Page 131 of Wicked Sin

“And Taylor?”

“Yeah?”

“If you talk to Cole, or Jason…any of them. Don’t tell them about me. Okay? I’m going to trust you with my secret first. And then you can decide if you want to trust me.”

42

Luke

I get backto Taylor’s apartment at half past midnight. And when I open the door, I can smell cookies.

I find her in the kitchen, drinking a glass of wine and staring at the working oven. Behind her is a rack of clean mixing bowls. “You baked.”

She nods, still staring at the oven. “Yep.”

“Is something wrong? Something’s clearly wrong.” I close the gap between us and kiss her gently. “Hi. Love you.”

“Hi. Love you, too.”

“What happened?”

“A reporter found me. A reporter who once went undercover in the Horus Group, which is really weird, but it’s not the weirdest part. I think she actually had a good idea, but it scares me, and I don’t know what to do.”

I kiss her again. “Let me tuck my gun away and wash up. Are those going to be done soon?”

“Five minutes.”

“Pour me a glass and we can talk about this over a plate of warm cookies. Deal?”

She nods.

I change into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, then return to the kitchen. It’s not a far walk. Her apartment is nice—rich girl nice—but too small for both of us.

I should move back into my house soon.

But the thought of sleeping apart from her tears me in two, so until we’ve been dating long enough for me to suggest that we buy a new place, a place that is truly ours, I’m going to continue being a squatter in her small space.

I help her plate up the cookies—chocolate chunk and walnut, delicious—and then I settle in with a snack and my listening ears. “Okay, tell me everything.”

She takes a long sip of wine, then a deep breath, and launches into the whole thing. “I’ve read some of her pieces tonight. She’s a really interesting journalist. Nobody knows who she is—she wasn’t kidding when she was telling me that she was trusting me with her secrets, too. She’s super anonymous, and she pulls these pretty incredible sources out of nowhere to drop truth bombs on Washington.”

“This might be what you were looking for. A chance to tell your story, on your terms.”

“That’s what she said.”

“But?”

“But it’s hard for me to trust her. Or anyone.”

Yeah. There’s the rub. “Ah, I’m sorry.”

She shrugs. “It is what it is.”

“Cookie?” I hold one out to her.

She takes a giant bite direct from my hand. “The rest is yours,” she mumbles around the crumbs.

“I didn’t know you could bake.”

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