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Skye’s brows arch closer together, though, as Ian tells them that Rich has the money. She glances at me, but I tap a finger to my lips. Let Ian play this last one out, I want to say. We’re so close.
“You’re sure?” Ian is saying. “It’ll be enough to arrest him on?”
Whatever they say on the other end must be reassuring, because he sinks back in his seat, visible relief spreading across his features.
At that, Skye leaves him to it, grabbing my arm to drag me into the convenience store. I check the mirror in the corner, the one the store owner uses to watch for pickpockets, but there’s no one else in here aside from the cashier, who’s draped over the counter, texting rapidly.
“Alright, Xander, tell me everything that’s going on. No more lies or half-truths,” Skye whispers under her breath. “Why didn’t the FBI come this morning? Why did Ian tell them Rich has the money? That case was empty.”
“Your brother requested witness protection guarantees for all three of us,” I say.
“And?” She tosses her head.
God, I love it when she gets sassy like this. “And he was told it might take several days. We didn’t have that.”
She groans loudly. “So, what the hell do we do now?”
“Leave and start over. We’ve got plenty of money to do it.”
She stares at me for a long time before she shakes her head. “No,” she whispers, though her lips curve upward, a confused smile playing on her lips. “Xander?”
“Five hundred thousand’s a lot of money, beautiful.” I shrug one shoulder. “Would be a shame to let it fall into the wrong hands.”
I’m not sure if it’s happiness or just hysteria, but when she launches herself at me, arms extended, I can’t resist. I catch her in a tight embrace, pull her body hard against mine and breathe in the sweet, familiar scent of her.
This, this is what I’ve been fighting for all these years. This is what’s worth giving up everything for. She’s the entire world to me, and I’ll remind her of that every day for the rest of our lives if she’ll let me.
“Where do we go?” she whispers against my chest.
We. That alone is enough to give me hope. To make me smile despite everything I’ve lost today. Because even though there’s still a gap between us, it’s one I can close.
I cast a glance toward the car outside. “How do you feel about colder climates?
Border patrol turns out to be a breeze. The guard doesn’t even ask us any questions as we pass through. He just glances at our passports and flashes all three of us a huge smile. “Welcome home.”
I try to tamp down the tremor in my hands as I accept the papers. I know the guy who forged the Canadian passports well—we’d trained together in the same gym, back when I was still fighting. He’s done stellar work for me in the past and on far less notice, so I shouldn’t have be
en surprised. But somehow, some part of me is still amped up, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. For this whole thing to turn sour.
Part of me is expecting to lose her all over again.
I have a feeling it’s going to take me a while to get used to having everything I could ever want or need. I glance in the rearview as we speed toward Montreal, and I can’t fight the smile that breaks out, watching her doze against the car door, her perfect face relaxed and at peace, at last.
“You better treat her well, man,” Ian speaks up from the passenger seat.
I startle. I’d thought he was asleep, based on the way he’s slouched in his chair, chin drooping on his chest. But I guess he’s having the same problem I am. Too much pent up adrenaline to relax yet.
“Like a queen,” I promise him, my gaze darting to the rearview again, drawn irresistibly to her, to her soft, beautiful features and her gorgeous body and the fire and spark in her. That woman is going to be the mother of my children, and I’ve got a feeling we’ll have a house full because I won’t be able to keep my hands off her. I don’t even want to try.
Ian shifts in his seat, leans against the door now. “I’d offer the usual sibling threats, but somehow I have a feeling I don’t need to. Not now.” He glances at me, and half-smiles in the pre-dawn light. “You know what she’s worth.”
“Believe me,” I tell him. “I really, really do.”
We pull up at the hotel around eleven in the morning. A little bed and breakfast deal, because I don’t much like the idea of staying in some big corporate hotel when we’re aiming to lie low.
Skye finally stirs from her deep sleep and stretches like a cat, her back arching from the seat. It immediately fills my head with a dozen other ways I could make her back arch like that, and I take a deep breath before I climb out of the car, lest my imagination run away with me.
Plenty of time for that soon.
