Page 17 of When He Hunts

“Fuck,” Ronan groused. “Watch yourself, Gray.”

“He saved my ass not too long ago. I thought for sure I was dead, but Ronan was there for me. He hauled me out of hell.”

“You do one random act of charity, and someone can’t ever forget it.” Ronan’s hold tightened on the phone. “Be careful what you say, Gray. You’re treading on thin ice.”

The Fed was acting like Ronan was a good guy. Could a hitman be good?

A federal agent can be good. Maybe a federal agent pretending to be a hitman…Hope had her breath catching in her throat.

“Ronan is lethal. He’s conniving. He’s probably one of the most cold-blooded assholes you’ll ever meet,” Grayson said in the next breath.

Okay, so he wasnotthe good guy. Her hope fizzled.

“And he’s exactly the protector that you need right now. Because the people coming after you? They are the kind who will torture you and make you scream for mercy. A mercy they won’t give. Ronan will shield you from them. Ronan will make sure they don’t ever touch you.”

He’d done that in the street. Stopped three guys who wanted to hurt her.

“Put your trust in him,” Grayson urged her. “He’ll see you through the dark.”

“Happy now?” Ronan wanted to know. “No more running? Gonna actually let me protect you without a fight?”

Happy wasn’t quite the right word. “Promise not to drug me again.”

“What if there are extenuating circumstances?”

On the phone’s screen, she saw Grayson pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Maybe I have to drug you to save your life,” Ronan continued. “Hate to promise not to do that when it could, in fact, be saving you.”

Her lips pressed together.

“Don’t drug her unless it’s freaking necessary, Ronan,” Grayson fired out. “Protect her. Keep her real identity secret. Andcontact meat the first sign of any trouble. We’ve already talked too long. I’m disconnecting.”

And he did. The screen went dark. She realized they’d been talking on an app. Probably one of the ones designed by Declan Flynn—the billionaire who had so much untraceable tech. The same billionaire who was rumored to be tied to the mob. Was it any wonder a hitman would use that guy’s tech?

Ronan shoved the phone back into his pocket. Then his hands went to his hips as he glowered down at her. “I won’t drug you unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Thanks so much.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“And you…no more running? Promise?”

Considering that an FBI agent had basically just told her that Ronan was standing between her and a very real death… “No more running.” She sucked in a deep breath. “And I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“What?” His brow scrunched.

“When I pushed you off the bed. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“You didn’t fucking hurt me.”

“But you hit the floor hard.”

He surged forward and wrapped his tanned fingers around the arms of the chair once more. “You didnothurt me. It takes a whole lot for me to hurt.”

He was all up in her space again. That sandalwood scent of his surrounded her. He was big and strong and…dammit, sexy. “Stockholm Syndrome?”

He shook his head. “What?”

“It’s where you fall for your captor, right? Only I’ve been with you for just—what, a few hours? I don’t think it’s supposed to happen this fast.”

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