Page 77 of If Our Hearts Collide

Checking my email, I absorb myself in work and read the prison reports that get sent to me from some of my spy contacts. It pays to know a lot of people in this business who can give favors out.

It also helps that so many people fucking hate Mark Tanner and want to see him rot.

If his threats made to Penny during her visit had any validation, the Hoffmans would want to know. And while the brothers think they are just empty scare tactics, I’d rather be thorough and not underestimate the asshole—even from his prison cell.

The day that fucker takes his last breath will be celebrated like a holiday.

And to think of Penny testifying in her still fragile state? Never. I’ll never allow it.

So, time is ticking on when Tanner can be snuffed out and it made to look like an accident or self-inflicted, and there’s only so many opportunities where no one goes down with the sinking ship for conspiracy and manslaughter.

Graham and Nic are in the clear from testifying, and now that Angie is married, she’s granted those same privileges. But Penny hasn’t been awarded any luxuries, except for the fact that there’s no way the men in her life will ever allow her to testify. We just have to keep fending off the lawyers who want to start the trial prep.

Too bad there’s not going to be a damn trial.

My eyes start to grow heavy over the play-by-play of Tanner’s day. I get a list of what he eats, how much, and who he has contact with when it comes to the outside world.

Oddly, other than Penny, no one has come to visit him.

It’s as if anyone who may have been close to him either has already been handled or he really is just that unpopular.

When the drug ring was dismantled, Graham and Nic made sure I looked under every rock to find anyone connected with the predator. I scoured the earth for months analyzing digital records and a huge list of contacts until I took every single one of them down.

So it’s not shocking that Mark has no one on the outside left to throw him a lifeline.

“Collins?”

I turn to see Penny standing in the doorway, her hair high up in a wet, messy bun on top of her head, while she is looking utterly adorable wearing my black sweatpants and old basic training T-shirt I refuse to discard. It’s one of those pieces ofclothing that I tell myself I should get rid of but never do. Now I want Penny to own it.

Her fingers trail along the bottom hem of the heavily worn fabric. “You were in the military?”

“I was.”

“I didn’t know that. So you retired?”

I’m not ready for story time. “Not exactly.” I was discharged.

“Oh… What happened?”

I lock my screen and get up from my chair. “Did you find everything you need?”

She nods, changing her stance to lean against the doorframe. The outline of her body is even more visible in the dimmed light, as my eyes focus in on the threadbare fabric of my shirt, and my mind instantly floods with images of what she has on underneath the cotton—if she even has anything on at all.

Fuck.

These thoughts aren’t helping me maintain the boundary line—that’s for sure.

I’ll never be able to look at that article of clothing again without fantasizing about Penny’s perfect curves touching it.

Seriously though, the way she can transform something so masculine to look delicately feminine is mind-boggling. The girl can wear anything and make it look tantalizing.

“Can you please show me my room?” She shakes her head, as if trying to clear her mind, and in this instance I wish I could read it. “I mean, the guest room?”

It feels bizarre her referring to the room as a guest room, because she’ll be the first person to ever sleep in it and will probably be the only one to ever use it.

“Come. I’ll show you.”

I slide past Penny, my arm brushing against hers. I watch as she shivers, and I inwardly smile that maybe she is as affected byme as I am by her. That if a brush of my arm can make her hair stand on end, then what will happen if…

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