I make my way downstairs and across the quieter east wing of the estate, finding Mackenzi sitting beside the open patio doors, exactly where I figured she’d be. She has one knee tucked beneath her, a book spread open in her lap while the breeze stirs loose strands of hair around her face. Sunlight pools through the open doorframe, gilding the soft highlights of her hair warm reddish gold.
She looks up at the sound of my footsteps, her mouth curving slightly. “I was starting to think we weren’t doing this today.”
“Meeting ran late.” Her brows lift like she’s waiting for more, and I grin faintly. “And I don’t think any of us couldhandle the kind of trouble you’d get into if I kept you cooped up in here for more than twenty-four hours.”
A quiet laugh slips out of her. “Probably not.”
“No,” I agree, gesturing outside, “definitelynot.” She brushes past me to cross the threshold, close enough that the soft scent of her perfume catches briefly in the warm air.
The estate grounds stretch endlessly around us in shades of green, sunlight filtering through tall cypress trees while fountains murmur quietly in the distance. Gravel crunches beneath our feet as we fall into an easy pace beside each other.
These walks have become habit over the past week, a dangerous kind of routine. This hour or so is my favorite part of the day. Out here, away from embassy staff, security briefings, and constantly watched rooms, she relaxes.So do I. We are far from eavesdropping ears and surveillance cameras. It’s just the two of us and conversation,realconversation. I learn something new about Mackenzi every single day. And every day it gets a little harder to remember why that’s a problem.
“You look tired,” she says after a minute.
I glance sideways at her. “You saying I look bad?”
She smiles, sunlight catching in her eyes as a faint pink flushes her cheeks. “I’m saying you look like you’re having a rough day.” We round the edge of the garden path slowly, the estate sprawling quietly around us. “You ever get tired of all this?”
I glance sideways at her. “Our walks?”
“No.” She shakes her head, smiling as a tiny chuckle ripples from her.God, I like making her laugh.“The constant travel.” Her gaze drifts over her shoulder to the estate before lifting to the distant tree line. “Being away from home all the time. Away from family.”
The question catches me a little off guard. Not because it’s invasive, but because most people don’t ask. I shove my hands into my pockets as we continue our walk on the gravel path. “I don’t really have a home,” I admit after a second. “At least, not one I spend much time in.”
Her brows pull together slightly. “No?”
I shake my head once. “Comes with the job.”
“What about family?”
I glance ahead, toward the fountain at the center of the garden, sunlight flashing across the water. “These guysaremy family,” I tell her honestly. “Hawk, Gunnar, Jagger, Abby, Mattis. Besides my son, they’re the closest thing I’ve got.”
“Your son?” she asks, surprised.
“He’s in college.” I let out a quiet breath through my nose.
“But?”
I huff a faint laugh at how easily she catches my discomfort. “But we don’t exactly have the best relationship.”
She’s quiet beside me for a moment. It’s not an awkward silence, but a thoughtful one. “I’m sorry,” she says finally.
I shrug one shoulder, playing off my true feelings about my relationship with Gabriel. “Occupationalhazard.”
Her expression softens slightly as she looks up at me, and the sunlight catches across the curve of her mouth as the breeze moves through her hair. We talk about easier things as we make another lap around the grounds—Chicago, terrible coffee, and the three motorcycles I rebuilt from scratch.
“Well, now I want details,” she insists as we approach the house.
“You don’t.”
“Then a ride?”
“You want to go for a ride when you head back to Chicago?”
“I do.”
“You know damned well your father would have my head,” I denounce the idea, but the truth is, I would do it in a heartbeat just to have her body pressed against mine with her arms wrapped around me.
