"Safe house. Family property. Isolated." His eyes find mine. "You'll stay with me until this ends."
The implications hang between us. Alone together. No interruptions. No professional distance.
"Eamon..."
"You're trembling." He appears in front of me, hands gentle on my shoulders. "Hey. You're safe. I won't let anything happen to you."
The sincerity in his voice breaks my heart. This man would die protecting me, and I'm betraying him with every breath.
"I know," I whisper.
He studies my face in the dim light. "You're scared."
"A little."
"Of them? Or of me?"
"Of this." I gesture between us. "Of what happens when we're alone together."
His eyes darken. "What do you think will happen?"
"I think we'll do things we can't take back."
"Would that be so terrible?"
Yes. No. I don't know anymore.
"Pack a bag," he says, stepping back. "We leave in an hour."
As I gather clothes with shaking hands, the recording devices mock me from their hiding places. Tomorrow I'll be at a Kavanagh safe house, deeper in enemy territory than any FBI agent has ever been.
The question is whether I'll survive it with my mission—or my heart—intact.
From the living room, I hear Eamon making calls, his voice hard as he arranges our disappearance. In sixty minutes, I'll be alone with the most dangerous man I've ever met.
And God help me, I want it more than my next breath.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
The black Escaladefollows us for three blocks before I decide to end this shit. Same vehicle, same distance, making every turn we make. Amateur hour surveillance.
"We've got a tail," I tell Sorcha, watching the rearview mirror.
She checks her side mirror without turning around. Smart girl. "How many?"
"One car I can see. Probably more hiding." I take a right instead of heading to the pub. "Let's flush them out."
The Escalade follows. Two seconds later, a white van appears behind it. These fuckers think they're clever.
My phone buzzes. Text from an unknown number:Change of plans. Meet at the warehouse on Pier 7.
"Bullshit," I mutter, showing Sorcha the message. "Someone's trying to herd us."
"Trap?"
"Definitely." I gun the engine, weaving through traffic. "Hold tight."
