“I had to report what I uncovered about Carlos. I’m sorry.”

I lean back against the couch, losing sight of Jessica’s face on the laptop screen.

I think about pressing her about who she really is, but I have the distinct feeling she’ll throw the same classified response at me. This is the first time we’ve been able to have a face-to-face discussion since Owen left. She’s probably been too busy trying to save the world, but there’s only one person I’m focused on saving.

“Are you still helping, or are you bailing, too?”

“I made a commitment to you,” she says.

I straighten when I hear Gia coming down the stairs. She was on the phone with Mya, but she promised she wouldn’t say anything about what we learned yesterday. And she was also supposed to convince Mya to finally leave Brazil. She still hasn’t left despite Owen’s less-than-friendly request on the phone the other day.

“What’s the status on Pierce? Gia’s father is still someone we can talk about, right?”

I’m being snarky, but fuck it—I’m pissed. Maybe I’m selfish for not focusing on the potential takedown of a terrorist, but if Gia’s not happy, I’m not goddamn happy.

“Or is her dad considered a terrorist now, so it’s classified? I mean, last time we checked, the guy was a killer, but I’m guessing there’s some sort of chart you keep up in your office to determine which asshole is the most offensive. Maybe it’s color-coded?”

I shove up to my feet and scratch at the back of my neck, trying to force myself to calm down, and when I look back at the screen, Jessica’s blue eyes ice over.

“Her dad is still checked into the same hotel in downtown Miami. No movement,” Jessica says after a beat.

Gia drops down on the couch and reaches out for my hand, so I sit next to her. Our fingers lace together on my thigh. At this point, I don’t give two fucks if Jessica knows something is going on between us.

Jessica’s gaze darts to our hands, and she clears her throat as if surprised or embarrassed by the sight of me being so “human” as she’d probably call it.

“And the people Rory sent to Chicago and Austin? Where are they now?” I ask.

“They’re back in New York.”

“And Rory?” Gia’s grip tightens on my hand.

“He’s been keeping a low profile. I think he’s a bit spooked with you being gone. Maybe he’s worried you’ll roll over on him to the Feds in return for protection.” Jessica crosses her arms and leans back in her chair.

“Witnesses die,” Gia says, almost under her breath as her eyes remain cast down on our clasped palms.

“Yeah, well, whoever gave the Feds a boatload of intel on Richard McCullen is still alive and never made it into the spotlight, and that can’t make Rory feel too confident that the same thing won’t happen to him,” Jessica says.

“And what if it was Rory who turned him in?” Gia asks, and her question throws me off guard.

“You think Rory would trade his dad in for his own immunity?” Jessica asks, standing now, the wheels churning.

“He never did get along with Richard. They were always butting heads,” she explains.

“You think Jerry is really Rory’s contact?” I ask Jessica.

She braces the desk and closes her eyes, processing the idea. “I entertained the thought before, but it doesn’t make sense that a homicide detective would be assigned that role.”

“Unless they wanted it to look like he was just a dirty cop in order to throw off any suspicion by Rory’s men,” Gia says.

Jessica huffs out a breath. “I looked into things on my end, and there’s no Internal Affairs investigation going on that I know of, which doesn’t rule out Jerry being dirty. It could just mean he hasn’t been caught.”

“Or it could mean he’s actually working for someone high up, and he’s Rory’s handler, or whatever the hell you guys call it,” I say.

“These are all hypotheticals, but if it’s true, how do we let Rory’s people know he’s the snitch without getting Jerry caught in the crossfires?”

“I guess you’ll need to figure it out.” It’s time for her to hold up her end of this since she’s screwing us over with respect to Gia’s mom.

“And if it’s not Rory who turned in Richard?” Gia asks.

“Doesn’t matter.” Jessica grins. “We just need his people to believe it.”

“Okay.” Gia nods.

“I’ll get working on this. We still need to figure out what to do about your father, too.”

“I want him taken down.” Gia releases my hand and stands, folding her arms, showing confidence in her decision.

“And if he dies as a result of the little war we might start within the McCullens’ organization . . .?” Jessica allows the question to hang in the air and waits for her response.

Gia’s shoulders drop forward enough for me to notice her internal conflict over the decision.

