“I’m not putting it on. You’re insane.”

“Don’t make me sedate you.”

Even though he looks somewhat amused, I’m one hundred percent certain he’s not joking.

I glance down at the beanie in my hand. The one I’m supposed to wear pulled down over my eyes so I can’t see the entrance to the bat cave. I thought I was being pushed to my limit when I had to agree that he’ll come back for my Bronco tomorrow, but this is some bullshit.

“What if we pull up next to a cop? He’s going to think I’m being abducted. How are you going to explain that?”

Instead of duct-taping my mouth shut and zip-tying my hands and feet, which I assume would have been standard operating procedure for a hit man—if he doesn’t shoot you first—Saxon has been strangely patient.

Saxon. I still don’t think the name fits him as he stares at me from the other side of the bench seat of his perfectly restored International Harvester Scout.

The waves of envy beating against the walls of my soul over his four-wheel drive may have helped my compliance when he opened the passenger door for me to climb in. But even the incredible reupholstered black-and-white bench seat that makes me yearn for the extra cash to restore my Bronco doesn’t make me compliant enough to put this beanie on without argument.

He presses a button on the dash and the clear windows turn black. “Problem solved.”

“Are you kidding me?” My mouth drops open, and I swivel around to look in the backseat. Every piece of glass is now tinted like a limo. “Where are the rockets mounted?”

I give him hardcore side-eye and catch a restrained chuckle from his side of the vehicle.

“I’m not Batman. There aren’t any rockets. My job calls for a little more subtlety.”

No way this thing is unarmed. “Machine guns? Bullet-resistant glass? Is that why you didn’t let me open the door, the weight of the armor?”

“Put. It. On.”

His patience is waning, and even though I should be scared of him, I’m not. My chin juts out stubbornly.

“This is going to end in you conscious or unconscious, Temperance. You choose.”

I glare. “You’re a dick.”

“You like my dick,” he shoots back.

I hate that he’s one hundred percent correct about that, so I lie.

“Did. Past tense. That was before I knew it was connected to a hit man.” When my statement drains any humor from his expression, part of me wishes I could take it back.

“Put it on.”

“Fine.”

I pull the beanie over my head and cover my eyes. I don’t know what kind of fabric this hat is made out of, probably the same stuff as the bat suit, but it definitely blocks all light—not to mention it smells incredible. Like him.

A spicy, clean masculine scent overwhelms me as he shifts the SUV in drive and pulls out onto the street. For a while, I try to keep track of the turns, but after about five minutes, it becomes impossible.

“Tell me about the distillery,” he says. “What’s coming up? More special events that are going to bring in big crowds?”

“We’re running a speed-dating event this week. Professional singles are getting together in the restaurant to mix and mingle. No other events planned beyond our regular tours until next weekend, thank the Lord, or else I’d lose my mind.”

“Is that your main job? Special events?”

“Technically, I’m the COO.”

“Fancy title. What does it really mean?”

I roll my eyes, but he can’t see them under the beanie. “That I do whatever Keira tells me to, including events. Although, we’re hopefully hiring someone specifically to handle those, because it’s getting to be a little overwhelming to keep up.”

“You did a good job with the auction.”

I shrug. “Because I had to. It was a great cause. But chasing down every last-minute detail to make sure an event goes off without a hitch isn’t what I want to be doing with my life.” For a moment, I wonder how smart it is to say that to someone who has a direct line to my boss’s husband, but I highly doubt he’s going to tattle.

“What do you want to be doing with your life?”

I’m surprised he asks, but then again, he’s been a surprise in every way I can imagine.

I consider his question, and my mind immediately goes to the unfinished piece in Elijah’s shop. That’s not something I’m ready to share with him, so I change the subject.

“This thing itches, and it’s hot.” I adjust the beanie as I lie.

“You’ll live.”

“Are you sure?”

“Considering that’s my job? Yes.”

I frown, but his comment conjures another question in my brain. “How does one actually get into the hit-man line of work? Is there an apprenticeship for that?” Not the smoothest change of subject, but I don’t care.

He’s quiet for long moments, making me wish I could see his face.

“It wasn’t my first choice.”

“Army or marines?”

Although I can’t see his head swivel to stare at me, I can feel it. I had a gut feeling and went with it.

“Why do you say that?”

“Your posture. I can always spot it. I had a crush on an ROTC guy in college. He carried himself like you.”

“What’s his name?” he asks, aiming for a casual tone, no doubt, and almost succeeding.

I choke on a laugh. “Are you really going to hunt him down because his posture gave you away?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“How far that crush went.”

