“Was I? How am I now?”
For some reason, that makes her giggle. “You’re bloody perfect now.”
I give her a teasing smile.
“Not sure I’d go that far.”
She leans in. “You saved my life.”
I grin at her. “Guess you owe me dinner, then.”
That makes her laugh, and my heart squeezes at the sight of her beautiful eyes dancing at me.
I close my eyes, suddenly tired and worn. “You still my wife?” I ask, squeezing one eye open to watch the way her face lights up.
“Aye. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” She sighs. “I’m still investigating things, Tate. Things I’ll tell you all about when it’s time.”
I nod, tired, so bloody tired, as she fills me in. I can’t speak very well, but I can follow along.
After the ambush, the Welsh set the building on fire. They didn’t even care they had their own men in there, it seems they were only trying to bait us.
“They used the warehouse as a setup,” she says. “Seems they thought they could pin the blame for everything on me, that I was an easy target. But what they don’t know is, I saw beyond what they were doing. Beyond it all.” She gives me a wry smile. “I haven’t spent years researching all of you blokes for bloody nothing.”
I smile, my eyes still closed. “Course not. Now what?”
“Now, we get you out of this bloody bed and healthy again, and then we move on to step two.”
“Which is?”
“Negotiations with Interpol.”
That makes me open my eyes back up. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”
She sighs and squeezes my hand. “You’ll see. But you have to trust me. Can you trust me?”
Didn’t I ask her the very same question once?
She peers into my eyes, sincerity written on every one of her features.
“Ah, love. Of course I trust you. You’ve earned it by now, haven’t you?”
She leans in and kisses my cheek. “I hope so,” she whispers. “And I promise you, promise you, I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t. I know it.”
We stay at Keenan’s, and it takes a few days to recover. I’m on the phone with Leith and Mac daily, finding out what else they know, what happens next.
Interpol hasn’t made a move.
“They will,” Fran promises. “Trust me.”
Every day, she’s on her computer or phone, taking notes, asking questions. She asked me to trust her, so I bloody well will.
She’s so preoccupied with the chase, with gathering intel, she barely eats or talks to me. I give her freedom to do it, but after some time she needs to take a break.
On the fourth day of my release from the hospital, she goes to answer the phone, but I grab her wrist.
“Not so fast.”
