Page 116 of The Savior

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Chelsea didn’t know how to process Liam’s fear of losing her.Rejoice that I mean that much? Hurt that he’s suffered so greatly?

Liam stayed quiet.

“You’re not going to lose me,” she whispered. “Not like your mom or Julia.”

“I know.”

He paced the living room. An internal war was waged as his hulking shoulders bunched and tendons strained.

“What’s bothering you? That I’m asking you to share more?”

She received no reply, and he continued his transfixed pace.

“Liam?”

He stopped short. “I don’t trust my source.”

Her pulse jumped. “Yet we broke into—”

“No, I trust Chance and Hagan. They arranged this. But the source of this entire clusterfuck? I don’t know.”

Chelsea hated feeling like an outsider. Mac had made her feel that way, and Liam didn’t trust her enough with classified intel that Chance and his buddy seemed to have. “Okay.”

“Shit,” he muttered. “I told you before. It’s complicated.”

“And classified.” Which meant she should understand, but being the last one to know seriously stunk.

He closed their distance. “My source is Samantha Sorenson.”

“SenatorSorenson?” she asked as though if she whispered too loudly, the power-hungry politician might materialize out of thin air. Chelsea didn’t know much about who and what qualified as the topic du jour. She avoided politicians and stuck with central beliefs. When it came time to cast a vote, she wanted to know who checked her personal boxes, not who joined a political party. She didn’t listen to talking heads, radio pundits, or people paid to pontificate. But even Chelsea knew that Sorenson thrived in the capital’s shark-eat-shark world.

“I don’t trust her,” he finally said.

“And I don’t blame you.” She eased against his chest, grateful that he always stepped forward when conversations became hard.

Liam wrapped his arms around her, and they swayed in the stranger’s sterile living room as Chelsea tried to make a connection between what they were doing, what happened last year with Julia, and Senator Sorenson. This situation was far beyond one she could dream up. “I’m sorry I pushed you.”

“No one else knows about her, and it’s best to keep her between us.”

“Of course—this is really bad, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know about bad, but it’s complicated.” He held her tightly. “We’ll get through this, then we can just…”

“Be.”

He sighed and gave her another squeeze.

Whenever that day came, when they didn’t have to worry about the Nymans’ house blowing up, sneaking into empty homes for sale, or even her problems with Mac and Calhoun, she couldn’t wait. Chelsea had no doubt that the hiccups they encountered and hills they climbed over would lead to an understanding she couldn’t yet comprehend. Now those were some relationship goals.

***

The next morning arrived far, far too early courtesy of Chelsea’s cell phone vibrating until she woke nauseous. Apparently her aversion to phone calls had reached the point that her stomach turned, because waking up early had always been her habit.

The phone stopped vibrating, and the swell of queasiness subsided. Or maybe waking up, locked against Liam, was enough to melt a stressful stomachache away. Either way, she rubbed her eyes and wanted to keep sleeping.

Suddenly, Chelsea panicked and opened her eyes wide. They weren’t in her bedroom, and it wasn’t his either. Realization dawned. Their night had turned them into real estate squatters.

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