I’m not sure why I like the subtle flare of jealousy, but I do.

“Where’d you go to college?” he asks next.

I pause before answering. “Don’t ask me questions you already know the answer to. It’s disingenuous.”

“If you think I know your entire life story, you’re wrong. Ransom didn’t exactly go out of his way to fill me in on all the details about his baby sister—and I haven’t dug that deep.”

Why am I equal parts glad and annoyed at his reply? Did I want him to stalk me? I must be damaged.

“What did he tell you?” I ask to fill the growing silence.

Again, I have to wait for an answer, and I wonder if it’s because he’s navigating traffic or forming a reply. It feels like we’re merging onto the expressway.

“Enough. You’re younger. Went to college and he didn’t. Work for Mount’s woman. You’re off-limits.”

“Off-limits?” My brother isn’t exactly the most protective sibling on the planet, but he definitely scared off his fair share of guys.

I can feel Saxon’s stare on me.

“Yeah. Off-limits.”

So many questions fight for supremacy in my brain, but one triumphs. “Then why did you . . .” I let my words trail off.

“Next question.” His reply is curt.

Something like victory bubbles up inside me, and I have no idea what to do with that feeling. We’re both quiet for a few minutes before I realize I’m losing my chance to find out more about him . . . I mean, interrogate him.

“What about you? Did you enlist after high school?”

“Yes.”

“Go to college at all?”

“No.” His short answers aren’t exactly inviting more questions.

“What was your job?”

He pauses like he might not answer. Finally, he replies, “Sniper.”

“I guess that fits. How long were you in?”

“Long enough.”

His non-answers should dissuade me from asking more questions, but I’m not losing my opportunity. “Why’d you get out? Didn’t like it?”

He grunts. “It was time.”

“So, how’d you come to work for Mount?”

“I don’t.”

“Wait. I’m confused. I thought—”

“No. I don’t work for anyone, and I sure as hell wouldn’t take his orders every day.”

“I still don’t get it.”

He grunts like he doesn’t want to answer, but he eventually speaks again. “I’m doing him a favor. I don’t pass up the chance to have Mount in my debt too often. Never know when I’ll need to call it in.”

I’m not sure what to make of all this, but I keep questioning him. “How do you know Rafe?”

“Through Mount,” he replies, keeping his answers short, but this one brings my questions full circle.

“What did my brother do? What was so different about this job? Mount made it sound worse than normal . . .” I pause, not sure what else to say.

“How much do you know about what your brother does?”

The question catches me off guard, mostly because I never talk about it to anyone. Not just because I don’t want him to get in trouble, but also because it allows me to pretend that my brother isn’t a smuggler who spends more time on the wrong side of the law than the right side.

“Enough,” I say, keeping my answers short like he does.

“Keep going.”

“He transports things,” I say, and I can almost feel the sidelong glance.

“Your brother’s a transporter.”

“I know. I’m not an idiot. Illegal jobs pay more than legal ones, so he takes those more often than not.”

“And that bothers you?”

“It’s not my life or my decision. That’s on Rafe.” I pause. “But if it were your brother, wouldn’t it bother—” I cut my question off because I realize it’s a ridiculous thing to ask a hit man.

Saxon pretends he doesn’t notice. “Ransom took a big job. What, exactly, we don’t know yet, but he fucked the wrong people over. The kind of people you don’t want to fuck over because you won’t live to tell about it.”

My brain races, and fear for Rafe takes up residence all the way to the marrow of my bones. “Why would he risk screwing someone over? He should know better. He told me it was big, so it’s not like he didn’t know.”

“Don’t know, but I’m hoping he had a good fucking reason.”

Quietly, I say, “He missed my birthday. He swore he wouldn’t miss it, and he did. He might not be the most upstanding person in the world, but he’s all I have. And he always keeps his word.”

Once again, I feel Saxon’s eyes on me.

“When was your birthday?”

Even though I can’t look down and see anything because of this dumb hat, my chin drops to my chest. “Today,” I whisper.

“Shit. You’re kidding.”

I shake my head. “No. Happy freaking birthday to me.”

I hate sounding like I’m throwing a pity party, but it can’t be helped. Other than Keira’s text this morning, not a single other soul on this planet has wished me happy birthday. How pathetic is that?

“Jesus, I’m sorry, Temperance.”

“Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter. Nothing does besides making sure Rafe is okay. So, whatever I need to do to make that happen, Saxon, I’ll do it.”

I stop for a moment and think.

“Is that even your real name?”