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Monk lifted his shirt, took her hand, and brought the tips of her fingers to the center of one of his tattoos—the Aztec sun—the same one her brother had.
“What is that?” she asked, as her fingers traced the scar.
“I was shot too.”
Saylor put her other hand over her mouth, and her eyes met his.
“They didn’t just kill her. They raped her first.”
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “You were there.”
“I was eleven.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know what to say.”
He opened her hand so her fingers were splayed over the sun. “When we were at the hospital, you said you didn’t know me then too.”
“I remember.”
“Do you remember what I said?”
Saylor nodded. “You said ‘sure, you do.’ You also asked me if I believe in angels.”
Monk looked up at the sky and closed his eyes, knowing that what he was about to say would sound crazy. “She told me not to let you go. Back in the parking lot.”
“Your sister?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go inside now.”
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“No.”
He stood when Saylor did, turned the fire off, and followed her inside. She locked the patio door and reached to turn off the light.
13
Saylor rolled over in bed. Something was different this morning. She could smell coffee. And bacon. Monk was here. He’d spent the night last night. She’d gone from breaking things off with him to mind-blowing sex in the span of a couple of hours.
Instead of getting out of bed, Saylor stayed where she was, trying to decide whether to spend the time analyzing the decisions she made or just go with the flow of life.
Was there really any point in doing the former? She liked Monk. A lot, actually. She knew she could trust him; the man worked for her brother. Her guess was Rhys “Monk” Perrin had been fully vetted prior to K19 giving him his first assignment and then went through another round when her brother found out she and Monk were spending time together. If he’d had any secrets whatsoever, K19 would’ve uncovered every last one of them.
She was just about to get up, grab her robe, and join Monk in the kitchen when he walked in with a tray of coffee, food, and flowers.
“You’re spoiling me.”
Monk smiled, set the tray on the bed, and climbed in next to her. “I like doing things for you.”
“I haven’t done anything for you.”
“I disagree, but if you’d like to, I have some ideas.” He wiggled his eyebrows in a very un-Monk-like manner.
Saylor grabbed a piece of perfectly prepared bacon from the single yet heavily laden plate on the tray, smiled, and then took a bite.
“You’re very easy-going, Monk.”
