I take a slow breath because she has me there. But... “I’m trained.”
“To lie?”
“To do what’s necessary to take down the bad guy. I know the risk going up against criminals like Lorenzo Ramirez. Did you?”
Her silence is my answer, and my earlier concern comes roaring back.
“Cybil, you don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do,” she says. “Ever since my dad’s settlement was stolen, I’ve felt helpless. It’s a horrible feeling. SNAP has given me two things I’ve never had: control and stability. I grew up waiting for the next eviction notice or to see if my mom remembered to buy groceries. But this? I get to lie to bad people for a living. I no longer feel helpless. I feel like I cando something to help protect others from becoming a victim like my mom and I were.”
It’s probably a good thing Cybil’s driving, because if she weren’t, I’d be unable to resist pulling her into my arms and doing something reckless. Like tell her I haven’t stopped loving her since the day she shoved me into cow manure. Or that I’ve wanted to kiss her ever since she busted my lip with a bag of flour.
The car rolls to a stop in front of her uncle’s ranch house, dust pluming across the front porch. Birds are chirping like nothing’s wrong in the world, like we didn’t just get handed a mission that could end badly in more ways than I can count.
Cybil kills the engine and rests her hands on the wheel. I know she doesn’t want to leave, and I hate that she has to.
“Hey,” I say, voice low. “I’m sorry.”
She glances at me, brow furrowed. “For what?”
“For lying to you. For not figuring out a way to protect you from Ramirez. I never wanted you to get caught up in this.”
She huffs, a dry laugh escaping as she settles her hand on the steering wheel. “I chose this mess. It pays well. And supports my chocolate addiction, which, frankly, is more committed to me than most men.”
I shake my head, lips twitching. “So my competition is chocolate. That’s tough.”
She grins, the kind that’s quick and sharp and completely unfair to my ability to think straight. “You’re not responsible for me, Ben.”
I lean back against the seat, watching her profile in the afternoon sun. “Well, I can’t rely on Craig Miller, can I? Dude’s such a loser.”
“I don’t know,” she says with a shrug. “He’s kind of endeared himself to me.”
That gets me. Right in the chest. I turn to look at her fully, but she’s already halfway smirking, not giving me an inch.
Then her gaze drops to my still-swollen lip, and she clicks her tongue. “But his fighting skills are abysmal.”
“He’s not skilled in food combat,” I say solemnly. “Especially not when ambushed by a five-pound bag of flour and a woman with excellent aim.”
She leans her head back, eyes closed, and lets out a laugh. A real one. And as much as I want to kiss her—bruised lip and all—I realize that this moment is more than that. It’s the moment I know. I want this woman in my life. The sharp, stubborn, justice-fueled firecracker who lies for good reasons and keeps secret stashes of M&M’s for stress, stakeouts, and emotional sabotage.
Cybil believes she has to protect herself. But I want to change that.
“I promise you, if Craig Miller doesn’t do his part in this mission, I will.”
She turns to me, and there’s something steady in her eyes now—something honest.
“That’s good.” She opens the door and steps out into the warm afternoon air. Looking back over her shoulder, she says, “Because it would be really embarrassing if I have to save both of you.”
The door shuts behind her with a soft thud, and I’m left sitting there, head spinning. I know she’s joking. I know she’s guarding herself—with sass and sarcasm, her favorite kind of armor. And maybe she doesn’t need protecting. She might’ve bested me last night with a fruit bowl, but I’ve got skills. Actual federally certified ones.
Still. I’ve never felt more outmatched—or more determined to keep someone safe.
Cybil disappears inside the house, and I pull out my phone and call Katherine.
She picks up on the second ring. “Please tell me you haven’t been taken hostage with a bobby pin and a glare.”
“Not yet,” I mutter, glancing at the house. “But the day’s not over and she’s terrifyingly resourceful.”
