Amanda and I make our way through the foliage beneath the Filbert Steps, and she moves with such agility that you’d never know she was in a skirt and flimsy flats, but then, she’s been trained since she was born to live the life of an agent. To overcome. And while my training might not have begun until I was recruited to the agency in college, training is exactly why I hold my arm above my heart to slow the blood flow with one primary concern: a trail of blood will get us killed. And today is not a good day to die.

The path out of the woods is a short half a mile, and Amanda and I stop within the wooded line, squatting down side by side. Together, we survey the hill before us that leads to a presently unpopulated, small grassy area below. “If we go left or right, we’ll be on neighborhood streets,” Amanda says. “If we go straight ahead, there’s another short set of steps that will lead us to the pier, where we can blend in with the crowd.”

“We need a car and the pier means cameras.”

“My neighbor is retired and he parks his SUV in the drive between our houses,” she says, rotating to face me, as I do the same to her.

“He never leaves the house,” she adds. “He won’t even know it’s gone for days.”

“It’s a good plan, but that means a two-mile walk, and time is not our friend. We need to get moving.” I start to move and she grabs my leg, our eyes colliding with the connection.

“You can’t make that long walk. It’s going to make your heart pump and that means blood. Lots of blood.”

“The belt is holding,” I say. “And your plan is a good one.”

“The trolley stops down by the pier.” She eyes her watch. “The next one is in seven minutes. It’ll drop us off right at the edge of my neighborhood.”

“Trolley it is,” I say, rotating forward, with her doing the same. “Stay behind me as we exit the woods,” I order. “I’ll move you to the front once I’m certain we’re clear.”

“You mean if you don’t get shot again.”

I face her again to find that she’s already facing me. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I don’t intend to die before you get the chance to try to kill me. But let me be clear of one thing before we go on. You might be the only person who can save hundreds of thousands of people if Franklin releases that toxin in the water supply, but if I die and you don’t help them, I swear to you, woman, I will come back from the grave and haunt your ass.”

“You know I wouldn’t let those people die.”

“I don’t know the woman who ran from her duty,” I say. “And I won’t make the mistake of thinking that I do again.”

“I didn’t—”

“My arm is seeping. Let’s do this before I can’t get on that trolley. Exit behind me.” I face forward. “On three,” I say, scanning the area and reaching under my jacket to settle my hand on my weapon. “One.”

“I did what I had to do to stay alive. I did what you would have done.”

I look at her. “I wouldn’t have hidden. I would have gone after the problem.”

“You think I didn’t try?”

“Three years, Amanda.”

Her jaw tenses and she looks forward. “Two,” she says, adding to our count. “And you damn sure know I won’t let those people die.”

“Three,” I finish, and together we stand up. I wait a beat, letting my senses talk to me, waiting for any hint of unease, that doesn’t follow, before I start down the hill. I walk, instead of run, as I travel downward, my intent to fit in with the environment. Amanda’s footsteps sound behind me, steady as well, and it’s not until we reach that grassy area beneath us that I pull her to my side. We keep a steady pace until we reach the shorter stairwell she’d mentioned, pausing at the top, our path forward fully visible, without obstruction, but I turn to scan behind us, confirming we’re all clear. “Let’s go,” I say, moving us forward, and we quickly start downward, side by side again, with me ready to step in front of her and take a bullet for her again. No. For the people she can save. “How are we doing on time?”

She glances at her watch while we clear the steps and join a crowded sidewalk, where people are dressed in everything from jackets and jeans to dresses and heels, allowing Amanda to blend in more readily. “Two minutes,” she says. “We’ll make it.” She motions to a street sign and we cut left down another sidewalk, and I hear the sound of the trolley approaching, its wheels whistling, its bell ringing. We easily find our way to its side in time to board, and with a full car and standing room only, we have an opportunity to move deep into the trolley, out of the sight of anyone who might be looking for us.

Once we’re in the center of the car, people seated on either side of us, Amanda takes my injured arm, her eyes meeting mine, and she eyes the rope above my head, reminding me to keep it above my heart. I grab the rope but with no overhead tie left for her to reach for, the car starts to move and she tumbles forward into me, her entire body melting into mine. Damn it. The many times and ways she was pressed close to me in the past burn through my mind and body.

She doesn’t look up, but her fingers curl around my shirt and she lingers there for a few beats. I can almost convince myself she’s feeling the same things I am, but that would mean we matter to her, that I matter. That would mean at least part of what was between us was real. And I can’t let myself believe that or it will change every move I make with her. It could also get me killed.

