warm. Her scent fills the bedroom—along with that of the two of us together—and I force myself not to panic. A faint glow of light comes from the living room, along with quiet tapping.
My sore, tired muscles protest as I get up and pull on a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. “What are you doing up?” I ask when I find her at the kitchen table, her tablet in front of her and notes scattered over the polished wood.
She gives me a soft smile as I take a seat next to her. “I couldn’t sleep. Figured I might as well get a jump on the Globe article. I promised to have it to them in two days, but they’ll publish it as soon as I’m done. Did I wake you?”
“No.” I don’t mean the word to be so rough, and I shake my head. “Just a nightmare.” Searching for anything to change the subject, I catch sight of the gray envelope from the Washington Post. The letter inside peeks from under her notes, and I pull it out and start to read.
Dear Ms. Monroe,
The Post would like to apologize to you for the unprofessional and unethical behavior displayed by one Lincoln Joynes, former editor of the Politics division. Actions such as that are not tolerated at the Post, and Mr. Joynes has been let go.
For the past five years, you have displayed exemplary dedication, perseverance, and courage, risking your safety countless times in pursuit of the truth. Losing you would be a blow to this organization, and as such, I am prepared to offer you a twenty-five percent raise and a promotion to Senior Political Correspondent. The position comes with a corner office, your pick of staff reporters to assist you, and a generous travel budget.
I hope to hear from you soon.
Respectfully,
JB
“Holy shit, Dani. You’re taking this, right?” She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind, and I smooth the paper out on the table. “It’s signed by the guy who owns the Post—and half the world.”
“If I took that job,” she says, her voice suddenly full of emotion, “I’d have to stay in DC. But more importantly, every morning, I’d walk through the doors of the place that almost killed you. How could you even think I’d be okay with doing that?”
“Baby, you told me you wanted to be a reporter the first time I met you. You weren’t even ten. When you got the job at the Post, Austin said he’d never seen you so happy. That was your dream job.”
“Dreams change.” She takes the offer letter, folds it up, and tears it in half. “I’m still a reporter, TJ. The Globe assured me I could cover the types of stories I love. The ones that matter. That make a difference. So, they pay a little less. Or…a lot less given that offer. I don’t care. Because this is where I belong.” Dani places her palm over my heart. “You are where I belong.”
Sliding my fingers into her hair, I pull her closer and slant my lips over hers. I still can’t believe this intelligent, fierce, beautiful woman came for me, let alone that she wants to stay.
I do know that arguing with her is pointless. My Danisaur doesn’t let anyone tell her what to do, and as I draw back, I whisper, “Come back to bed. I want to show you just how much I love you.”
“Promise?” she asks when I help her to her feet.
That word holds special meaning for everyone at Second Sight. It was one of the first things Dax and Ford schooled me on. Promises are never broken. Three days ago, I didn’t think I could ever say them to her, give her my heart and vow we’d have forever. But now…I can.
“I promise.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Dani
It feelssurreal to be back in DC. The last time I was here feels like it was a lifetime ago. The elevators ding, and I step into the familiar chaos of the job I loved for years. Now, the only emotions I can call up are anger and sadness.
I don’t regret quitting. Not for a moment. There’s no way I could come back here day after day. But I mourn the loss of the trust I had in my Post friends and colleagues. I started asking questions the day after we got back to Boston, and Lincoln wasn’t the only one who agreed the story should go out.
Five other people helped make the decision that almost ended Trevor’s life.
