“You bet your f*cking ass we are.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“I love you.”

“I f*cking love you too, Baby Cockburn.”

Nighttime falls on California by the time I see the blues and reds bouncing on and off my rearview mirror. I’m trying to remain calm, tapping on the steering wheel to the tune of “Hotel California” on the radio, but inside, I’m a mess.

The police are asking us to pull over, and there’s no way we can get around that.

Nate is sitting next to me, his face blank, the money neatly rolled and stuffed under his seat, well hidden.

Is this how we’re going to end? After everything we’ve been through? A police car stopping us in the middle of the road?

I slide to the shoulder, resting both hands firmly on the steering wheel after combing my blonde hair and sitting straight like a good schoolgirl. Nate’s jaw is clenched and he is looking ahead, on the road.

He can’t break.

I won’t let him.

Not now, after everything we’ve achieved.

A chubby officer in a dark blue uniform with a flashlight saunters from his SUV straight up to my door. He flashes the light in my face, before arranging his belt on his round stomach.

“License and registration,” he commands, his flashlight traveling to Nate’s face. My heart is beating so fast I’m on the verge of breaking down in tears. Instead, I take out my wallet from my backpack and pluck my real California license, under my legitimate name. Nate might be wanted, but I’m still just a groomed kid from Blackhawk to the unsuspecting world.

Although I know that if the cop recognizes Nate, it’s all over for me. I’m going down with him. Nate knows that, too, because his eyes almost roll out of their sockets in amazement when I hand the officer my driver’s license. His hand twitches next to his thigh, and I hope he’s not going to do anything stupid to try and spare me.

I don’t want to be spared, I want to be his.

“Prescott Burlington-Smyth,” the officer repeats my name, looking at my paperwork. I nod curtly. “I need your companion’s ID, too.”

“Sure. Chris?” I smile sweetly to Christopher Delaware. Reluctantly, he pulls out his passport, and I pass it along. The officer’s brows pinch together.

“No driver’s license?”

“Lost my wallet,” Nate fires. “Waiting for a new one to arrive.”

“Funny.” The officer flips through his passport. “I see no stamps on this thing. Brand new. Planning to go somewhere?”

“Mexico,” Nate answers calmly. “Family vacation.”

“Huh.”

This is going bad, I know, but what can we do? Run away? We will only draw even more unwanted attention. Tapping the steering wheel with my fingers and swallowing loudly, I look exactly like I feel—a fireball of nerves, on the verge of exploding.

“Ma’am, is everything all right?” The officer sticks his head into my window, and I open my mouth, about to say everything is great, when he takes a step back and yanks his belt over his big belly.

“Step out of the vehicle, please.”

My fingers are shaking as I punch the unlock button and my head swivels in Nate’s direction. He looks taut, severe; his forehead wrinkled into an expression I’ve never seen on him before. It’s the first time he looks less than the most delicious and confident man on earth.

“Forgive me,” he whispers.

“For what?” Tears tickle the back of my eyeballs, and I feel my lungs shutting down. I’m drowning, unable to come up for air. I need to breathe, but an impending catastrophe is threatening me.

Please don’t try and save me, I beg him with my eyes. I’ve only known you for a short time, but I already can’t live without you.

“I want you alive and protected. This ends here.”

“Ma’am, I said step out of the vehicle.” The cop’s screechy voice is louder now, grating on each one of my nerves.

“Nate, no!” I call, punching the dashboard as he yanks out the gun we got from Seb and squeezes it to my temple. I’m shaking all over. The officer steps back and lowers himself to get a better look at what is unfolding before him. His mouth hangs open and his eyes grow wide.

“Tell the bitch to step out of the car. I kidnapped her for the money and now I don’t need her anymore. I want the car and the cash, but most of all, I want her f*cking gone. Do it,” Nate says coldly.

Jesus Christ, no!

He’s throwing himself under the bus for me. Again.

“Get out of the car,” he repeats, his voice like steel. “Out. Before I put a bullet in your f*cking skull.”

“Ma’am, I ask you to step out of the vehicle immediately,” the officer says.

Nate knows exactly what he’s doing. If I step out of this mess right now, they’re going to either arrest him, if he doesn’t run away—or kill him, if he tries. As for me, I could walk away unscathed. But that’s not what I want. Not what I signed up for. We’re in this together, and I don’t care if he’s wanted by the police, Godfrey, the Aryan Brotherhood and the FBI.

“Beat,” I warn. It makes no difference whether the officer recognized Nate or not, because every version of him is breaking approximately five thousand rules in a row right now.