“He’s a killer,” is all she says before turning her back to the screen, as well as to me, probably so I can’t get a read on her.

“Noted.” Jessica is looking at me as if she’s seeking silent permission for the potential death of Gia’s dad, and damn it, I give it by nodding.

“Okay, well, I’ve got a guy coming your way the day after tomorrow. We worked with him on a case in Tampa last year. He’s former Air Force and runs his own PI company.”

I’m not keen on the idea of letting someone I don’t know come here, but I’m not a cop and I don’t have military experience, so I can’t turn down the extra protection if it means keeping Gia safe. Of course, if it’s her father who finds us, I’m guessing I’m the only one he’ll want to slice and dice.

“The day after tomorrow.” Gia faces us, blinking, as if her mind is hazy or on overload from all of this. Yeah, well, mine is, too.

“You think you guys can stay out of trouble until then?”

“We’ll manage.” I end the call and close the laptop, and Gia heads for the back of the house.

“This has become more than I can handle,” she says, stepping outside. “I’m betting you wish you never went to that bachelor party the night we met. It would’ve saved you a lot of trouble.”

“Don’t say that.” I reach out and tug her around. She keeps her arms tight in front of her chest as if she’s trying to shield herself from me, and I’m not sure why. “I’ll never regret meeting you.”

Her head is angled down, so I tip up her chin. “Look at me,” I say when her eyes still don’t meet mine.

“It’s going to be hard to say goodbye to you when this is all over.”

“Who said we’ll have to say goodbye?”

---

“Am I really letting you do this?”

“It’ll take my mind off things. Please.” She’s sitting in a chair about ten feet away, with her sketchpad in one hand and a pencil in the other.

“I don’t feel too manly,” I joke as I shift around on the stool, uneasy with all of this.

She chuckles. “You could probably walk around in heels and still not lose that dominant alpha thing you’ve got going on.”

“Yeah, well, that won’t be happening.” I roll my eyes.

“Maybe hold your wrist with the other hand?”

I do as I’m told, not used to being bossed around, but it makes her smile, and that little dimple appears—so it’s worth it.

“Close to your face.” She nods. “Yeah, and spread your fingers open so I can see your eyes.” She makes a soft humming noise as she angles her head and her pencil moves over the paper.

“I can’t believe I’m posing for you.”

“Stop talking. I need you still.” Her lip tucks between her teeth as her eyes keep flickering to the page and back to me.

“I’m surprised you can’t draw me from memory.” I smile. “Hell, I remember every little detail about you. The freckle on the inside of your wrist. The few strands of honey-colored hair, mixed with the black. Oh, and the way your nipples pucker—”

“Cade!” She holds her pencil to her lips, trying to silence me like she’s my teacher in school. Hell, we could role play that any day of the week. I’ll even let her keep bossing me around.

Jesus, I’m getting hard.

“I can’t draw when I’m shaking from laughter.”

“Babe, you’re gonna shake a lot more when I’m making you come and scream my name in about five minutes.”

She fights another smile. “You can’t rush a masterpiece.”

I scratch at my two-day-old beard, and she points to my hands, which have abandoned the desired position. I grumble and do as instructed, knowing full well that I’ll be ordering her around soon. I think she’ll need to be tied up, too. She can never seem to keep her hands on the headboard.

“You’re so hot,” she says after a few minutes.

I lift my hands up and stretch. “I know.”

More sweet laughter flows from her mouth. I never knew a sound could make me feel so much.

She sets down her pencil twenty minutes later, and thank God for that because my patience is about gone.

I stride toward her, needing my hands on her, but I’m also curious to see her sketch.

“It’s not done.” She rises to her feet and pulls it away, lifting it above her head, as if that can stop me.

“You’re going to make me work to get it?” I tug at her yoga pants and yank them down, and she gasps. “Yeah, there it is. The sweet spot. So fucking wet for me.” I thrum her clit and slide a finger inside her.

“Mine,” I grunt like a caveman who needs to make sure he’s staked his claim loud and clear. “Are you going to let me see the drawing now?”

She starts to pant, her arm dropping down as I rub harder and faster. “Not . . . yet.”

I pull my hand free and step back, and her shoulders shudder as if a chill has swept over her. “How about now?” I arch a brow, playing dirty.

