My heart’s in my throat.

Rook is down.

He’s sunk down to the floor, on his knees, and I want to go to him, but at least his friends are there—and I need to take control of this crazy situation. Contain the danger.

With all the guns waving about, that’s not easy.

Especially when said guns go off, and the Carters drop like puppets. He had them shot. Jesus Christ, he just had two people executed right in front of me, and my stomach does a slow roll that brings bile up my throat.

Holy shit…

I’m so shocked, I barely blink when more people enter the warehouse, guns drawn, and it takes me a few moments to realize they aren’t Cronin’s men.

At least, they don’t seem to be. They’re in dark uniforms, and behind them I recognize a woman’s face.

Lucy.

Oh thank God. The police are here. Cronin was wrong. Rook’s friends did bring the police with them—or else Lucy had them followed, knowing they’d lead her to where Rook would be.

Her gaze finds me, and she winks.

Correction: where Rook and I would be. She was worried about me. Me and Lucy? Best friends forever.

“Drop your weapons,” she says. “Ian Cronin? You’re under arrest for murder, conspiracy to commit murder, kidnapping, and racketeering. You have the right to remain silent. Handcuff him.”

“This must be some sort of joke,” Cronin mutters, his low voice strangely clear in the huge, empty warehouse. “Do you know who I am? What’s the meaning of this? How dare you arrest me.”

“When Rook told me his suspicions about you, I wasn’t convinced.” A tall man steps forward. “Ian Cronin, the world-renowned businessman, the son of a long line of investors and bankers and hotel owners. Why would Ian Cronin need dirty money? I said. Look how wrong I was.”

Senator George Brody, imposing in his dark suit, taller than anyone else around us, is staring at Cronin.

“Rook called in a favor I owed him,” the Senator goes on, “and I called for the FBI to join the party. They should be here any second now. They’re going through the Cronin HQ as we speak. I’ve never seen a search warrant get issued so fast.”

“You have no proof of anything,” Cronin says as three policemen subdue him and handcuff him. “No proof at all.”

“Oh, I am sure something must have surfaced by now. And if not, well, there’s this.” The Senator waves a hand at the scene. “I know you can get out of almost any bind you find yourself in, Cronin. But not this time. I am making this personal. It has always been personal. I won’t let you walk.”

“And how will you do that?” Ian sneers.

“No patience…” the Senator sighs. “What Rook doesn’t know is that he didn’t need to call in any favors for this. I’m just one of many you wronged. My sister was one of the corpses you walked on to reach your position of power. And I’ll never forgive you for that.”

He lifts his hand, and he’s holding a gun.

Shit, it’s a gun, and he’s about to shoot Cronin.

“Sir.” Lucy starts toward the Senator, and I do the same, to disarm him. “You can’t do that.”

“You going to kill me?” Cronin laughs, his eyes wide. “You’ll live out your days in prison. You can kiss your political career goodbye.”

“I’m dying, Cronin. And I’m taking you to the grave with me.”

The shot cracks like thunder, and Cronin falls.

I stumble backward, stunned. What the hell just happened?

Senator Brody just shot Ian Cronin.

Rook’s father.

And then my gaze wanders to Rook who’s lying on the floor, eyes closed, face white, his two friends bent over him, yelling his name, and I know everything has changed.

Because I couldn’t care less about Cronin dying, and the Senator going to jail, about whether the Carters are dead or alive. About the reason I asked for this assignment in the first place.

All I care about is Rook and whether he’s okay.

* * *

“Mia.” Lucy throws her arms around me. “You’re okay.”

“Yeah.” I hug her back, but then draw away once more. “I need to check on Rook.”

She releases me reluctantly. “We’re waiting for the paramedics.”

I hurry over to where Rook is lying on the floor, and drop to my knees beside him. “What happened?”

“He just passed out,” the pretty, dark-haired one of his friends says. His blue eyes are worried. I recognize him as Storm. Troy ‘Storm’ Jordan.

“What happened? You were here with him,” the bearded blond one asks, pinning me with his steel-gray gaze. Jamie ‘Hawk’ Fleming, in the flesh.

“One of the guards was sent in here twice to beat him up.” My throat closes up. I stroke Rook’s cheek. It’s hot to the touch. “We were tied up, couldn’t fight back. He woke up woozy, couldn’t focus well.”

“Woke up?” Storm frowns, exchanges a hard look with Hawk. “He was knocked out?”

I nod, even as I hear my name being called.

Shit. My boss.

“Mia, debriefing, now!” he snaps over the noise of thirty-some people talking at the same time in the echoing vault of the warehouse. “Lucy Whitehouse, come over here.”

