Nothing like the cold-blooded killer she’d built up in her mind.
They slipped out of the facility, moving from cover to cover across the desert landscape.
They found three vehicles parked a quarter-mile from the facility.Two guards, smoking cigarettes and talking in low voices, guarded the Jeeps.Bored.Inattentive.
Fatal mistakes in their line of work.
She and Conall exchanged a look, no words needed.She took the one on the left; he took the right.Simultaneous strikes.Quick and quiet.
The guards dropped without a sound.
Keys,she murmured, checking the first vehicle.Locked.The second was open, keys in the ignition like a gift from the universe.
Lucky,Conall said.
Or another trap.But she slid into the driver’s seat anyway.The engine turned over with a quiet purr.She checked—it had a full tank of gas.Too convenient.
Does it matter?He settled into the passenger seat, and she caught his scent, along with the exhaustion underlying it.
She ignored it all, focused on driving.
Where are we going?she asked as they pulled away from the facility, headlights cutting through desert darkness.
Sunburst territory.My pack can—
No.The refusal was automatic.I’m not walking into the middle of your stronghold.
Nadine.Her name on his lips sent electricity down her spine.Damn mate bond.You’re injured.You need medical attention.And whoever arranged this—they’re not going to stop hunting us.
I can take care of myself.
I know you can.The quiet certainty in his voice surprised her.But you don’t have to.
Something about the way he said it made her chest tight.Like he was offering more than just assistance.Like he was offering partnership.Protection.The kind of support her father used to provide to her before—
Before the Sunburst Pack killed him.
The thought should have restored her focus, reminded her why trusting Conall was dangerous.
Instead, she found herself remembering the genuine confusion in his eyes when she’d accused him of murder.
Why should I trust you?she asked quietly.
He was quiet for a long moment, and she could feel him choosing his words carefully.
Because someone went to a lot of trouble to make you think I killed your father,he said finally.Someone who had resources to arrange professional surveillance, tactical teams, even a body double.That’s not random.That’s orchestrated.
The impostor.She’d almost forgotten about her in the chaos of capture and escape.Someone who looked enough like her to fool casual observation, at least from a distance.Someone with access to information about her father’s death.
The woman pretending to be me,she mused.What was she doing?
Apparently exactly what you were here to do—accuse me and Quinton of Gregory’s murder.
But why?
No clue.She knew details about Gregory’s death though.Specific details.Conall paused.Details that could have come from whoever actually killed him.
If Conall was right—if someone else had killed her father and set up the Stewart twins to take the blame—then she’d been hunting the wrong targets.
