Page 95 of Gilded Saint

His lips purse and his head shakes. “I don’t believe so. But you need to stay close until I make some additional arrangements.”

It’s not until we’re in the elevator that I ask, “You mean replace John?”

“Yes.”

When we return to the flat, he promptly enters his office and shuts the door. Years of growing up in my father’s home have taught me that if you want to listen, you can’t stand in front of the door where your shadow can be seen. You either have to locate a connecting vent or stand at the side of the door.

There are no vents in Leo’s office that I’ve noticed, so I loudly step away, letting my shoes clatter on the floor, all the way to the kitchen. Then I remove my shoes and slide my feet back into the hallway, flattening myself against the wall as I inch to the door.

As expected, he’s talking to someone. His tone is firm with a chord of urgency. I can’t decipher the words, and I inch closer to the door, eyeing my shadow. I move to the light switch and press it, removing the light source. Then I return to the door and press my ear to the wood, feet still planted to the side of the threshold.

“I need you to do something else for me,” Leo says to someone I have to believe he’s speaking to on a mobile, as no one else is here. “When I’m gone, you’ve got to look out for my arrangement. I’ll leave resources.”

His arrangement? Is he talking about me?

“At least initially, when I’m gone, watch out for her. It’s important. Do whatever you have to do.”

When I’m gone. The phrase ricochets through my mind, unlodging facts. Shipping manifests on his phone. The detained Titan ship. He’s an arms dealer who never parties. Orlando assumed he was gay, but…he’s a plant. When the law seized the heroin shipment last year, everyone had been talking about it. The rumor had been that there were undercover officers within the ranks. That’s what Leo is. That’s why he’s always said what we have is temporary. He’s leaving.

“Forty-eight hours,” Leo says. “You’ve been a good friend. Thank you.” There’s a pause. “I’ll see you on the other side. And yes, I’ll need those updates.”

A drawer opens, the sound a mix of rattle and squeak. There are no voices. I twist the knob and push the door open.

Surprise flashes. Either he forgot I’m here or he can’t believe I had the audacity to open his office door.

On the top of his desk is a smashed SIM card.

“Are you working undercover?”

Chapter32

Sam, aka Leo, aka Saint

What the hell do I say to her? The less she knows, the safer she is.

She steps up to the desk, swipes the remnants of the SIM card into her palm and balls her hand into a fist. She gestures with her head to the doorway, urging me to follow her.

Curious, I do as she asks, silently following her through our bedroom and into the bathroom. She lifts the lid on the toilet, empties her hand, and flushes.

She’s protecting me. How does she even know what that smashed remnant on the desk was? Did she see Alessio smash SIM cards?

The shower turns on—both shower heads. The noise is loud, but she also flicks on the fan.

I doubt anyone would place a listening device in a bathroom, but she’s got the bases covered if they did. Alessio Gagliano may have protected his daughter from their world, but once she started paying attention, she learned.

I cross my arms and lean against the bathroom cabinet. I’m both incredibly turned on by this cunning woman and scared that I’m going to fuck this up and endanger her.

It’s taken five years, but I’ve grown lax. I invited a woman to live with me at a time the CIA and our counterparts have become increasingly aggressive.

Big, trusting blue eyes take me in. A cornflower blue I’ll never forget. The first woman, other than my sisters, I’d risk everything for. She edged her way under my skin, and I’ve no idea how, but one thing I’m certain of is I’ve fallen. I love her with all my soul. I’ll never forget her, but I will leave her, because I love her too much to force her to leave her life behind.

“I can’t tell you anything,” I begin the second she places those expectant and unforgettable eyes on me. “I wish I could. But you can’t know anything.”

“You’re afraid they’ll torture me to gain information.” Her matter-of-fact statement is delivered with calm and an edge of anger.

“You’re very calm,” I say.

“Not on the inside.” She maintains distance from me and her arms cross protectively in front of her. “Who’s coming after you? Where are you going?”

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