“Yeah, that’s good,” I conceded. “Just make it one trillion times faster.”
The black sedan flew down the block like a speed demon.
“Shit,” we said in unison, sliding all the way down. My heart jumped into my throat.
“Same car, second time,” I murmured. Two lost drivers who happened to have suspiciously tinted windows maybe? “Let’s stay down.”
When I turned my face toward Henry, his was close.
“My turn,” he whispered. “So Delilah, your husband is a talented librarian. What is it that you do again?”
“Philanthropist,” I shot back. “I’m a trust fund baby.”
His eyes flared in challenge behind his glasses.
“I came prepared,” I said with a sly grin. His eyes dropped to my mouth for a split second, before headlights sliced across his face.
“Lower,” I hissed. He dropped as instructed.
“What made you propose to her like that on the spot, Henry?” I said, listening for boot steps heading our way. I wanted to push him to think clearly even in high-stress situations. I was wearing black yoga pants and my running shoes—I was more than ready to bolt if we had to.
“I’d never seen her look more beautiful.”
My head whipped toward his before I could stop it. It wasn’t really fair that he was a handsome librarian who also had a voice that sounded like fucking. Tangled-sheets, sweaty-limbs, headboard-shaking fucking.
“What did you say?”
“Sorry,” he said quickly. “Is that too personal?”
“No. Not at all,” I said. But I felt slightly out of breath. “We’re pretending. That’s probably the kind of thing Victoria wants to hear.”
“Impulsively romantic, right?”
“Um…yeah,” I said, distracted. The air outside had a charged feeling I recognized—quiet before a storm. There was a volley of sharp cracks: car doors slamming, the pop of male voices. With a racing pulse, I picked my head up inch by agonizing inch—until I could just make out Victoria’s mansion. The black sedan had become five black sedans, and a group of giant men with pistols were stepping out and standing in Victoria’s driveway with deadly-looking posture.
“What the fuck,” I breathed.
“What is it?”
“The evil henchmen have arrived.”
One by one, they made their way inside her house—although a handful went toward the perimeter. I understood heightened security for a stolen book but this seemed excessive.
My fingers twitched on the door.
“Delilah,” Henry started.
“How fast are you?” I asked, already cracking the door open.
“Pretty fast,” he admitted. “I run five miles a day.”
I grinned at him—ready for the chase.
“Then you should be able to keep up.”
And I bolted toward the henchmen.
11
Henry
If this was another lesson, I didn’t want to fail. So even though I had no idea what Delilah was doing, I sprinted from the car, keeping my head low like she did. She’d show me what to do as long as I watched carefully.
Victoria’s few neighbors all had houses hidden behind gigantic trees and pruned bushes. It meant no one was watching us as we ran—except for maybe the armed security guards that had spilled out of those sedans like they were clown cars. Delilah ran for the edge of those trees and I followed. When she crouched behind a large tree trunk, I almost slammed right into her, grasping the sides and digging my heels into the soft earth.
“Are you okay?” she asked, not looking at me.
“Yes but…” I caught my breath. “What are we doing?”
“Reconnaissance.” She turned her head—her profile breathtaking in the moonlight that slipped between the branches: full lips, high cheekbones. I wanted to kick myself for saying what I did back in the car, but she’d pushed me to speak on the fly. As I’d stared into her wide blue eyes, the only word that had reverberated through my brain was beautiful.
“I just want to get a closer look at who these guys are. They don’t look like typical security guards,” she said.
I peeked around the edge of the tree. Two large men stood a hundred feet away—their hands were resting securely on the guns holstered at their waists. The sight of their weapons kicked my pulse up faster than when I’d been sprinting. Delilah’s arms came carefully to the small of her back. With practiced ease, she unsnapped a handgun from the waistband of her pants. It glinted in the moonlight as she lowered it to her side.
I swallowed hard, attempting to ignore my body’s immediate response to her holding a gun. The women I’d dated in the past were all academics—bookworms like me, smart and analytical. Delilah Barrett could force me to my knees in an instant—quite literally. In the lingering moonlight, she looked gorgeous but fatal, like a Bond girl with a weapon.
She leaned out farther, beckoning me to do the same. I placed a hand on the tree trunk, next to her head. My chest brushed lightly against her shoulder blades.
“Maybe Victoria’s afraid,” I whispered. “Worried having the book makes her a target.”
The guards’ radios crackled in the silence, and we both startled. One turned and I had a fleeting impression of big and scary before we slid fully behind the tree. Delilah spun around to face me. Both of my hands bracketed her head as we panted in unison.
Delilah held one finger to her mouth: quiet.
I shifted my feet and a twig snapped—the sound like a fucking firework in the hushed forest. Her eyes widened with annoyance.
“Sorry,” I mouthed.
She didn’t reply, but she flicked the safety off on her gun. I felt suspended in time, wished I knew what she was thinking. A strand of her hair brushed the back of my hand.
A minute crawled by. Two. Then three. Hidden behind the tree, we could only stare at each other, forcing me to notice the spray of freckles across her nose, barely visible in the dark. The indentation in her full, lower lip. The proud arch of her eyebrows. I steeled my expression, aiming to keep it neutral.
Her expression was entirely unreadable.
One more minute of utter stillness. She tilted her head to the right.
“Let’s go,” she whispered.
We crept softly, carefully, beneath the trees, aware of the guards and any sudden movements. The car felt miles away. I watched our feet for twigs and piles of leaves, squinting in the darkness. Every step ached with heavy danger and the threat of being spotted. My muscles shook and sweat had my shirt sticking to my back.
And if I hadn’t been staring that intently at the ground, I never would have noticed Delilah’s foot about to touch the wire.
12
Henry
I caught Delilah around the waist and I pulled her hard into my chest one millisecond before her foot touched the wire. She let out a yelp in surprise before I covered her mouth with my palm.
A shout came from the guards to our left. But we were surrounded by enormous, leafy trees on all sides. I prayed we weren’t visible.
“I think that’s a tripwire,” I whispered, lips against her ear.