I don’t move. I take Rook’s big hand in mine and squeeze it, hoping he can feel it. I need him to wake up, need to tell him everything will be okay. That I also like him, that I’ve also fallen for him, and that I’m staying by his side.

That his parents may have turned out not to be his parents after all, that his real father was a criminal, that both his real and his false parents are dead—but that I’m not leaving. That I’ll stay for as long as he needs me.

Not sure why I feel like this, so emotional. So crushed by his pain and sadness. So scared that he won’t wake up again, and by the void he’ll leave in my life if he doesn’t.

I never thought he’d become such a big part of me.

“Mia, what are you doing?” my bossman yells. “Get your ass over here. We’ve got lots to talk about.”

But I can’t. I give Rook’s hand one more squeeze, then climb carefully to my feet and turn to face him as he approaches with big strides. “Sir… I quit.”

He blinks. “What are you talking about?” he thunders.

Johnny Kopper is a good man. A good agent. A good boss. He rarely raises his voice, and urgently wanting a debriefing after this whole showdown isn’t just procedure. It’s common sense. I’m under his command. He needs to know what went down.

Right now, though, this is all I got. “I will tell you everything that happened. But I quit.”

“Just like that? Come on.” His hands fist, but his eyes fill with concern. “Don’t do this, Mia. Don’t rush into anything. Look, I know you’ve been through a lot. My bad. I should have waited.”

“No, that’s not it.” I take a deep breath. “I only joined the FBI to track Cronin down. I took this assignment to take him down. And now… it’s done. He’s dead. Gone. There’s nothing left for me to do.”

Lucy has walked up to us, her face grave. “Mia, don’t rush into this decision. You’re good at your job, you like it.”

“I failed. I didn’t find anything worthwhile at the hotel in all the time I was there.”

“That’s because Cronin is—was—too damn good at hiding his tracks. But Mia, this was a one-time thing, and you know it. You’ll be back at your desk now, we’ll have coffee in the mornings. None of this weird undercover crap again. Just… take some time off, rest, think about it. Right, boss?”

“Listen to Lucy,” he says, shoving his hands into his pant pockets. “You did a great job undercover. You did a great job of keeping Roderick Carter alive until we arrived. You did a lot more than was expected of you.”

I wipe a hand over my eyes. “I didn’t… I only managed to trip up the guard who was beating him. The guy’s phone didn’t work, so we couldn’t contact anyone.” I turn to my friend. “I didn’t save him, Lucy.” I glance in Rook’s direction. “I’m not even sure he’ll come out of this okay. I’m… scared he’ll die.”

Horrified, I realize my voice has cracked. I slap a hand over my mouth.

“Come here.” Lucy grabs me in a hug, and I fight my way out of it, because my eyes are burning, and I’m sure I’ll come apart if I let her offer me comfort. “He’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know that.” I rub my mouth, then square my shoulders. “Fine, I won’t quit just yet. I will tell you all that’s happened. But when the paramedics arrive, I’m going along. I’m going with Rook, okay? I need to make sure he’s going to be okay.”

“Deal,” Bossman says, and Lucy nods at me, telling me I’m making the right choice.

I hope to God she’s right.

* * *

The paramedics who arrive are not from any hospital I’m familiar with, and after they load Rook on a stretcher and roll him out of the warehouse, there isn’t an ambulance waiting outside but a chopper with an unfamiliar logo, the words James Hollister on top.

Some sort of private clinic. Of course.

At least they don’t squabble when I follow them inside the chopper. They don’t ask me if I’m next of kin, and I haven’t even bothered to tell them I’m FBI. They just get on with checking Rook’s vitals and starting an IV in his hand.

I sit down with Storm and Hawk, beside Rook so that I can hold his other hand, and we all buckle in and take off. The city buildings drop out underneath, neat rows of warehouses, houses with gardens, a sky heavy with clouds, and I close my eyes, dizzy, as we turn and fly toward the outskirts.

It’s a short flight, and even if I had the energy to ask questions of the paramedics, or Storm and Hawk who are sitting there with matching frowns on their handsome faces, we’re landing before I open my mouth.

The building is a white, old-fashioned mansion with elegant balconies and tall windows. It sits on acres of manicured lawns and trees. The helipad isn’t far from the main entrance, and the paramedics roll the stretcher with Rook out and hurry into the building, Storm, Hawk and myself rushing after them.

My legs aren’t as long as theirs, and I’m soon left behind—but then Storm stops and waits for me, even though it’s clear he’s dying to be inside with his friend.

