I release her wrists, step back before I do something we'll both regret. Or enjoy too much.
"What about the wire you were supposed to wear?"
"I couldn't do it."
"Why?"
She rubs her wrists where I held her. Red marks bloom on pale skin. "Because I started caring about the people I was supposed to betray."
"Caring." I taste the word. "Is that what you call it?"
"What would you call it?"
I move back into her space, cup her face with both hands. Rough enough to remind her who's in control.
"I'd call it getting your heart tangled up with the enemy."
"You're not my enemy."
"I should be."
Her breath catches as my thumb traces her lower lip. "But you're not."
The air between us crackles with heat and danger. I should kill her. Instead, I want to claim her all over again. Mark her so deep she forgets which side she's supposed to be on.
"There's more," she whispers.
"What?"
She reaches into her jacket, moves careful and slow. Pulls out a folded paper.
"I found this in the surveillance van. Communication between Byrne and the Moran organization."
I take the document, scan the contents. My blood turns to ice.
"Your handler's been feeding information to our enemies."
"Meeting times. Security details. Everything we discussed in planning."
"How long?"
"Eight months, based on these timestamps."
I crush the paper in my fist. Henderson's disappearance. The precision attacks on our territory. The way Moran always seemed one step ahead.
"Byrne set us up."
"And used me to do it."
I look at her – really look. Federal agent. My family's enemy. The woman who fell apart in my arms last night. All of it true at once.
"Your mission is fucked."
"Completely."
"And you've been gathering evidence for a corrupt bastard who wants my family dead."
"Yes."
