Page 10 of Undercover Savior

He may have nodded. I wasn’t certain.

I bit my bottom lip. “What about work?”

“Your offices are closed for the holidays.”

“I can continue working on my story whether the Crown Herald is open or not.”

David took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Someone wants to kill you, Sullivan. More than one entity, in fact. It’s my job to ensure whoever it is, or they are, they don’t find out.”

“What about research?”

I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t respond.

Even if I figured out a way to send a secure message, other than my parents, who would I contact? Clive? I thought about the conversation I’d overheard. Rather than speaking with my mother as I’d assumed, what if he was alerting the people who’d wanted to kill me? The idea that my uncle would do such a thing sickened me.

So, what were my options? I could continue pursuing the investigation on my own as I’d intended after Clive said he waskillingit. Or I could let it go. That idea turned my stomach as much as thinking my uncle had betrayed me.

He’d said that after the holiday break, I’d be given a new assignment. Would I go back to where I started out, as a society reporter?

It was at an event I’d been requested to cover in that role where I’d overheard two people discussing Eric Weber’s billion-dollar donation. After one said he’d hoped to finally get a glimpse of the man that evening, followed by the other saying Weber wouldn’t dare show his face, my curiosity had kicked in and I began what would be the biggest investigation of my career. One that had led to my eventual promotion to the bureau where my uncle was executive editor.

So, what all was at play here? Were Weber and SIS on the same side?

“You said you chose not to kill me.”

His glance in my direction told me he’d heard me.

“Why would SIS want me dead?”

Again, he didn’t respond. However, I had a more pressing issue. “I need to use the loo.”

“Can you wait another five minutes?”

It was questionable, but I said I could anyway.

David took the next exit from the highway, made several turns, then pulled up to a place that didn’t look open.

He got out of the SUV, but when I tried to do the same, I discovered the door wouldn’t budge. It opened for him, though.

“Do you use this vehicle for prisoner transport?” I asked.

No response. Not even the look.

“Didn’t your parents teach you it’s impolite to ignore someone speaking to you?”

“About as much as yours taught you it’s rude to ask endless questions.”

He rapped on a door marked “deliveries only,” and seconds later, it opened.

“Welcome, your—” a man with a heavy Indian accent began, but stopped abruptly when David shook his head. “Table for two?” he asked instead.

“Please, Ramesh.”

Rather than motioning for me to go first like any gentleman would, David followed the man who’d greeted us, giving me the opportunity to take him in from behind.

The view was breathtaking. Broad shoulders tapered in a V-shape to an arse any woman would want to get her hands on. I guessed he had to be six feet four, at least. And while I hadn’t seen much of his face other than by the glow of the SUV’s dashboard, it was enough to notice he was definitely handsome in a chiseled-Roman-god sort of way.

His aura, though, was what drew my attention the most. The way he carried himself portrayed a level of self-confidence bordering on arrogance—not something I usually found attractive.

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