"Okay," I whisper.
"Okay?"
"We do this together. We clear our names and expose Harrison's network." I look into those dark eyes that see everything. "And afterward..."
"Afterward we figure out what comes next."
The possibility hangs between us like a promise or a threat, depending on how brave I'm willing to be.
But for the first time since this nightmare started, I don't feel completely alone.
And that's enough for now.
Chapter eight
Burning Slowly
Mikhail
She sleeps like the dead.
I should know; I've seen enough corpses to recognize the difference between unconsciousness and true rest. Mariana sleeps with the complete abandonment of someone whose body has finally given up fighting adrenaline and fear and accepted the temporary safety I've offered.
It's three in the morning, and I'm wide awake.
From my position in the chair beside the guest room's king-size bed, I can see her face. She has turned toward me in sleep, one hand curled under her cheek like a child. The harsh lines of stress that have defined her features since I brought her here aregone, replaced by something softer. Something that makes my chest tight with feelings I have no business having.
Beautiful.
Even exhausted, even wearing clothes that smell like smoke, she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. The kind of beauty that comes from strength rather than perfection. From courage rather than vanity.
The kind of beauty that could make a man forget why he chose to live in the shadows.
I've been sitting here for two hours, telling myself I'm keeping watch for potential threats. Making sure no one follows us to this safe house. Monitoring federal communications for signs they've located us.
All lies.
I'm watching her sleep because I can't make myself look away. Because after years of observing her from a distance, having her this close feels like a gift I don't deserve but can't refuse.
She shifts in sleep, the movement causing her sweater to ride up slightly. Just enough to reveal a strip of pale skin above her jeans. The sight hits me with sudden force, sending heat straight to my groin in ways that are completely inappropriate given our circumstances.
She's under your protection, you bastard. Act like it.
But protection and desire aren't mutually exclusive, and pretending otherwise won't make the want go away. Won't erase the memory of her body pressed against mine as we escaped through that burning building. Won't stop me from imagining what it would feel like to have her underneath me, amber eyes wide with pleasure instead of fear.
Focus.
I force myself to look away, to concentrate on the security monitors built into the table beside my chair. The building's perimeter is clear. No suspicious vehicles, no signs of federal surveillance, no indication we've been tracked to this location.
For now, we're safe.
But safety is relative when you're the most wanted man in criminal circles, and the woman you're protecting has become the most wanted federal fugitive in recent memory. Harrison has resources, connections, federal authority. He can mobilize agencies, coordinate manhunts, leverage international treaties.
All I have is fifteen years of experience staying invisible and a willingness to do things he's not prepared for.
All you have is everything to lose.
The thought hits me with surprising force. For fifteen years, I've had nothing worth dying for beyond a mission that's outlived most of its original purpose. The reformed families are largely stable now. The legitimacy project is working. My niece has built a life with a man who can protect her better than I ever could.
