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Not that I would act on it.
I would keep her here a couple more days until I had a firm plan in place and a better understanding of the underlying dynamics going on in my family. I needed to gain support and supporters. Otherwise, I would be dead in the near future—and so would she.
I looked up when I sensed movement.
“Can I take a shower?”
I shook my head. “Tomorrow.”
She sighed.
Then I raised the bedsheet. “You need to sleep; you look dead on your feet.”
For a moment, I thought she would fight me, but then exhaustion took over.
She dragged her feet across the room, passed me, then slipped under the cover.
I tucked her in, feeling protective and possessive at the same time.
I watched her for a couple of seconds until her features relaxed and she was asleep.
Just like that as if someone had knocked her lights out.
I pulled the recliner between the bed and the two exits—the one through the house and the one through the bathroom.
I didn’t expect trouble. Not here. But one could never be too careful.
I laid my phone and the gun, which Cristo had handed to me after we landed, on my lap, then forced my body to relax.
I’d learned to rest without sleeping. Or have a light enough sleep to be awake at the drop of a pin.
And I would do so, however long it took for my position to be secured.
I turned my head a little—just enough to have her in my peripheral vision.
I focused on her breathing—deep and regular.
She still hadn’t told me her name, hadn’t told me how she got into Fausto’s clutches.
Hadn’t told me anything really—but then again, I’d kidnapped her.
She had no reason to trust me, no reason to think I was anything better than my uncle.
My phone vibrated, and I looked down at my screen.
Hawk.
“Hey.”
“Hey. Just checking in to see if you’re still alive.”
“I am.”
“How’s the jet lag?”
I snorted. So much had happened that I hadn’t had any time to even think about jet lag. “I’m good.”
“Any incidents?”
