Now that they were safe, the first order of business was food and sleep.
Within minutes, only Tomas and Rylee remained.
“I’m hungry, not tired.” She stepped into the kitchen and snatched an apple off the counter.
She’d slept most of the way here and missed the meal they’d grabbed through a roadside drive-through.
“Eat.” He collected their bags and ambled toward the hallway. “I’ll claim a room.”
“Two rooms.”
He didn’t bother acknowledging that ridiculous request.
A gradual slope of stairs ascended into a long corridor, the flooring tiled in an artistic mosaic of slate stones. He lost count of how many doors he passed, all with keypad entry. Christ, there must’ve been eight or nine bedrooms in total. Unless something else was hiding behind these locks.
He stopped at the first open door and gaped.
Inside, racks of guns covered one wall. Dozens of firearms of every size, shape, and caliber. File cabinets, desks, and worktables filled the rest of the dimly lit room, the surfaces covered in laptops, camera equipment, and high-tech clothing and gear.
Cole stood at a table, sifting through stacks of burner phones, all plugged into a power strip that ran along the wall.
“Last room on the right is mine.” He didn’t look away from his task. “The one on the left is still open.”
“Thanks.” As Tomas turned to leave, his gaze caught on a transparent garment bag that hung from a hook behind the door.
White satin and lace.
A wedding gown.
Damn, it looked eerily spectral and downright sad amid the plethora of guns and spy tech.
“I should burn it,” Cole said behind him.
“I don’t know, man.” He pivoted, meeting the starkness in Cole’s brown eyes. “I burned everything, but the ghosts clung.”
“Are they still clinging?”
“Yeah.” He scratched his jaw, rethinking his answer. “Actually, I’ve been too distracted to notice.”
“Your dick’s been distracted.”
“More than usual, and more than just my dick. That woman has her claws in every part of me. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure she scared the ghosts away.” He chuckled and quickly sobered. “Do you think her ex-husband hired hits on her and Evan Phillips?”
“I don’t know yet.” Cole turned back to the table of burner phones. “Get some rest. Recharge. We have a lot of work to do and need to be clearheaded.”
With a nod, Tomas made his way to the last room on the left. An airy, tidy space with a large bed and private bathroom—all decorated in simple, natural hues. Beyond the windows, trees rippled on hillsides that stretched to the horizon.
He could see why Cole chose this place to retire. It was lush and green. Peaceful. Calming. Completely void of sand, desert heat, and hatred.
With Rylee, he would take her hatred over indifference. Her fire was irresistible, addictive, and he wouldn’t dare try to control it if it made her happy.
But it didn’t. Her anger made her miserable. He accepted the blame for some of that, not all of it. Nine days ago, she walked into his house with a block of ice around her heart and a grudge against men that was ten years in the making.
Enough was enough.
He dropped their bags near the door, brushed his teeth, and found his angry little hellcat sitting alone at the kitchen island. She’d fixed herself a salad with pre-grilled chicken.
Lowering onto the stool beside her, he reached toward her bowl to steal a meaty morsel.
“No!” She jerked it away, hugging the dish protectively to her chest. “Please, don’t.”
He yanked his hand back, scalded by her reaction. “Jesus, Rylee. I’m not going to take your food away.”
She didn’t move, her glare distrustful and defensive.
He’d done that. Adding to her fears of intimacy and commitment, he’d instilled a new one.
Starvation.
What kind of monster was he?
“Fuck.” He shoved away from the island and paced through the kitchen. “I fucked up. Cole warned me. He told me if I harmed you and learned you were innocent, that I would wear the scars.” His chest hurt, and his stomach coiled in a turmoil of guilt. But he wouldn’t give up. Pausing a few feet away, he looked her square in the eyes. “You have every right to hate me. I know you’re pissed. So yell at me. Let me hear it. Act like a fucking adult and confront me.”
Her lips parted. “The day I walked into your house, those were my words.”
“I’ve been listening.” He lowered his head and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not going to apologize. I won’t beg for your forgiveness. Instead, I’m going to make you a promise.” He lifted only his eyes, pinning her with a stare she couldn’t ignore. “I will not repeat my mistakes. Let me be clear. My only priorities are to protect you and keep you healthy. I will not cheat on you. I will not starve you. But I will hurt you.”
“Why?”
“Because when we’re in love, we will hurt each other as much as we save each other.”
She sat still for so long he thought he’d lost her inside her head.
At last, she released her death grip on the bowl, set it on the counter, and tucked back into her meal.
He returned to the stool beside her, bracketing her rigid body in the V of his thighs. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I should be in Texas, helping Evan’s parents bury their son.”
“And get yourself killed in the process? I won’t allow it.”
“Of course, you won’t. You’re a domineering prick.” She chewed slowly, eyes on her salad and voice soft. “I don’t belong here. I’m not a vigilante. I have nothing to offer.”
“You just took out an assassin. The man who killed an innocent motel clerk. You succeeded where we failed. I’d say you’ve more than proved your value in this fight.”
“I don’t want to be here.”
“Tell me why.”
She finished the last bite of salad and stood, carrying her bowl to the sink. “I didn’t choose this.”
“None of us chose it. You know our histories. This life chose us.”
“I work in law enforcement.”
“Van’s father was the Austin Police Chief.”
“I don’t carry weapons.”
“Amber, Kate, and Josh don’t carry weapons.” He rose from the stool and prowled around the island to stand behind her. “You carry a shotgun in your truck, and let’s not forget the butcher knife you stole from my house.”
She stiffened at his nearness. “I was in danger.”
“You’re still in danger.” Lowering his nose to her hair, he breathed in her mouth-watering femininity. “That’s why you don’t want to be here.”
“Because I’m in danger of getting killed by one of your homicidal friends?”
“No, Rylee.” He trailed the backs of his fingers down her arms, making her shiver. “Because you’re in danger of falling in love.”
“Oh, my God.” She shot out from beneath the press of his body and scurried around the island. “What is this obsession you suddenly have with love? The man who wrote those emails plowed through hundreds of women and couldn’t emotionally connect with any of them.”