Page 174 of Exposé

Before I could respond, he turned his lips to my palm, brushing a kiss there with surprising tenderness, then placed my hand back against his cheek, holding it like it anchored him.

“I told you because I need you to understand something.” His eyes darkened. “We’re in this together now. No matter what. You and me.” His grip tightened, and the shadows in his gaze grew darker, colder. “And I want that bastard six feet under. I don’t care how he gets there, but he’s not walking away from this.”

It's a trap.

I yanked my hand from his but held my ground.

"You just walked into the agency and found this information without any consequences?" I shook my head with a scoff. "You expect me to believe that?"

"There were consequences." He cupped my cheeks and drew closer, his heat penetrating through my clothes, his bare chest an unnecessary distraction. "Dire ones."

"What?"

"I've had my access revoked, and I've been thrown off your case."

I gulped the golf ball-sized lump in my throat. "They caught you."

He nodded, his lips closer than ever, his breath a light dusting on my skin. "I have a bad feeling about all of this, Ava. But there's nothing I won't do to keep you safe."

"I want to believe you."

"Then believe. But I'm here no matter what you think about me." His lips brushed against mine in a chaste kiss, his tongue keeping to my lips and no further. "But whatever you do, don't hate me. Please. I can't stomach it."

Leaning into him, I soaked in his masculine scent, his confession spurring a spark of hope. "I don't hate you." The words spilled from my lips before my brain processed their meaning. "But I need time."

Nate stamped another gentle kiss on my lips, then released me. "Anything you need."

I let out an exhausted sigh. "Let's start with the man in my apartment..."

"Most likely the same from the alleyway."

I crossed my arms as a chill forged down my flesh. "From the agency?"

"Yes." Nate grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head, hiding the tattoos.

Why hadn't I asked more about them before?

"And so they've given up on trying to stray me away from writing the story, to outright murder me?"

"I think that might be partially my fault."

"Wonderful." My mind wandered back to Kane Rogers in our makeshift interview. He was more paranoid than I was, but it seemed he had every right to be.

Panic struck my lungs, knocking the wind from me as though I'd jumped from a ten-story window. "What was it called again—the agency—what was the name?"

"N-D-E-I-A."

"Yeah, that. I've heard that name before."

Shit.

I grabbed a strand of hair and paced along the bedside, the strands pinching off my fingertip.

"Where?" He frowned and sat in the dingy chair I'd occupied.

"In prison."

He raised a brow.

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