Page 35 of My Vigilante Valentine

I lowered the binoculars, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I will eject you from this truck.”

She grinned, completely unbothered. “Pretty sure that violates some kind of vigilante code of ethics.”

“There is no code.”

“Ruh-roh.”

I didn’t respond, mostly because I didn’t trust myself not to sound like I wasn’t enjoying this banter-filled stakeout as much as she was.

Which I wasn’t. Obviously.

She settled back, her leopard-spotted sneakers propped on the dash like she was on a summer road trip. The casual gesture spoke of ease and comfort—a lightness that I couldn’t believe she felt in my presence.

I opened my mouth to tell her to put them down, then snapped it closed and faced forward again. If she wanted to settle in, fine.

But then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught her watching me, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“You know,” she said, voice softer now, “you’re kind of intense when you’re in mission mode.”

“It’s called focus. You should try it.”

“I’m allergic.”

This time, she got me. I turned her way, a small smile appearing as I rested my elbow on the large center console between us. “Not true.”

She blinked.

“I’ve seen you focus,” I went on. “Sometimes, at the coffee shop, you’re so into whatever you’re doing that a bomb could go off across the street, and I have a feeling you wouldn’t even look up.”

Her mouth opened slightly, then she frowned. “I thought you said I’m observant.”

“I’m not saying you’re not… I’m saying that when youwantto focus, you do it hard. Sometimes, you’re focused on observing. Think you can do that, I don’t know, right now?”

She giggled. Actuallygiggled, and the sound of it did the kind of damage in my chest that I imagined a coronary would.

“Were you in the military?” she asked out of nowhere. “You have that vibe, but maybe it’s something you picked up in vigilante boot camp?”

“Marines,” I admitted.

“Ah, that tracks. Marines are the best. So I’ve heard. And hey—now, I’ve got another piece to the puzzle that is Jax Thorne. That wasn’t too painful, was it?”

I didn’t dignify that with a response, though my grip on the binoculars tightened just slightly as I turned back to the warehouse.

Silence fell again, save for the occasional soft crunch of Luna’s pretzels. I watched the door to the building that loomed ahead, trying to ignore the magnetic pull of her presence.

But just as I’d started to relax into the quiet, she leaned over and whispered, “Do you think the pigeon knows anything about our target?”

I groaned softly, shaking my head and refusing to let my mouth twitch.

She was doing this on purpose.

And worse? It was working.

This was going to be a long night—one I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t enjoy a little, and that was what made it scary.

9

more than a distraction

---