Page 69 of Hidden While In Sight

“I—” The woman hesitated. “He’s gonna get himself killed,” she whispered in a broken gasp.

Diego shoved the phone into his pocket with the call still connected, facing Hannah.

“I have to go.”

Hannah nodded, her hand twisting into the soft nightgown he’d had delivered for her. She stared at her feet.

Diego moved to her, lifting her chin to force her to look at him. “I don’t want to leave you.” It felt impossible. When had his obsession become this desperate clinging? He brushed a kiss onto the corner of her mouth. “You’re safe here. You and your children.” He was reminding them both. “I’ll be back.”

She stepped away from him, and the action ripped him in two.

“Go,” Hannah said.

The sounds through the phone drew his attention. The neighborhood where they’d last been was experiencing more violence.

Diego left, hoping he hadn’t waited too long to save his friend.

Diego hated returning to the home he shared with Hannah and her kids while he smelled of gunfire and blood. Some of the blood was his. He’d gotten scraped up good, but Naz was alive. Getting chewed out by Ramiro while he got patched up, but alive.

The night was a reminder that Diego was a killer. He’d killed Hannah’s husband—way too fucking quickly. He’d helped to kill more men that night.

Who the hell did he think he was, trying to create this fake-as-hell life of family dinners and bedtime stories and a loving wife? Hannah didn’t even really love him.

When he entered the house, it felt like entering a different world.

There in the lamplight, curled up on the couch with her Bible, was Hannah. Fuck, he wanted her. He wanted to consume every piece of her.

Hours had passed. Dawn was closer than midnight. And Hannah was still awake. Waiting. For him.

He was helpless against the need to cross to her.

Her head lifted as she sensed him. Tension left her eyes as they softened in relief.

“You’re back,” she said, that fucking smile taking the rest of his soul.

Diego sank to his knees before her, no longer even feeling his injuries. It wasn’t until he shifted the Bible from her lap that he realized it wasn’t the torn one. She’d been using the one he’d given her. The realization burned through him, ruining him even more.

His inner voice was telling him everything he wanted to hear. That she’d used it to feel close to him. That she was waiting for him because she cared for him, not because she was scared or lonely.

Diego rested his head in her lap, his arms snaking around her hips to cling to her.

“I love you,” he told her again. The words scraped along his closing throat. He wanted to beg and plead for her to say it in return, but he squeezed his eyes shut, taking in the scent of her and telling himself it’d be enough.

Her hand moved to his hair, sifting through the strands, the motion both soothing and not enough.

“I prayed for you,” Hannah admitted softly.

Diego huffed out a breath, almost hearing God laughing at him.

His hands softened a little as he realized what she was telling him. Hannah had been worried about him. She cared, even if she didn’t say the words he craved.

Her hand froze in his hair. “Is this blood?” she asked in a strangled voice. “Diego, are you hurt?”

Diego didn’t tell her it wasn’t his. He nuzzled into her thighs instead. “‘S fine,” he mumbled as warmth filled him.

She began shifting under him. “It’s not fine!” Hannah seethed instead of shouting. Even in her worry for him, she thought of her sleeping kids.

Diego didn’t mind that. Her love for her children drew him to her, not away.

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