Page 30 of The Spy Who Ghosted Me

“Sabrina,” I sighed. “I know this is a lot for you to take in, but listen to your gut. It told you Izan wasn’t good. I hope now it will tell you that you can trust me, that I’m on your side.”

“But you left me and obviously lied to me. How do I even know you are who you say you are, Cash Denton?”

I cleared my throat.

Unfortunately, she picked up on it. “Oh. My. Gosh. Cash isn’t even your real name?” She stood and threw her hands up in the air. “What is it?”

I leaned against the wall and let out a heavy breath. “Sabrina, I don’t even know that man anymore. You’re probably better off not knowing him either.”

“So, Bordeaux really was just a lie. Was it just another ‘mission’ or ‘assignment’ or whatever of yours? I don’t speak spy other than James Bond or Ethan Hunt.”

The last thing I wanted her to ask me about was our time in France, but I knew I had to answer. “No. Yes. No.” I shook my head, not knowing how to explain it without sounding like a jerk or hurting her further.

“Which is it?” she rightfully demanded to know.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, knowing the longer I stalled, the more contrived my answer would sound. “Sabrina, when I ran into you that day in Bordeaux, I believed someone had blown my cover and was following me. I was supposed to be lying low for a few months. I kissed you, thinking if I was being followed, it would throw off whoever it was.”

She fell on the bed, deflated. “So you used me?”

“No, damn it. I mean, yes, in that moment.”

“And here all this time I thought it was some kismet event in my life. The best meet-cute ever.”

“It was. Or it ended up being that way. They were the best two months of my life.”

“Then why did you leave without even saying goodbye?”

“Because being with you made me forget that my life isn’t my own. I should have never gotten involved with you. It was wrong of me, but you ...”

“I what?” she begged to know.

“You gave me something I’d never had before. Someone who cared about me.”

“I did care about you. I even ...” She waved her hand around in front of her. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

I knew what she was going to say, and I was glad she didn’t. It was hard enough knowing how she felt—and how I felt about her.

“It does matter, but it can’t be.”

“So you’re just using me again,” she wisely surmised.

“I suppose I am,” I hated to admit.

“Oh.” Her voice unnaturally hitched.

Her obvious hurt acutely pricked my heart. So much so, I rubbed my chest. It wasn’t until that moment I realized I might actually have a heart. “I am sorry, Sabrina. I wish things could be different.”

“Do you really?” she spat.

I hung my head. “I do, but there’s no room for relationships in my line of work. It’s too dangerous, and if you knew the kinds of things I had to do, you wouldn’t want to be with me.”

“What kinds of things?”

I gave her a knowing look, hoping I didn’t have to spell it out for her.

“Ahh,” she said as if a light went on in her head. “I saw the guns and knives,” she squeaked. “How do I know you’re not the bad guy?”

“Because you would already be dead.”

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