Hawk also stops at the open door, and waits until we reach him. “Doctor is here. He thinks Rook may have internal bleeding.”

“Fuck,” Storm says.

Exactly my thoughts.

“Bleeding where?” I ask as Hawk ushers us inside the old, luxurious building, over rich, thick carpets, under sparkling chandeliers and frescoed ceilings. Hard to believe this is a hospital. “What else did he say?”

“She should be examining him now. This way.” He leads us down a wide hallway with white doors opening on either side, then turns left into a small waiting area. “We can wait here.”

“How did you know?” I ask, curiosity overriding my fear and worry for a moment. “You’ve been here before?”

“Hawk knows this place well,” Storm says, settling into a leather chair and rubbing at his eyes. “He stayed here for a few weeks, when he had a motorcycle accident, some time ago.”

I nod, casting Hawk a quick glance. In contrast to Storm’s classic good looks, Hawk looks like a Viking with his blond beard and hair, his black leather jacket and pants.

Motorcycle. I can see that. I can also see he hasn’t given up on his ride, despite the accident. “Glad you’re okay,” I tell him, and he shoots me a sideways look.

His mouth quirks into a quick smile that catches me off guard. Whoa, pretty. When he isn’t scowling at the world, that is. “You think I’m okay?”

I open my mouth, then close it.

“Don’t mind him, he’s hit his head too many times,” Storm says dismissively. “Even lost some of his hearing in one ear. He’s insane, and I’m saying this affectionately.”

“You affectionate man, you.” Hawk blows him a kiss.

I stare, and fight an uncontrollable urge to laugh.

Silence stretches, and the urge fades. “Where is Rook?”

There are several doors around us, all closed. We’re sitting next to one of the tall windows, and a tree is casting wavering shadows inside, dark against the overcast sky.

“That one.” Hawk nods at the door to our right. He drags his hand through his hair. “Dr. Parker is good. She’ll set Rook right.”

Storm nods, but I catch a shadow of fear in his clear blue eyes.

It’s like a fist to my chest. They both look so cool and collected, I thought they were confident Rook would be okay.

I jump to my feet. “I’m going inside.”

“Whoa, wait.” Storm comes after me and grabs my arm, jerking me back as I reach the door. “They’ll let us know when the examination is over.”

“I don’t care. Why can’t I be there? I need to be with him.”

His blue gaze softens. “You like Rook.”

Way too much.

I look away, suddenly close to tears once more. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t know he had a girl,” Storm says, his voice soft. “But I can see why he’d fall for you.”

“Why?” I mutter, because honestly I’m not sure I see it.

“You’re not just pretty, or strong. You care for him, and I’m sure if I can see it, then he saw it, too. Rook, you see… he’s always been sure he’d spend his life alone.”

I turn to look at him, horrified. “Seriously?”

“He thinks his need for pain means nobody can understand him. That nobody wants to try. But you saw through that, didn’t you? At the man behind the mask.”

The strength in him. The kindness. “He’s okay.”

Storm grins. “Right.” He takes my hands, turns them over, checking the red welts left on my wrists by the cable ties. “The doc should take a look at you, too. Were you hurt elsewhere?”

“No, I’m fine.” I pull my hands away. I don’t want him touching them. I want only Rook to touch them.

God. If he doesn’t make it, if I don’t see him again, see that crooked smile and dark eyes… I can’t bear to think about it.

“He’ll be okay,” Storm says, as if hearing my thoughts.

But how would he know, right?

“How did you two find us at the warehouse?” I start pacing outside Rook’s door. “We didn’t find a way to contact anyone.”

“Alma called to say Rook never made it home as expected. We got worried. We were afraid something like this could happen. Lately…” His jaw tightens. He exchanges a look with Hawk. “Yeah, lately Rook hasn’t seemed to care much whether he lived or died. It’s the truth. He’s always been too serious, too closed off. Too lost in the dark. I think it has been going on for a while.”

“What has?” I’m not sure I’m following, only that it doesn’t sound good.

“This dark mood. He went to a therapist for a while, but it didn’t last. Something happened to him when he was a kid, something he never talks about, not even to us. Once, drunk, he said his childhood was fucked-up, but that’s all we know. I think that nightmare is seeping into his life.”

But he talked to me. He told me what happened to him.

“And how did you find us?” I ask, my voice choked up.

“We had our eye on the Carters since Rook told us they broke into his office the other day and pulled a gun on him. The moment they moved, we followed them.”

“And then the police and FBI followed you,” I whisper. At his questioning look, I shrug. “I told them to keep an eye on you.”

