What’s left of the Donnelly crime family—as far as we know—is ensconced in a home on the other side of the small island. Liam’s contacts have been invaluable. When I tell him his new nickname is Spymaster, he scoffs. But it’s nevertheless the closest I’ve come to pinning down what makes him so damned dangerous. People bend over backwards to accommodate him. To obey him.

Maybe it’s his blood—the Rourke legacy—but all I know is that Irish charm is a brand of magic in a league of its own.

Saturday night, Liam does reconnaissance of the property in question. I spend the hours he’s gone in a knot of worry, powerless over my thoughts. They caught him. They’re coming for me. An entire hour passes with me hiding in a closet with a knife.

When I finally hear a key in the front door and peek to confirm it’s him, I drop the knife and run. The second the door closes, I’m on him, tearing at his shirt and belt in desperation.

Our lovemaking skirts the boundaries of our former proclivities. But we are both savages tonight, claiming each other with violent fervor. I’m above him when my pleasure overflows, my wrists locked by his hands behind my back. My ragged cry is swallowed by a peal of thunder. His body bucks beneath me, riding my pleasure to his own release.

Spent, I collapse on his chest. He gives me aftercare, carrying me to the shower and washing me, then bundling me in a towel and lying next to me on the bed. He strokes my hair until I’m almost asleep, then kisses me until I’m awake again.

“Tell me,” I whisper.

“She’s being held in plain view in the main living area. No doubt bait. Handcuffed at wrists and feet and blindfolded. The house is single-level, built around the living room. A kitchen and dining room on one side and three bedrooms on the other. Right on the ocean. No pool, but a deck that leads into the house. Both the deck and front entrance are guarded. Windows are all closed and locked in favor of air-conditioning and security.”

“Then how do we get in?”

His thumb grazes my lower lip. “The better question is when. According to my source, a reservation was made for dinner for three tomorrow evening at an oceanfront restaurant.”

“It’s a trap,” I guess.

He nods. “Undoubtedly. But it also means they will all be at the house.”

The windows rattle with the force of the wind. A few raindrops hit the glass, then more and more, until water slides in a distorting sheet down the surface.

Liam gives me a soft kiss. “Tomorrow we’ll go over a map of the surrounding area and decide entry and exit points. We’ll go in together, but out separately.”

“What? No!”

“Yes. You’re going to get Elizabeth out, and I’m going to deal with everything else. We’ll set a rendezvous place and time for the following morning. Then we’ll stash Elizabeth somewhere safe, you’ll go to the bank and transfer the money, and we’ll be on a plane by lunchtime.”

I take a shallow breath past my racing heart. “I can’t leave you there, Liam. There’s seven of them.” At his unperturbed expression, I groan. “You’re going to blow up the house, aren’t you? Like some action-movie hero on a vengeful mission?”

He chuckles. “No. There wasn’t room in my duffel for the C4.”

“Was there room for a bulletproof vest?” I ask, only half-joking.

“I won’t need it.”

His preternatural calm is starting to piss me off. I shove at his chest until he scoots back. I need the space to think, to breathe.

“You might die,” I whisper. “Don’t be so blasé about this. I’m scared for you.”

He drags my hand to his mouth for a kiss. “Eden, look at me.” I lift my gaze from the sheets between us. “I need you to trust me. And I’m not talking about a little bit of trust, like knowing I’ll turn the oven off before I leave the house. I’m asking you to trust me with our lives. Can you do that?”

I think about it long enough that worry blooms in his eyes. When I’ve weighed the past against the present and future, searched my mind and heart, I find the answer easily.

But I let him sweat a little.

Only after a few, tense minutes do I put him out of his misery. “Of course I trust you.”

Liam releases a pent-up breath, then notices the mirth I’m trying to hide. A second later, I’m pinned to the bed and staring at his sharp smile.

“Oh, you little hoyden. You had me for a moment there.”

“I always have you.”

His eyes warm and crinkle. “Aye, you do. I don’t know what luck led to you choosing me, but thank fucking God. You own my heart.”

“And you own mine.”

God, let it be enough.

* * *

I don’t sleep much that night. When I do, I dream I’m being chased by a shadowy, malevolent force. I run and run, growing ever more tired and hopeless, and finally turn to confront it—to fight—but what’s chasing me is myself.

The final time I jerk awake, I don’t bother trying to sleep again. The sky is lightening, washed with pastel-pink clouds. One storm has passed. Another type of storm is beginning.

I don’t doubt Liam. I don’t. If he says he’ll handle the soldiers, my father, Chris, and Alexis, then he will. But I’m terrified that he’ll sacrifice everything—including himself—to do so.

Liam’s eyes flutter open. He takes in my expression, and the sleep in them clears fast.

“Don’t die,” I whisper.

He drags me into him with an arm around my waist and kisses my head. “I don’t plan to, love. Just going to provide a nice little distraction while you grab Elizabeth.”

I haven’t asked about specifics for this distraction, though from the recent purchase of zip ties, I’m assuming it will involve disarming and restraining. But he also cleaned two guns and sharpened knives yesterday.

I’ve seen Liam’s skill, watched him flow through martial arts routines that looked more like intricate dances than violence. I know he can protect himself, but—

“Promise me. Promise that if things go sideways, you’ll get out. We don’t need the money. It’s not important. I thought it was, but it’s not.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “I promise.”

I finally relax in his arms. A hand smooths down my body to my hip. I snuggle forward, pressing a kiss to his warm chest.

For a moment, I feel peace.

“Aww,” croons a female voice, “isn’t this cozy?”