Allie glances over her shoulder at me. “Are you serious?”
“Totally. We share the chores.”
“But you handle all the wood and keeping the fire stoked.”
“That’s different.” I lift a shoulder. “I like to watch shit burn.”
At that, she laughs.
“Okay. I’ll take you up on it.”
On her way to the bedroom, she stops in front of me.
Patiently I give her all the space and time she needs to say what she’s thinking.
“Thank you. Even the…” Her blush is faint and totally adorable. “I mean, everything.”
I stand and tuck a strand of her silky hair behind her ear. “Believe me when I say, it’s my pleasure, Allie.”
After a slight hesitation, she turns to walk down the hallway.
I watch the soft sway of her hips until she vanishes from view, and then I clean up the kitchen before heading to my office.
Once the door is locked behind me, I boot up a secure line.
Inamorata’s face fills the screen, her well-defined features accentuated by a severe bun, eyes like laser sights.
“Talk to me.” I lean back in the chair.
“Plate came back. Black sedan, registered to a shell corporation out of Texas. Ties to Bratva out there.”
I nod, jaw tight. Explains a lot: the persistence, the search-and-destroy vibe in Allie’s apartment.
But why the hell is Bratva interested in my lover?
Earlier, she’d gone pale when I mentioned the partial plate. There’d been hesitation in her eyes, as if she didn’t want me digging. She won’t like this news, and I decide to hold it back for now. Doesn’t sit right, keeping her in the dark, but I’ll pay any cost to keep her safe.
“You learn anything?”
I hesitate. Why, I’m not sure. I never have before. “Allie knows something about safe cracking.”
Inamorata’s silent, revealing nothing.
Like always. No one really knows where she came from, how she got to be Hawkeye’s right-hand person. Hell, even her first name’s a mystery.
Last I heard, the office pool with guesses was at five figures. Last name she crossed off the list was Ingrid.
She signs off, and I sit in the dim light a moment longer, staring at the Hawkeye logo on the screen.
The mob doesn’t send goons for fun. Whatever Allie’s tangled in, it’s big. Beyond her capabilities to handle.
When I leave my office, the cabin is quiet except for the fire’s low crackle.
Shocking me, she’s waiting in the bedroom doorway, her flannel shirt unbuttoned, hanging open to reveal the curve of one breast.
As I watch her, she slides a hand inside to cup its fullness, and she eases her thumb back and forth.
Christ. Does she have any idea what she does to me? “Allie…”
