Page 21 of Married to the Enemy

He looked down at Freddy. The boy’s hopeful eyes shone, a flicker of something brighter than Raffe had seen all day. Then Mia—stubborn, maddening Mia—met his gaze with her own expectant stare. Both waiting. Both silently daring him to say no.

He wasn’t strong enough for that. Not against those two.

With a heavy sigh, he nodded. “Fine. But just… just until we get things sorted.”

Dropping to one knee, he met Freddy’s eyes. “You need to think about a lot of stuff, buddy. If you’re uncomfortable with anything, you tell me. Got it?”

The boy’s grin returned, small and shy but real. It nearly gutted him. This kid had stolen food for others, gotten caught, and still hadn’t apologized for the act itself. Brave didn’t even begin to cover it. Raffe wished he had half that courage.

Straightening, Raffe’s gaze landed on Mia again. She was still watching him, her expression soft but steady. He looked away quickly, scanning the hall. Too many people. Too many eyes. He needed to get them out of here before someone recognized him and completely blew his cover.

“Let’s go,” he growled, taking hold of Freddy’s wheelchair. Mia fell into step beside him, pushing her grandmother like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Together, they rolled out of the courthouse. Raffe caught the flicker of movement—their shadows stretching side by side in the afternoon light—and for a moment, he wondered if it was symbolic.

He shook the thought off. Symbolism was for poets, not federal agents.

Still, he couldn’t deny the unfamiliar feeling in his chest. Lighter. Hopeful. As if—for the first time in too damn long—the world might actually tilt toward something better.

He didn’t have the smoking gun on Vito Calvino’s crime syndicate. He didn’t have a place big enough for this makeshift family he’d somehow acquired in the last few hours. And yeah—his boss was going to tear him a new one as soon she found out what had gone down today.

But the spring sunshine was warm, and Freddy was smiling. That was enough.

He lifted Freddy into the passenger seat of his truck, then folded up both wheelchairs, stowing them carefully in the back. He shut the tailgate with a decisive thud, turned to Mia, and muttered, “I’ll follow you.”

He didn’t add the rest—that she shouldn’t get used to him being so agreeable. He’d told himself that before. But somehow, the words stuck in his throat.

Chapter 12

“This is where we’re gonna live?” Freddy asked in an awed whisper as they sat in the idling pickup. His voice was hushed, like he was afraid the house might overhear him.

They both leaned forward to get a better look at the third floor. The place loomed, an Elizabethan giant with stone walls rising to the sky with gables and peaks, every window framed by dark mullions. At least twenty windows stretched across the façade, the glass glowing faintly in the afternoon light. Ivy crept politely along the outer walls, not wild or ragged, but neatly trimmed as though it had been told where it could and could not go.

To one side, a wide arched portico sheltered a parking area where Mia’s beat-up sedan sat. The dented car looked comically out of place, its dull paint clashing against the immaculate symmetry of the well-trimmed hedges and flowerbeds bursting with spring color. It was the same with his rusting truck—two relics parked outside a palace.

He spotted Mia helping Evangeline out of the passenger seat. The old woman balanced the chicken box against her chest like a treasure chest while she held onto Mia’s arm for support. Mia’s curls caught the light, dark and glossy, bouncing as she bent to steady her grandmother.

“This place is huge,” Freddy murmured, eyes wide as he stared at the house.

“Yeah,” Raffe grumbled, shifting into gear. His rusty pickup rattled up the drive, sounding like it belonged on a different planet. None of this matched—their cars, Mia’s plain T-shirt and jeans, his own undercover scruff. If she owned this place… why the hell was she driving such a junker?

And more than that—what, exactly, had she handed to the judge this morning to prove her income?

So many questions. Raffe’s life was built on unraveling mysteries, on hunting men who thrived in shadows. But now he was willingly walking into a minefield of unanswered questions, married to the daughter of the very bastard he was hunting.

“We’ll figure this out,” he said at last, and Freddy nodded, though the motion was stiff, uncertain. Raffe patted his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. Trust me?”

The boy hesitated, his chin dipping in something closer to maybe than yes. Raffe felt the weight of it. He’d have to earn that trust. And once he had it, he would never let the kid down.

“Hey,” he added, looking directly at the boy. “From the moment I saw you watching that football practice last month, I told you—I’ll do whatever it takes to help you walk again. First step is getting that surgery.”

“Yeah,” Freddy muttered, his voice small. “But the window for the surgery is closing. Already, my legs aren’t healing right.”

Raffe’s chest tightened. “As soon as the paperwork clears, you’re on my health insurance. Then we schedule the surgery. No more delays.”

There was a beat of silence, then Freddy offered a firmer nod. “Okay. Got it.”

Raffe knew that Freddy wasn’t convinced, but he was faking optimism to make Raffe feel better. The kid had been let down too many times to believe that anything good could happen to him. “Good. From now on, no more stealing. Deal?”