“That’s what I tried to say earlier. A contact of mine came through this morning. Her scholarship comes from the FBIAA’s Memorial College Fund, but she’s not the daughter of an agent. That’d be considered an abuse of funds if it got out. Probably why there’s no digital trail. She’s not an informant. His guess—a former witness protection asset, since she’s not connected to any current programs. Some high-ranking official must have her back.”
Who the hell is she?
I rub at my temples to relieve the headache that’s creeping in.
But Summer didn’t lie about the things she told me. She couldn’t have. No one can lie that well. Her family was killed. I believe that. So maybe if she’s in witness protection, it would explain why she can’t tell me everything. But she will, eventually.
“So she might’ve literally been in bed with a Fed?”
I’m sure Connor has a death wish.
“I’ll stab you in the eye if you say shit like that.”
“Well, at least she’s not after you, given you were the one chasing after her,” Carter says.
True enough. And it was quite the chase.
“Setting that part aside, she’s still a killer,” Dean protests.
“And so are we!All of us.” I let that sit for a beat, eyes drifting from Dean to the others. “I’m going to ask her to move in with me.”
The guys stare at me like they’ll try to commit me.
“Are you serious? That soon? And given...everything?” Carter breaks the quiet.
“Everything? Her whole family was tortured and killed before her eyes. That much I know. So what if she is or was in witness protection, and Summer Night is not her real name? She’ll give me her name sooner or later. She’s shared more than enough with me. You’ll get to know her. Then you’ll understand.”
“You’ve lost your goddamn mind!” Dean roars, pushing himself off the table and bolting out of the house.
“There’s no talking you out of this, is there?” That’s Link’s weakform of protest.
“None.”
“Then maybe it’s time we get to know her better,” he says.
They’ll recognize she’s one of us. Dean will come around, too. But even if he doesn’t, I don’t care.
This is my life.
This is my woman.
Chapter 33
Atlas
Imake a quick stop at the hospital to check on Mitchell and see what he remembers. He gave the cops a description of the attacker, but he has no recollection of us dragging him outside or anything that happened afterward, which works in our favor.
As I pass the warehouse, still wrapped in police tape, the memory of last night hits hard, but I swallow it down, knowing there’s nothing more I can do.
Now, all that’s left is to grab everything we might need from the supermarket and head for our hideout—a two-story property with a river view I bought five months ago—to unload everything. It’s about thirty minutes from the university, roughly the same distance as the one we’re currently renting, but in the opposite direction, and with no neighbors for miles. But more importantly—my father doesn’t know about it.
I take my phone out to text Summer.
Readyor not, here I come.
Summer
Hope that’s not a line you use in bed.
