It took discipline not to mention Braden’s bruised knuckles when he got back in the car. She wanted to know what had happened. Wanted to know if he was okay.

But she wasn’t anxious to play nursemaid to someone who’d been lying to her, and she wasn’t going to be suckered into the role of nurturer just because he’d had a fight.

It things had been different, she would have asked what they were doing in Riverside, who he had beaten up and why, but it didn’t seem to matter in the face of whatever he’d been hiding. It was obviously all connected.

She ran down the possibilities for what felt like the hundredth time: he was undercover, he’d joined some kind of mercenary group and was an assassin, he was dirty — had been dirty the whole time he’d been at the Bureau.

Except none of it jibed with what she knew about Braden and the Bureau. They wouldn’t put an agent undercover two days after he resigned. It wouldn’t pass the kind of examination that was expected when an agent went undercover.

And Braden was no killer.

She’d seen the look in his eyes the night at Rosa’s after he’d left the Bureau. Had seen the torment when he’d said he didn’t think he was doing any good. He believed in justice. Believed in their sacred duty to make the world a safer place.

Which made the last possibility the most absurd; Braden Kane was no dirty cop. She didn’t know what he was into, but she knew he was honorable. Knew he believed everything he did was for the greater good.

Except what if she was wrong? What if her instincts — instincts she relied on for her very survival — were shit?

Everything you need to know is right in front of you.

But it wasn’t. Suddenly it seemed like there was a whole other world — a whole other Braden — hiding under the veil of a reality she no longer trusted.

She turned her head, glanced over at him, watched as the street lights played across the perfect symmetry of his face, the defined line of his jaw. Had it only been hours ago that she’d been naked underneath him?

She was ashamed to feel the animal roar of lust expand in her veins. Ashamed to realize that even knowing he’d kept something from her — had lied to her — she still wanted him with a primitive need that blocked out all reason.

She turned her face back to the window. No. She wasn’t an animal, and she wasn’t a fool. She wouldn't be sucked into something that was bad for her. Wouldn’t be carried along on a wave of lust or love or anything but the cold, hard reasoning of her perfectly good mind.

She thought about Erin, tried to imagine all her sister could have accomplished if she’d lived to kick her addiction. If she’d lived to come to her senses about Ryan. She would be in Boston, maybe showing the portrait photographs she’d been taking ever since their parents had given her an old Polaroid camera when Erin was six years old. Or maybe she’d be in L.A. with Nora, sharing an apartment, watching the sunset every night. Maybe she’d be engaged to a nice man with a good job whose eyes crinkled when he smiled at her.

But she was none of those things. She was dead.

She was dead and gone and it was because she’d gotten lost in the fog of addiction and her love for Ryan. Had lost sight of the shore.

Nora wasn’t Erin. And their mother was wrong. Sometimes the things you needed to remember weren’t right in front of you. Sometimes they were hidden in dark and secret places. They were things you needed to excavate to find.

She drew in a breath, watched the exit sign for Long Beach pass overhead as they veered off the freeway. She wasn’t surprised when they made their way to the airport. They bypassed the commercial terminals and headed for the charter terminal.

She turned to Braden. “Where are we going?”

“I told you we were flying,” he said without looking at her.

“We’re taking a charter?” she asked as they pulled up to the gate of the private terminal.

He showed his ID to the guard and they were waved through a moment later.

“It’s the safest way for us to travel right now.” He pulled the car up to a waiting plane, lights on and staircase extended, on the tarmac. He turned off the engine and opened the door.

He removed their bags from the backseat. When she came around to his side of the car, a man was standing near the driver’s side door. He was tall and built like most of the men she knew at the Bureau, but there was a kind of lazy grace to him that made it seem that while this was just another day on the job, he could be in a defensive position in seconds.

Braden handed him the keys. “Tell him thank you.”

“Tell him yourself,” the man said, climbing into Braden’s car.

Braden turned to her and hesitated. She wondered what he was thinking, but a moment later he spoke and she didn’t have time to wonder any more. “Let’s go.”

She followed him to the plane and he waited at the bottom of the staircase to let her pass. She stopped, turned to face him, had to resist the urge to take his hand.

“Where are we going?” She expected him to deflect and was surprised when he answered.

“Seattle.”

“What’s in Seattle, Braden?”

“Answers.”

She hesitated, then continued up the stairs, the promise of answers all she needed to get her on the plane. Already defying all the logic she’d promised herself she would use.

She stepped onto the plane and took a seat, was relieved when Braden took one across the aisle from her, obviously sensing that she wanted to keep her distance. She wanted to tell him it wasn’t easy, that there was nothing she desired more than to be near him, but that would defeat the purpose of the distance she’d been cultivating since she realized he’d been keeping something from her. She remained silent instead, buckling her seat belt and looking around the plush cabin as the staircase raised, the door closed, the interior pressurized.

“There’s a bedroom in the back if you get tired,” Braden said. “And a kitchen if you get hungry.”

She turned her face to the window, watched as the city lights rolled past, the plane picking up speed as it sped down the tarmac. Then they were lifting into the air, her stomach dropping beneath her as the plane nosed higher and higher. She watched as the light disappeared behind them, falling away as they headed out over the water.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. A short while later she heard a voice at her shoulder.

“Can I get you anything, Miss Murphy?”

She opened her eyes to find a young man in slacks and a button down leaning down next to her. “No, thank you.”

“We’ve reached our cruising altitude,” he said. “You can take off your seat belt for now, get comfortable, move around if you like.”

“Thanks."

He moved to the front of the cabin and rustled around the tiny kitchen. She should have been impressed by the plane, obviously outfitted for comfort, but she had too many questions to be impressed. Who owned it? And what did Braden have to do to call in the favor of a last-minute luxury jet to take them to Seattle?

The fine hair stood up on the back of her neck and she turned to find him looking at her. He held her gaze for a long moment, his forehead furrowed, more uncertainty than she’d ever seen in his eyes. She wanted to reach over, smooth his forehead, tell him not to worry, that whatever he had to tell her wouldn’t change anything between them. That they’d already come too far for that.

But it would be a lie. There were still some lines she wouldn’t cross.

She turned away, closed her eyes and repeated it in her mind like a mantra.

There are still some lines I won’t cross.