“Finish, and yes. Yes, you can do whatever the hell you want.” She grabs my wrist with her other hand and presses it back to her pussy, in desperate need of my touch.

“Don’t promise me a blank check.” I smile. “But I do like you like this, hanging right on the edge.” I lean forward and tug the soft flesh of her earlobe between my teeth. Then I give her what she wants, intensifying the pressure between her legs. “I like to be the one to push you over the edge, too.”

Her eyes squeeze tight as she chews her lip and bucks against my hand, losing control. And I love every second of it.

“I swear, sometimes you steal my every breath.” She falls back onto the chair behind her, totally satiated.

“And you stole mine a long time ago,” I say in all honesty, not letting go of her eyes, even as I crouch down to one knee before her.

She runs a short nail down the center of my chest and then hands me the sketchpad.

“This kind of looks like me.”

“That’s the idea.” She straightens in the seat and looks at the picture.

“And what are you drawing in the background?” I notice the start of scenery behind my head.

“Brazil.” She rolls her tongue over her lips for a moment, wetting them. “Two images I never want to forget.”

Forget?

“Too bad I don’t have your perfect memory; then, I wouldn’t need a drawing to remember you after I’m gone.”

I swallow at her words, at the truth laid out between us.

I can’t accept that things will end once we stop running, but I whisper, “Yeah,” and shove to my feet, no longer in the mood to do anything. “Too bad.”

I go into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, but her hand sliding up my bare back stops me from opening the fridge.

“What’s wrong?” She places a kiss on my back, right next to her palm. “Aside from the obvious, from this craziness I pulled you into.”

I turn to face her, and I’m suddenly so goddamn angry. The thought of losing her, of losing someone I care about, knots my stomach.

I want to punch something.

I want to put my fist through every wall in this house until the walls crumble and there’s nothing left—nothing that can come between us.

“No.” I stride back into the living room. “I say fuck it.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” She follows me.

I’ve lost it. I’ve finally lost my mind.

I grab her hand and hold it over my heart, letting her feel it pounding in my chest. “I’ll build the longest fucking bridge in the world that links us together when this is over if that’s what I have to do.”

Her hand trembles, and her eyelids fall closed.

“When this is over, I want to be with you. I need to hear you say it, though. I need to make sure we’re on the same page.”

The skin on her forehead draws tight, and her lips roll inward as if in pain.

“Gia?”

A single tear drops down her cheek, and it has me stumbling back a step, releasing hold of her hand.

I gulp back the ugly truth of her silence, unable to wrap my head around it.

Her lower lip quivers now, and another tear glides down. “Of course I want to be with you.” The moment of hesitation that follows her words is like a knife to the back.

Still no eye contact, but she says, “There can never be a me-and-you in the future.” The shakiness of her voice betrays her.

“You’ll be in New York, and—”

“I don’t need a geography lesson,” I snap.

Her eyes finally open. “When I find my mother, I’ll have to focus on her. I won’t have room in my life for anyone else.” She lets out such a deep breath that if I had been drinking it would’ve sobered me. “Being with you, even in this twisted situation, has been everything to me . . . but I—”

“I get it, but this isn’t some schoolboy crush because I took your virginity. I’m not telling you what you need to hear. I’m telling you the truth.”

She keeps opening my fucking playbook. The one I closed for her, damn it.

I focus on her irises, the bright color dimming as she’s about to lie to me. And I know it’ll be a lie because there’s no way I can be the only one feeling this.

But why the hell is she doing this?

“Don’t do this, please. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be. You know I care about you.” She wipes her newly fallen tears and sniffles. “I’ll always appreciate what you’ve done for me, and I’ll never forget you were my first, but don’t pretend that someone like you could ever let me be your last.”

My jaw goes slack when I realize she’s turning this back on me. A slow anger rolls through me, and I try to fight it as I tap a fist to my chin. I need to control the situation, to figure out what is happening.

But she doesn’t give me a chance to say anything else. She takes off and runs up the stairs.

I want to chase after her, to tell her she’s wrong, but what the hell do I do if she’s right about me?

What if I really am a monster on the inside, and I’ve only been wearing a mask? Maybe I can never be more than an asshole like my father.