Page 85 of Love Undercover
“Probably,” he murmured.
The truth of what he’d said earlier—about there being no next steps for the two of them together—was solidifying in her mind, even as it made her heart ache. She had stoically accepted it when he’d insisted, knowing that her heart was tearing a little the whole time.
She did know herself, after all. Giving her body always led to her giving her heart.
But this life, this danger, his knowledge of this world made her wonder if there could be normalcy—safety—even if he got out of undercover work. Would she always be a target for his enemies?Would he alwayshaveenemies? Would he always be in danger of being taken from her?
Moisture stung in her eyes, and she turned to look out the window at the world flying by, fields catching on fire with the rising summer sun.
The reality was becoming more stark. She thought she’d have time before she had to process the fact. Like in the privacy and safety of her own home once this whole thing was over. She could have a good cry by herself.
“Hey.” Chase’s voice feathered along the air between them. “You okay?”
She wouldn’t look at him, not until she had herself under control.
“Fine,” she answered, annoyed that it was obvious she was crying. Maybe she could pass it off as exhaustion, shock, anything but the truth. Because it was stupid. They hadn’t known each other that long.
But her little heart was so easily swayed.
“I’m so sorry you got dragged into this, Sadie.” His voice was tight with some kind of emotion she couldn’t place at first. Then it slid home. Guilt.
She looked at him, using her fingertips to press the remaining tears from her eyes. “No, it’s fine. It’s all just catching up to me. And I’m tired.”
He blew out a breath, rubbing a hand down his face. “Let’s end this.”
40
The Exchange
The idea had started to form sometime during the night, when Chase had held Sadie pressed against his body, feeling the deep and even breathing that told him she was asleep.
With the faintest light sneaking through the edge of the curtains, he’d been able to make out the curves of her face, caressed by moonlight, her full lips partially open. And he’d ached.
Ached for more nights like that. When his only concern might be accidentally waking her when he turned over. Not worrying about whether someone was going to sneak in the window and slit his throat in the darkness.
He’d been desperately searching for a way forward, a way to end this job once and for all. Because unless he took out every player in the game, he would be at the top of multiple target lists.
The answer had come to him, and he’d planned to make the call first thing that morning.
And then Zimmerman’s guys had shown up.
“Where are we going?”
Her voice sounded so small, still heavy with the emotion she was trying to pass off as exhaustion. He knew that wasn’t it. Or not all of it, though he wouldn’t pretend to know what she might have been thinking or feeling. But he sensed the depth, the well she was trying to send whatever emotions back into that stretched so far down, he might never plumb the depths.
“You remember what I told you about my dad?”
He caught her nod in his periphery.
“He was arrested by this old FBI agent who’s retired now. And I think he might be our in for how to get around this list.”
He felt her confusion envelop him.
“Did you become friends with him?”
He blew out a breath, thinking back to how they’d left that situation. “Not exactly.”
She pursed her lips. “Why do I feel likenot exactlymeans he might answer the door with a gun in his hand?”
