At the door, I shove my feet into Aunt Renee’s garden boots and yank a sweatshirt off a hook, pulling it over my pajamas as I march toward the guesthouse. Crossing the yard, I find Uncle Buddy by the smoker. He tosses me the UTV keys before I can say a word.
“They’re in the west field,” he hollers.
“Kentucky Fried’s in my room,” I say, swinging into the Gator. “If you turn him into stew, make it spicy.”
Uncle Buddy gives a sharp nod. “Light ’em up.”
Two shotgun blasts crack in the distance.
“You know I will.”
Less than five minutes and one deeply cathartic fantasy about strangling Ben and Rex with a boa made of Kentucky Fried’s feathers later, I crest the hill to the west field and spot them—Rex on the railing and Ben loading a shotgun like he’s posing for the cover of a rugged outdoorsman calendar. Both have their backs turned and ear protection on, and I’m smart enough to know not to sneak upon them. I hang back, cover my ears, and wait until Rex presses the release.
Two orange disks soar through the air. Ben hits the first and clips the second. When he opens the shotgun to discharge the shells, I make my entrance by shoving Rex off the rail. He disappears into a bush with a yell.
Ben turns and I notice it. A fat lip. Oh, that issatisfying.
He flashes a smug grin that only highlights the swollen curve of his lower lip. “Morning, sunshine.”
I cock my head. “Looks like someone ran into a door.”
Ben touches his lip lightly, eyes locked on mine. “More like a right hook with trust issues.”
“Trust issues?” I scoff. “Maybe I thought you were someone else.”
Our gazes are locked in a battle—and this isn’t just banter. It’s reconnaissance. If Ben’s working for Ramirez, his presence here after catching me at the restaurant might not be so innocent. I don’t know what Rook wanted to talk to me about last night, but it’s possible they sent Ben to get to me instead. But if he’s FBI, that doesn’t make me safe—it makes me a liability. I’ve lied. Snooped. Crossed enough lines that if Ben connects the wrong dots, I won’t just lose the mission. I’ll lose my cover, my job... maybe worse. His expression doesn’t flinch, which tells me he’s watching me as closely as I’m watching him—like we’re both waiting to see who’s gonna break first.
“Oh, I think you knew exactly who you were hitting,” Ben says deadpan. “You definitely hit me like someone who’s been waiting a long time.”
For the first time I feel a twinge of guilt. Partly because I hurt him, but mostly because under all the secrets and lies before any of this got complicated, once upon a time I wanted to give my heart to Bennett Bradley, and only hours ago, dancing with him, I was reminded I’d do it again.
This is exactly how spies like James Bond get into trouble. Only instead of a femme fatale in heels, my version just happens to be a manwith a busted lip, a shotgun in hand, and a grin that could unravel years of resolve in a single glance.
Ben smirks—his gaze landing on my uncle’s oversized Carhartt sweatshirt I’m wearing. “My sweatshirt looks good on you.”
It’s only then that I realize the warm, masculine scent—cedar and spice, familiar and comforting—is his.
I tug down the hem, flustered despite myself. The urge to peel off his sweatshirt and toss it on the ground wars with my confidence in my bedtime attire. There’s nothing scandalous about my tank top and sleep shorts, but the sweatshirt feels like a shield against the heat blooming in my cheeks. It’s not embarrassment—that would be easier to handle. No, this is something slower. Sharper. That inevitable awareness that his smile still has the power to hijack my pulse.
Stay focused, Langford. You’re here to find out if Ben is a criminal or a federal agent—not give in to flirtatious feelings.
“I wouldn’t be in your stupid shirt if you hadn’t put that demon rooster in my room.”
Rex climbs back onto the platform, brushing leaves off his jeans. “It was Ben’s idea.”
Ben shrugs, loading another round. “Figured you could handle a rooster. Not like it’s the first time you’ve had something dangerous coming at you.”
My gaze sharpens. “I don’t have any problem facing down danger, especially when I know who I’m dealing with.”
Rex freezes halfway through wiping dirt off his sleeve. “Wait, are you still talking about a rooster?”
Ben ignores Rex and stares me down. “And you knowwhoyou’re dealing with?”
“Yes,Craig, I do.”
He doesn’t flinch, but I see a flicker. Barely there, but it tells me I caught him off guard.
Rex blinks, looking between us. “Who’s Craig?”
