Page 31 of Crown of Smoke

My fingers grip the wheel until it might crumble in my hands. “I’m not part of your story.”

“FBI? DEA?”

“Lucy—”

She blows out a breath. “Okay. I suppose if you’re undercover, you can’t tell me.”

I don’t say anything, but I’m relieved that it appears she’s going to let it go. I feel like shit lying to her, especially since I just fucked her and told her she’s mine.

“I do want to look more into the Ifrinns. Do you think the Keans killed the sons?”

If she only knew she was speaking to one of the sons. The irony would be funny if it wasn't so damn tragic.

“No.” I remind myself to tread carefully.

“Why not? The man tonight said if the sons were still alive, they’d be taking revenge.”

“Who says they’re not?” I turn my head to look out the driver’s side window, inwardly kicking myself for again saying too much.

“You think they’re here? In Boston?”

I shrug. “I think if they were dead, the Keans would have made a big show of it.”

“But they could have been in the house.”

“If that were true, where are the bodies?”

“Disintegrated?” she said, sending a chill through me.

“Why would theirs be… disintegrated but no one else’s?”

Her brow furrows. “Good point. And you think they’re back?”

“I didn’t say that. What I said is that we don’t know where they are or what they’re doing. For all you know, you could have run into them.”Fucking hell. Shut up, Flint.

Her expression is intrigued but then she shakes her head. “I think we’d know. They’d be recognized.”

“You think?”

She looks at me and for a moment, I want her to see Flint Ifrinn. But I was seventeen when my family was killed. I was smaller in build, softer, with a face rounder from youth, my skin clean of tattoos and scars.

“Maybe not. Ten years is a long time.”

I pull up to her building and walk her to her apartment.

She fumbles with her keys, and I grimace at the cheap lock. "This thing wouldn't keep out a determined kid with a credit card."

"Are you speaking from experience?" Lucy raises an eyebrow.

"Maybe. You need better security. At least a deadbolt."

"Always the protector." She turns to face me, keys dangling forgotten in her hand.

The hallway feels smaller, the air thicker. Lucy's pulse jumps at her throat, and I want to trace it with my tongue. After what happened in that bathroom, my body craves more of her.

"Someone has to keep you safe." My voice comes out rough. "Since you seem determined to chase danger."

She tilts her chin up. "Maybe I like a little danger."

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