“Of course, I do. I’m a professional hacker, remember? I can get money fromanywhere.”
I barely suppress the grin that’s attempting to melt across my face.
We move with the tide of early morning commuters, drowning in the crowd. I feel it first, a prickle between my shoulders. I don’t look. Instead, I angle our reflection in the dark of a storefront instead. Behind us, a big man with a buzzcut and a coat a size too small threads through the crowd, eyes up, scanning faces, not the shops. One of Quinlan’s men. Has to be. Damn it. What are they doing here? They’re much too close to Siobhan for comfort.
“Right,” I mutter without moving my mouth.
“Copy.” He doesn’t turn either.
We split up at the next platform. The man chooses me, thank God, and Matteo drifts left then vanishes around a pillar. I slow at the barriers, raising my phone like I’m unsure which QR is the ticket. Buzzcut speeds up, confidence blooming across his face like a bruise.
“Miss—” he calls, his Irish drawl like sandpaper.
I pivot hard and shoulder-check a banker into him so his arms pinwheel, phone skidding. He swears and the crowd swallows the sound, eager for a show. I hop a suitcase, cut behind a hen party and bolt for the farther barrier.
Matteo appears at my flank like a magician, one hand landing at the small of my back to steady my speed. “Keep left,” he breathes. The scanner chirps green, the gates part, and we slip through just in time. Buzzcut slams into the plexiglassbarrier a beat later with a furious thud and a stream of Gaelic that would have my grandma rolling over in her grave.
“Run,” Matteo whispers under his breath, and we do. Our pace isn’t frantic, just fast. My gaze tracks the sleeper signs. Platform sixteen. A whistle blasts somewhere. Porters whiz by, rolling carts of overflowing luggage.
I hazard a glance over my shoulder. Buzzcut vaults the barrier with a grunt and barrels down the concourse, shoulder-first through the line. He’s too big for this kind of work, yet somehow, he uses that to his advantage.
I grab a luggage trolley, yank, and hurl it at his shins. He eats it hard, curses, and skids to the floor. People shout, but we don’t look back.
“Keep moving.” Matteo’s firm hand presses into the small of my back. I don’t hate it. It’s domineering and possessive… and for the first time in a long time, I feel taken care of.
The train waits ahead. It’s a long, dark snake with gilded letters. CALedonian Sleeper. The doorsthunkas attendants call last boarding.
“Go, go!” Matteo shouts.
I don’t dare look back. Buzzcut’s heavy footfalls echo just behind us.
Matteo palms the phone displaying the QR code, the scanner flashesACCEPTED, and we jump through the gap just as the whistle screams. The conductor yells something rude in Scots as we slip in. The doors close on Buzzcut’s outstretched fingers, missing by barely an inch.
Matteo catches me around the waist because the momentum hurls me forward. We tumble against the vestibule glass and laugh once, breathless, the big kind of laugh that only comes out when you really live.
He steers us toward the attendant, who with one look at Matteo is already dipping his head in apology for existing. “We have a private cabin under the last name Livia,” he announces.
A sharp, ugly sound erupts from my lips at the name. I throw Matteo a look, but his gaze is focused on the attendant, eyes completely avoiding mine.
The man clocks the hats, the sunglasses, the tone that saysplease don’t make me explain. “Aye,” he says, accent dry as toast. “Last one down.”
Matteo’s on my back, steering me through the narrow walkway. I’m not sure I would’ve made it without the steady pressure. My knees are still wobbling from that name. We move past narrow doors, narrow bunks and a scorched-coffee smell. The cabin at the end is a miracle of small kindnesses. It has two berths, a little sink, and a window that pretends at privacy with a blind you can pull down like night.
I slide the bolt and lean my head against the cool wood. My heart tap-dances in my throat, then remembers it doesn’t have to anymore. We’re safe. Matteo peels off his hat and sunglasses and sets them square on the tiny shelf. He’s smiling like he hasn’t let himself in days.
“Livia?” The name pops out before I can stop it.
He shrugs, eyes still not meeting mine. “I thought it was appropriate.”
God, what he must think of me… “Matteo…”
“Not now, Kitty Cat. I can’t right now.” He folds his big body onto the lower berth, ducking to avoid the top bunk.
I nod, kick my hat under the bed and sink down beside him. My hands shimmy like they haven’t caught up to the rest of me. We sit in a strained silence for endless minutes. Just when I’m about to lay down and give up on conversation all together, he shifts beside me.
“Admit it,” he whispers. “You enjoyed hurling that luggage trolley at Quinlan’s goon.”
“It had a mind of its own.” A faint smirk settles across my lips. “Maybe it was alittlefun.” I pause and nibble on my bottom lip. “You good?”