“You’re with the FBI.”

“Yeah.” Even though I told Bossman I quit.

“Why did you have us watched?”

Heat seeps into my cheeks. “I didn’t trust Rook at first. I thought he was on Cronin’s side, and you’re his friends, so…”

“Cronin tried to have us both killed last year. You thought Rook was behind that?”

“He was skulking around the hotel, and hanging out with Robert O’Connor. What was I supposed to think? I had to cover all bases.”

He lifts a dark brow. “But he convinced you he’s on the good side of the law?”

“He convinced me he’s someone I can trust. Someone who puts others before himself, before his own life, and…” I glance again at the closed door, swallowing convulsively. “Someone who’d defend what’s right, what’s true, to his last breath.”

But God, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that…

* * *

“We’re taking him in for surgery,” the doctor says, a sharp-eyed lady whose white hair contrast with her youthful face. “It appears that Mr. Carter has internal bleeding inside his abdominal cavity. We found many signs of whipping and of blunt-force trauma. Either could have caused this. We won’t know for sure the cause until we have a look.”

Not Carter, I want to say.

Not Cronin either.

Rook.

Rook’s eyes are heavy-lidded, but seem to track my movements when I approach the gurney. “Hey.” I stroke his face. His skin is warm and dry. “You will be okay.”

“Mia,” he whispers, lashes lowering in a slow blink. “I’m okay if you are.”

I bend over him to brush my mouth over his. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“We should move him now,” the doctor says, and I step away to let the nurses do their job.

Storm and Hawk look grim as they stand aside, too. I keep my stupid mouth shut and my eyes dry as the nurses roll Rook back out of the room and into an adjacent one. I follow them to the door of what turns out to be a small surgery room.

“He will be okay, right?” I ask, knowing it’s a question the doctor can’t answer, and yet unable to stop myself.

To my surprise, she smiles at me before she enters the surgery and closes the door behind her.

She looks nice.

What did that smile mean? She hopes it will all go well? She knows it will go well? She’s happy for an altogether different reason?

Maybe it means nothing at all.

My knees buckle. I don’t expect it, and there’s nothing to hold on to. It’s as if my strings have been cut with an invisible blade, the energy of my worry and fear that’s kept me going until now going out.

“Whoa there, girl.” Hawk hauls me up before I hit the floor, lifting me easily in his arms and carrying me out of the room.

Weird. I’ve never thought of myself as the kind of girl a guy can sweep off her feet, but these guys are stronger than any I’ve ever met.

“Put her down here,” Storm says, opening the door to another room, and I’m laid down carefully and gently on a soft, double bed with white covers and a window showing me a view of a gloomy sky. “I’ll get another doctor.”

“I’m okay,” I protest. “Really, I am. Just tired.”

“You’re worried about Rook.” Hawk sits on the bed beside me, and I turn my face away, so he won’t see it crumple.

“We all are,” I mumble.

“He’s in good hands.”

“Yeah,” I croak, and will the tears not to fall. I’ve managed so far. Surely I’ll manage until this guy leaves the room and then I can have a proper breakdown. I feel like I can’t breathe, like my chest, my heart is full of tears.

“Ah jeez. Storm is the cuddly one, not me,” Hawk mutters, and I frown into the pillow. “But I can hold your hand, how about this?”

What is he talking about? It distracts me from the storm inside my head, and I start when he takes my hand in his.

“Look,” he goes on, gray eyes earnest. “I know I’m not Rook. I know it’s not me you want here, holding your hand. You and him, you connected. You love him.”

“I barely know him.”

“Tell me you don’t love him.”

I open my mouth to say just that, but find I can’t. What is love, anyway? A feeling of closeness, of understanding, of meeting the person who makes you feel wanted, and perfect—and that’s how Rook makes me feel. It’s as if my soul recognized its mate the moment he kissed me that first time.

“I’m a brute,” Hawk goes on, his big hand engulfing mine. “Rook’s a real gentleman. He likes books. Art. He also likes whips. All the good stuff, right?” Hawk chuckles to himself, and my mouth pulls into a reluctant smile. “He always took care of us, of me and Storm, since we were little. He always supported us, looked over us, told us to follow our own paths in life. Taught us to tell right from wrong. He’ll always be my older brother, no matter what. And I want him to be happy. Because he deserves it.”

“He does,” I whisper, and the tears spill out, warm against my cold cheeks.

“Like I said, I know I’m not him,” Hawk says. “But I can hold your hand until the doctor comes.”

“All I want,” I tell him, and it’s as if I’m speaking to Rook, as if he can hear me, “is another chance.”