Page 32 of Cold Mercy

In that moment she kicks me in the chest, and the impact knocks me flat. I hit the floor and prop myself up on my elbows, staring at her. She's standing over me, looking triumphant, like the hit just made her entire day.

Goddamn. I look up at her, flushed and fierce, and in that moment I realize I'm enjoying this way too much. I'm enjoying her.

“Who’s the princess now?” she asks.

I laugh under my breath, infuriatingly pleased. I can't even wipe the smile off my face right now.

“Always you. I’m just enjoying the view,” I say, looking at her like she's the most interesting thing I've ever seen.

She turns and heads for the door.

“Get up. You still owe me that tea.”

My entire operational file on Sophia Moreau is now a work of fiction.

I was prepared for tears or lies. I was not prepared for a blade slicing the air a millimeter from my carotid artery.

I'm not looking at a weeping victim or a conniving mastermind but at a predator who had learned to hunt alone.

The entire time I've been watching her, she’s been running a parallel investigation with a level of precision that is both impressive and deeply infuriating. My objective has just changed because she's no longer a variable in the mission. She is the mission.

It’s no longer about uncovering what she knows. It’s about uncovering her.

I’ve spent my life studying weaknesses. But watching her stand her ground, all I could see was strength. And fuck, if it didn't turn me on. The way her eyes blazed when she threw that knife, the way her body moved when she came at me.

And when she was pinned to the floor, my body flush against hers, I felt it. Not just her pulse hammering against my own, but a kind of feral recognition. A part of me, the part that has been dormant for years, woke up. I didn't see a target to be neutralized. I saw an equal.

On my way out, I put a tracker on her car.

It's for her own good, of course. She's reckless and needs a professional watching her back. And if that professional happens to want to know where she is every second of every day, well, that's just a happy coincidence.

✽✽✽

James is already at the bar when I walk in, nursing a drink that’s far too strong for a man who weighs as much as he does.

“Needed this, man. Too much going on lately. How are you holding up?”

“Good,” I answer. “Busy lately.”

He takes another sip and grins.

“So… did Sophia bring you that pocket square yet?”

I nearly choke on my beer.

“What?”

James just blinks at me, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“The pocket square, dude. Matching colors for the maid of honor and best man. Elizabeth said, Sophia will give it to you.”

I force my shoulders down and breathe. Right. The wedding. The normal life I’m pretending to live.

“Yeah, she gave it to me.”

“And?” He leans closer, elbow digging into my side. “Was it awkward? Was it hot? Was it weirdly intense in a way you’re pretending didn’t happen?”

“And nothing, James. Our entire relationship exists because you’re marrying Elizabeth. Don’t read into it.” I say flatly.