Page 24 of Forbidden Access

He leaned forward, his voice low and intense. “I see. So you get to question me about my motives, but I can’t ask about yours? You bring your preconceived ideas about me into this job, and I’m supposed to just take it?”

She looked away, her jaw tight. “I’ve been emotional and unprofessional, I know that. If you want, you can report me to Pat.”

“I don’t want to report you,” he said, his voice softening. Thorn was as closed off as the reinforced door of the safe room. “I want to understand where you’re coming from.”

She stared at the floor, clearly struggling with whether to open up to him.

“Thorn, I opened up to you,” he pressed gently. “Don’t you think you owe it to me to do the same?”

Her shoulders slumped, and she glanced up at him, the sadness in her eyes hitting him like a punch to the gut. He braced himself, sensing that whatever she was about to share would change everything between them.

“My husband was killed on our honeymoon. We were at a beach resort in Colombia, enjoying what was supposed to be the happiest time of our lives. The resort was beautiful, with golden sands and turquoise waters, everything you’d expect from paradise. We had only been there a few days when it happened.”

“What happened?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“I was in the water, taking a swim, but my husband was on the beach when out of nowhere, a group of armed men stormed the area. They were part of a local cartel, targeting tourists to make a statement. They started shooting indiscriminately. People were screaming and running for cover, but there was nowhere to go.”

She shut her eyes, her voice thick with emotion. “I saw him get hit. He died right there on the sand, in my arms.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she looked away, unable to meet his gaze. Damian’s heart twisted at the sight of her pain. He wanted to reach out, to hold her, but he knew that was crossing a line they couldn’t afford to cross—not yet, anyway.

“I’m so sorry,” Damian whispered, his voice rough with emotion. He knew what it was like to lose someone, but this… this was something else entirely.

“They said it was part of a wave of violence orchestrated by a local cartel. They were trying to send a message, to show their power and instill fear. It worked. I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.”

“Is that why you joined the CIA?” he asked, understanding dawning on him.

She nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “I had nothing left.”

He understood that feeling all too well. After Rebecca’s betrayal, he’d run as far away as he could, desperate to escape the emptiness inside him.

“I get it,” he murmured. He knew what it was like to be driven by loss, to seek out danger just to feel something—anything.

She sniffed and wiped her eyes, her gaze meeting his once more. There was something different in her eyes now, something raw and real that hadn’t been there before. “It was when I started looking into you that I discovered that terrorist organizations, like the ones who stormed that beach that day, use cryptocurrency to purchase weapons. The anonymity enables them to do what they do.”

“Except if it wasn’t my currency, it would be someone else’s.”

“I know. Like I said, it was irrational and unprofessional.” She took a deep breath, composing herself. “I’m over that now.”

Damian nodded, his respect for her deepening. “No one should have to go through what you went through.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

He shrugged, dismissing the apology with a wave of his hand.

Thorn stood up, her movements deliberate and controlled. “So, now you know. Can we move on?”

He cracked a smile, one she didn’t return. “Sure. Thank you for telling me.”

“Now we know each other’s secrets,” she said, giving him a hard look before turning and walking out of the room.

Damian watched her go, his mind spinning. He wasn’t sure what this new dynamic between them meant, but he felt closer to her now than he had to anyone in years. And damn, if that wasn’t a dangerous thing.

CHAPTER 9

Thorn couldn’t believe she’d told Damian about Jaden.

She never talked about her husband. Speaking his name, dredging up those memories—it was like ripping off a bandage only to find the wound still raw underneath.

---