Page 38 of Married to the Enemy

“There are still a lot of secrets between us,” she whispered, her voice unsteady.

His gaze darkened, the warmth in it edged with something more dangerously appealing. He inclined his head slowly. “Why were you in Europe for so long?”

She inched closer without thinking, her body moving toward him as if drawn. Her smile was small, but her eyes lingered—skimming over his broad shoulders, the hard plane of his chest, and the stretch of fabric over biceps that looked far too powerful to belong to an ordinary man. “What do you do for a living?” she asked softly, almost taunting, as though daring him to give her more.

He rubbed his jaw, his eyes locked on hers. “I’ve already told you enough.” His voice was husky now, deeper, like gravel dragged over stone.

The air between them pulsed, thick with tension. Mia’s heart hammered. She wanted to press against him, to demand the truth, or, heaven help her, to close the distance and taste him again. Her skin tingled, awareness sparking with every breath.

For one reckless second, she thought he might lean in too. His shoulders shifted, his hand flexed at his side, and his gaze dropped fleetingly to her lips.

But the moment snapped like a fragile thread. She forced herself to take a step back, breaking the magnetic pull between them before she did something irrevocable.

“Good night,” Raffe murmured, his voice low and strained, as though the words cost him dearly. He turned abruptly, disappearing into his room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Mia slipped into her own bedroom across the hall, her chest tight, her heartbeat refusing to settle.

Secrets. Always secrets. And she wasn’t sure which terrified her more—that he was hiding them… or that she wanted him anyway.

Chapter 24

The downstairs room didn’t look like the same dusty space he’d first stumbled through. Evangeline had gone wild with online orders, turning what had been a forgotten parlor into a physical therapy clinic. Resistance bands hung neatly from wall hooks, dumbbells lined the far corner, and an exercise bike sat where a fainting couch probably used to be a hundred years ago. There were parallel bars, foam rollers, a treadmill and stationary bike, as well as a stack of weights that increased in size.

Weeks ago, this room had been covered in dust covers. Today, the place was alive.

Evangeline sat in her wheelchair, pink hand weights resting on her thighs. Freddy was next to her, working through leg stretches while Mia crouched on the floor, adjusting the angle of his foot, coaching him in her quiet, determined voice as they went through the physical therapist’s exercise notes together.

Raffe had taken on trainer duty for Evangeline, showing her a new set of curls and overhead presses to strengthen her upper body. He kept his voice steady, measured, the way he might when walking a rookie agent through a drill.

“Lift, hold, slow down the drop. You don’t get credit if you slam the weights,” he said playfully, watching her form carefully.

Evangeline huffed, but she did as he said. “This is more difficult than it looks.”

Across the room, Freddy grimaced mid-stretch. “Don’t give up, Evie,” he called out, sweat streaking down his temple as he precariously balanced on his legs. “You told me yesterday I couldn’t quit. Same rules apply to you!”

That made the old lady grin. “Bossy little thing, aren’t you?” she teased, raising her weights again.

“Better than lazy!” Freddy shot back, his face alight for the first time all session.

They kept at it, volleying encouragement and teasing insults back and forth until the room rang with their laughter. But then Evangeline faltered. Her arms trembled, the weights dipped, her breath caught. Freddy immediately sat taller, eyes sharp with worry.

“Come on, Evie!” he barked, his voice cracking a little. “Push through it—you can do better than that!”

Evangeline’s lips twitched as if she was fighting off a grin. She straightened her arms, forced another repetition, then—just before her next curl—turned her head slightly and winked at Raffe.

The message hit him square in the chest. She wasn’t actually struggling. Not really. She was giving Freddy the chance to step up. To feel strong. To believe he had value beyond his busted legs.

Raffe’s throat went tight. His instinct had been to bark corrections, to remind Evangeline about her form. But no—that teasing call from Freddy had done more for the boy’s confidence than anything Raffe could have said.

He looked over her head and found Mia watching, her expression soft, dark eyes wide with the same realization. Their gazes locked in sudden understanding.

Something slammed through him. Not the adrenaline of a raid, not the thrill of tailing a suspect. Something quieter, heavier.

Looking around at the three of them—Freddy stubborn and grinning, Evangeline smug and mischievous as ever, Mia flushed with pride—he realized just how much he liked being here. Liked watching them get stronger. Liked the laughter echoing off the high ceilings. Liked the warmth of this place that had nothing to do with his investigation, nothing to do with the FBI.

He’d always believed he’d only feel half alive if he wasn’t out in the field, chasing criminals, breaking down doors. And yeah, the investigation still mattered, still stirred his blood and his mind. Calvino wasn’t going to vanish just because Raffe wanted a break. But here?

Here, with these people… he wasn’t half alive. He felt whole in a way he hadn’t before. Ever.