Page 118 of Ford

Until RJ showed up, he’d liked it that way. It was safer.

No need to protect something that couldn’t hurt.

He should have never downloaded her email. Never let curiosity—okay, concern—cajole him to the meet.

Should have never scooped her out of the FSB’s net and sent them on the lam.

Never kissed her and found himself a hungry, thirsty, lonely man.

You could.

Let go.

You could.

Go home.

You could.

Find her.

You could.

Live again.

Kat’s eyes closed again, and he got up, walked out into the hall, and stood at the window. The night was still heavy upon the city, the finest edging of gold along the horizon. The hospital overlooked the river, still black, the fading stars dying in a last wink upon the water.

The militia had released him almost immediately after seeing his papers and confirming his story with a few bullet casings. Thankfully, he had the foresight to discard the gun under the truck before the militia arrived, and his visa was in order—thank you, FSB. He did, however, wish he’d gotten his hands on the shooter.

He had a sinking feeling he would have found a star tattooed on his neck. Should have checked that out.

So, what did the Bratva want with American “assassin” Ruby Jane Marshall? What had she said about a shadow government trying to upset the balance of power in Russia?

I’m not a spy. I’m an analyst.

RJ, dressed in those sexy leather pants and the off-the-shoulder shirt, her dark hair down and around her shoulders, just begging for him to curl his fingers through it.

He leaned against the wall as a nurse walked by and gave him a look. He nodded toward Kat’s room, but she frowned at him.

Maybe because he wore a strange grin.

Oh for cryin’ out loud, you’re a Sydney Bristow wannabe.

Big blue eyes staring at him, confused, and not a little hurt.

You call me sweetheart again and I’ll start referring to you as Sugar Pie.

He missed her so much his chest might implode.

Breathe. Just let her go.

She was simply desperate and scared, and the last thing sweet Ruby Jane needed was a jaded, broken, angry man like York following her home.

But maybe he should send her an email and tell her that Kat was okay.

And what if…

He blew out a breath.

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