The car halts at a stop, and she pushes off of me, her hands falling away. Still, she doesn’t look at me. I want her to look at me. I want to see the truth in her eyes that I can’t taste on her lips. I want to understand who and what she really is. I don’t wait for the car to move again. I snag her hip and pull her to me, and this time her gaze rockets to mine, the connection punching me in the chest. And this time there are no shadows in her eyes. She lets me see what lurks in the depths. The accusations. She believes I killed her parents and intended to kill her. And the only way she would believe that I would do that is if she isn’t what she seems. If she, and her parents, were dirty, and dirty enough to make me act despite loving her.

My jaw clenches, and I reject every jagged emotion inside me that is suddenly present and biting far more than that bullet. I don’t do emotion. I don’t do fucking love, and yet, this woman lured me in and set me on fire. I hold her stare and let her see what I’m thinking in my eyes: I’ll keep her alive. I’ll fuck her. But I’m not even close to being her fool again. The car starts to move again and I decide to drive those messages home. I set Amanda firmly and exactly away from me, the jolt and movement of the trolley making her sway, but as any good, dirty agent would, she rotates, catching herself on a beam dividing two sets of chairs. Now in profile, she stays that way, and we travel several more blocks before the trolley pauses again. Amanda doesn’t look at me, but rather lifts her hand to indicate this is our stop, which of course, I already know.

She turns and starts walking toward the exit. I follow her, watching her jump to the sidewalk, and then join her, but we don’t look at each other. Instead, I shackle her arm, setting us in motion, guiding her left, toward a souvenir store. “Let’s shop,” I say.

“You did always know how to win over a girl,” she replies dryly, her wit and attitude still firmly in place.

And proving she knows exactly where my head is, which is in changing her appearance, she enters the store first, clearly on a mission. She grabs a hoodie as she walks past a rack, and by the time she’s at the rear of the small shopping area, she’s already pulling it over her head. Next, she snags a baseball hat and stuffs her hair beneath it. I catch up to her in a corner, where she turns to me, a pair of sweatpants in her hand. “Stay where you are and be my dressing room door.”

“Always happy to help you dress or undress, sweetheart,” I say dryly. “Now and later.”

“There won’t be a later,” she assures me, bending to pull the sweats on under her skirt, but swaying as she does. I catch her arm, her hand landing on my chest, the charge between us electric.

“You sure about that?” I challenge softly.

Her eyes lift to mine. “Yes.”

“But I owe you at least one orgasm, now don’t I?”

Her eyes flash with my reference to one of the last nights we’d been together. We’d been sitting at a table with four other people, my hand between her legs, my fingers on her clit, and every time she was about to orgasm, I settled my hand back on her leg.

Amanda pushes away from me and pulls her sweats into place before sliding the skirt off and tossing it under a rack. “You always did like to punish me,” she says.

“And you liked it.”

She shoves her feet into a pair of tennis shoes she grabbed somewhere and steps to me again. “Do you know what I discovered during the past three years, Seth Cage, aside from you being the Assassin?”

I arch a brow. “You miss my mouth on your—”

“That vibrators don’t kill you and they don’t deny you.”

“What fun is that?”

“Fun enough.” She ducks under my arm.

I rotate and pursue her, challenged all over again. And bleeding. Fuck. I dig into my pocket, drop two hundred dollars on the store counter in front of the clerk, and exit the store just behind Amanda, falling into pace with her. “Now we scout,” I say, tugging my sleeve down and using it to soak up blood. “I don’t want us to scale your back fence and get shot dead.”

“Agreed,” she says simply, and for the next fifteen minutes, I battle the blood trying to escape my sleeve, while we do just that. Finding discreet ways to bring her house into view, looking for trouble we don’t find, unless it’s already inside her place, hiding. Once I’m certain we’re as clear as we can be, we make our way to the gravel path behind her house. We stop at the neighbor’s house to confirm the SUV is ready and waiting, with the bonus of the key under the mat, which I move to the ignition, preparing us for a rapid departure.

From there, we use a hole in the fence that connects his house to Amanda’s to clear our path, and then, weapons drawn, we enter her small yard. “The bottom level is an open kitchen and living area,” she informs me as we approach the back door. “A pantry is off the kitchen. One bathroom is off the living area. Upstairs is the bedroom, with a bathroom and closet. Under the rug beside the chair in the corner is a hidden space with my supplies.”

