Page 40

I pick up the T-shirt at the top and catch a whiff of a warm, soft scent.

I never use anything scented. It’s too risky and can give away a person’s position.

But it smells like Annie, and before I can stop myself, I press the fabric to my face.

Fuck.

After I stopped hitting the boxing bag, I dropped to the floor and stared up at the ceiling, trying to process all the new emotions and find order in the chaos.

But I couldn’t.

In a desperate attempt, I tried to think of things Annie does that are annoying or off-putting.

There was nothing.

Not a single fucking thing.

She’s light and sunshine. Smiles and happiness. Compassion and kindness. Hardworking and patient.

There are times she’s so strikingly beautiful that it grabs my attention and refuses to let go. And when she’s unbelievably cute, I want to crush her to my chest.

If I had hopes and dreams, I’d build them around her.

But falling for Annie and letting myself be with her would be the absolute worst thing I could do. She would become a target and a weakness that could be used against me.

Just the thought of the Bratva getting their hands on Annie is enough to clear my mind.

That can never happen.

Done trying to come to terms with the emotions she evokes in me, I shove them deep down.

Picking up my basket, I empty the clothes into the washing machine and start the whole process over so I can get rid of the scent.

Keep your head down, Rowan.

No getting attached to anyone.

Just work and stay out of sight.

I hear footsteps. Miles.

Inhaling a fortifying breath, I remain standing by the machine as he comes into the room.

“Jesus, has everyone decided to do laundry on the same day?”

I don’t respond.

“Listen.” He comes to lean his hip against the other machine and crosses his arms over his chest, giving off a vibe of authority.

He might have retired from the bureau, but the FBI is still very much a part of him.

“I know exactly who you are. Your file crossed my desk for years before I retired.”

My breathing remains even, my body deceptively relaxed.

He leans closer and whispers, “The Wolf.”

I still don’t move or look at him.