No sixteen years of heartbreak.
Just Hersh.
Just us.
“You need to let go of me,” I whispered.
His grip loosened immediately, but he didn’t step back.
Not emotionally.
Not physically.
Not Hersh.
“Who’s after you?” he asked again.
Trigger had gone completely silent behind the bar now.
Watching.
Listening.
I could feel both Rangers assessing every word, every movement.
I swallowed hard.
“I can’t tell you.”
“That serious?”
“Yes.”
“Federal serious?”
I nodded once.
The muscle in his jaw flexed.
“You’re in witness protection.”
Not a question.
Damn it.
I looked away.
That was enough confirmation.
Trigger muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like:
“Well, hell.”
Hersh’s voice stayed calm. Too calm.
“How long?”
“Six months.”
