Page 11 of Hellfire's Mercy

Right. The evidence. The reason she's here. Not because of how she feels under my hand, or how her eyes seem to get darker when I'm close, or how she hasn't once flinched away from my touch.

"Yeah," I say, reluctantly removing my hand from her thigh. "Time for your education to begin, sweetheart."

But as I stand to lead her to my office, I can't help but wonder who's really getting educated here – her about our world or me about how dangerous a curvy journalist with brave eyes can be to a man like me. Either way, I have a feeling there's no going back now.

"My office," I tell her, placing my hand on her back as I guide her through the dining room.

The touch is unnecessary, but I'm finding it harder to keep my hands off her.

"Bring those files from the storage," I tell Butcher, who nods and heads off in another direction.

The walk to my office is short, but I'm acutely aware of every step, every breath, every slight movement of her body under my palm. She hesitates at the doorway, probably remembering our last encounter here.

"Different circumstances this time," I say, reading her thoughts.

"Is it?" She turns those green eyes on me. "Last time you were deciding whether to let me live. Now you're trusting me with information that could get me killed."

Smart girl. Too smart, maybe.

"The difference," I step closer, enjoying how she breathes deeply, "is that now you're under my protection."

"Your protection seems to involve a lot of touching," she whispers but doesn't move away.

"Problem with that, sweetheart?"

Before she can answer, Butcher appears with a stack of files. He seems to notice our proximity, but he doesn't comment.

"Everything we have on their operation," he says, placing the files on my desk. "Going back two months."

"Thanks," I say, not moving back from Chloe. "That'll be all."

Butcher's lips twitch like he's suppressing a smile. "Sure thing, Boss. I'll make sure no one disturbs you while you... brief our new ally."

Once he's gone, Chloe lets out a breath. "He thinks..."

"He thinks a lot of things," I cut her off, finally stepping away to round my desk. "Most of them probably true."

A blush creeps up her neck again, and I find myself wanting to trace it with my fingers, my lips... I push the thought away.

"Sit," I gesture to the chair across from me. "Time to show you what we're really up against."

She sits, pulling out her notebook, and just like that, she's all business.

"Tell me everything."

And I do. For the next hour, I lay out everything we know about the Outlaws' operation: the shipping schedules, the front companies, the cops who might have been bribed or threatened. She takes detailed notes, asking sharp questions that tell me she's already forming the story in her mind.

"This is bigger than I thought," she finally says, looking at the evidence spread across my desk. "Much bigger."

"Too big for you?" I smirk, watching her reaction.

She ignores my teasing and lifts her chin, that fire I first saw in her blazing again.

"No. But I'll need time to verify everything independently. Cross-reference the shipping manifests, track down the companies..."

"You'll have whatever you need," I tell her. "But you don't do anything without clearing it with me first. The Outlaws have eyes and ears everywhere."

"You care about my safety that much?" she asks, a hint of teasing in her voice.

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