I open the door and enter the simple L-shaped kitchen that opens directly to the living area, just as she’s indicated. She enters behind me, moving to the pantry and checking the space, while I move to the bathroom and clear it.

It’s then that something comes thundering down the stairs. I rush that way, weapon aimed, when loud meowing begins and I spot a gray cat. Amanda rushes forward and picks it up. I don’t ask why a CIA agent has a cat. The cat has now told anyone else that is here that we’re here, and I waste no time charging up the stairs, to bring the humble, and intruder-free bedroom into view, taking in what I find: A set of mattresses. No headboard. One worn out simple chair in the corner. I walk to the bathroom, which is equally simple and empty. Then to the tiny closet.

Holstering my weapon, I move to the rug in front of the chair, and pull it back to find a trap door. Squatting down, I open the wooden door to display a space holding the black case I know to be Amanda’s traveling lab. Next to it is another small leather bag, I also know to be her medical bag. I grab both, shut the door again, and slip the rug back in place, leaving no evidence that we’ve been here. I walk back to the stairs and then turn back to the room. To that bed without a headboard. This is how she’s been living for three years. I’m not sure what to do with that, and I don’t have time to process it right now. But damn. I want to rescue her when I’m supposed to be killing her.

Scrubbing my jaw, I glance at my bloody hand and curse, walking back to the bathroom, washing it and stuffing a washcloth around the opening of my sleeve. Hurrying down the stairs, I find the cat on the counter, next to Amanda, eating from a bowl. I also find a duffel and an animal travel bag at her feet. I set her lab and medical bag on the floor next to me. “Why is there a pet bag at your feet?”

“Julie’s coming with us.”

“Julie,” I say flatly, eyeing the skinny, big-eared animal. “The cat that you’ve been starving.”

“She’s an Oriental Shorthair. They’re skinny. And I need to stitch your arm before we leave.”

“Negative on the stitches and the cat. We’re leaving. Now. The two of us.”

“Julie’s coming with us and I need to at least tape up that wound.”

“No and no. Agents do not have cats.”

“Which is why getting her was a good cover,” she argues.

“You do not have a cat, Amanda.”

“Yes. I do. And her name is Julie. And I’m not leaving her, nor am I letting some crazy person come in here and kill her because she’s mine.”

I cross to her, my hands coming down on her arms, dragging her to me. “And yet you left me and Danny behind.”

“Now is not the time for this.”

“No. It’s not. But it’s coming, sooner rather than later. We’re leaving. No cat.”

“What part of she is all I have do you not understand? I’m not leaving her.”

“All you have?” I demand, anger coming at me hard and fast. “You had me, woman.” I release her, and because we do not have time for this fight, I add, “Take the cat. We’ll find it a home in Texas. I’m going to ensure our path is clear.”

I start to move around her, and she grabs my wounded arm. “You’re dripping blood. We have to deal with your injury.”

“Trouble is going to find us if we wait around for it.”

She lifts her hand to show me the blood now covering her fingers. “This is a problem.”

“Once we’re out of the city limits,” I bite out. “Right now, I’m going to do that exterior check to ensure you and your damn cat are safe when we leave.” I don’t wait for her agreement, stepping around her and exiting to the backyard. And I don’t let myself think about her empty bedroom, the reasons someone like Amanda would cling to a cat, or the many accusations and lies between us. Right now, it’s about getting us the hell out of here.

My scan of the surrounding area is quick and efficient, and exactly two minutes later, I re-enter the kitchen. “We’re clear,” I say, grabbing Amanda’s traveling lab and medical bags, while she hoists the cat carrier over her shoulder, her gaze on the blood-soaked washcloth stuffed into my sleeve. But she doesn’t say anything, which suits me fine. I just want us in that SUV and on the road.

We exit the house and waste no time making that happen. In all of three minutes, we’re loaded in the vehicle, no obvious trouble in our path, which seems a little too good to be true. And too good always sets off alarms for me. Except with Amanda.

I start the engine, back us up, and put us in drive. And it’s official: the Assassin, the Poison Princess, and an Oriental Shorthair cat named Julie are on the road. I don’t know where that road leads us. I don’t know what role the cat has in any of this. She damn sure can’t be taught to attack or hunt down perps. But as for myself and Amanda, for now, we’re on our way to save lives. And then we’re going to try to take each other’s. But I’m pretty damn sure we’re going to fuck a time or ten before we get there. Because that’s what you do to your enemies. You fuck them.