"The devices are working," I say, trying to regain professional footing. "We have recordings of him discussing criminal operations."
"Good."
"There's something else. He knew about federal investigations. Too much detail. Someone's feeding him information."
Eamon's attention sharpens. "FBI?"
"Maybe. Or DEA. Customs. Could be anyone with access." I scroll through the audio files uploading to secure servers. "This corruption goes higher than we thought."
"How high?"
"High enough to know about undercover operations. High enough to put agents in danger." The implications hit me fully. "High enough to get me killed if they figure out who I am."
Eamon pulls over abruptly, parking in an empty lot. He turns to face me, expression intense.
"That's not going to happen."
"You can't know that."
"I can and I will." His hand cups my face, thumb stroking my cheek. "No one touches you. No one hurts you. I don't care what agency they work for."
The promise in his voice makes my heart race faster than any danger. This man who I'm supposed to arrest is swearing to protect me from my own people.
"Eamon..."
"I know this is fucked up. I know I'm the last person who should be saying this." His thumb traces my lower lip. "But you're mine, Sorcha. Not the FBI's. Not Moran's. Mine."
Before I can respond, his mouth crashes against mine. The kiss is desperate, possessive, everything we've been fighting for weeks. I melt into him, hands fisting in his shirt as he claims my mouth with rough hunger.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"We can't do this," I whisper against his lips.
"We already are," he replies, pulling me closer.
The mission was a success. We have evidence, surveillance access, and intelligence about corruption. But as Eamon's hands tangle in my hair, pulling me back for another kiss, I realize we've crossed a line there's no coming back from.
Tomorrow, we'll deal with consequences. Tonight, I stop fighting what I want and take what I need.
Even if it destroys everything.
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
The surveillance footagemakes my stomach turn. Agent Byrne meeting with Moran again three months ago. Six months ago. A year. Each timestamp proves what we suspected—this corruption runs deeper than anyone imagined.
"How long has this bastard been selling us out?" Sorcha asks, her voice tight with fury.
I scroll through more files we pulled from Byrne's personal computer. The way she leans over my shoulder, her perfume mixing with the scent of her skin, makes it hard to focus. Even now, hunting corruption, I want her.
"Based on these records? At least three years. Maybe longer."
The evidence spreads across the table like a cancer diagnosis. Bank transfers. Meeting schedules. Communication logs. Byrne hasn't just been feeding information to Moran—he's been running FBI operations to benefit criminal organizations.
"The agent who disappeared before me," Sorcha says, her finger tracing a timeline. The simple touch sends heat through me. "Jessica Martinez. Look at this."
She points to a payment dated two weeks before Martinez vanished. Same amount Byrne received for previous betrayals.Her breast brushes my arm as she reaches across me. My body responds despite the gravity of what we're discovering.
