"So what's our response?" Tiernan asks.
"Increased security at all remaining facilities. Round-the-clock surveillance. And we send a message of our own." Cillian traces a route on the map. "His drug shipment comes through the harbor tomorrow night. We intercept it."
I type rapidly, documenting locations and operational plans while maintaining the appearance of simple note-taking. This intelligence could help the FBI map the entire Kavanagh network—if I can get it to my handler.
Under the table, Eamon's hand finds my knee. The touch shoots electricity through my system, making concentration nearly impossible. His thumb traces small circles through my jeans while he discusses tactical details with his brother.
The meeting continues for another hour. I absorb everything while fighting the distraction of his casual touch, occasionally asking clarifying questions that prompt even more useful information.
"Sorcha drives with me," Eamon announces when the meeting breaks up. "Security protocol until this situation resolves."
Cillian studies us both, noting the proprietary way Eamon's hand rests on my back. "Your call. But keep her safe."
"Count on it."
Back at my apartment, I watch Eamon check the locks and windows with lethal efficiency. His movements remind me that this man has killed people. The knowledge should frighten me. Instead, it sends dark heat pooling low in my belly.
"We should upgrade your security," he says, examining the door frame. "Better locks. Camera for the hallway."
"I have a security system," I offer, seeing opportunity. "Motion sensors and door alarms. But it could use updating."
"I know a guy. Discrete. He can come by tomorrow."
Perfect. "That would make me feel safer."
"Good." He turns from the window, eyes finding mine. "I'll make some calls. Set up the appointment."
While he talks to his security contact in the kitchen, I slip into my bedroom and retrieve three FBI surveillance devices from their hiding place behind my dresser. Tiny, wireless, undetectable unless you know exactly where to look.
I plant the first behind the headboard in my bedroom, the second inside the living room lamp, and the third underneath my kitchen table. Each one will transmit to a receiver hidden in my closet, recording every conversation for later transmission to my handler.
The guilt sits heavy in my stomach. I'm using Eamon's protection of me to betray him. But this is my job. My duty. The evidence we collect could save lives.
I return to the living room as he finishes his call.
"All set," he says. "Danny will be here tomorrow afternoon."
"Thank you." The words taste like betrayal. "I appreciate you taking care of this."
"Taking care of you isn't a hardship." His eyes darken. "Trust me."
The heat in his voice makes my knees weak.
"Are you hungry?" I ask, needing distraction. "I could make dinner."
"You don't have to cook for me."
"I have to eat anyway. Might as well feed us both."
He watches me move around the kitchen, eyes tracking every bend and stretch. "I can help."
"Can you chop vegetables without losing fingers?"
"I can handle a knife." His voice carries double meaning.
We work side by side, the small space forcing constant contact. His chest brushes my back when he reaches around me. His hand covers mine when he shows me his preferred knife grip. Each touch builds heat between us.
"You cook often?" he asks, voice rough.
