Page 33 of Unravelling The Hitman: A BWWM Romance

“He has his own place behind the villa. He lives there.”

“Oh.” She stepped back while I opened the door. “How did you two meet?”

“He worked for the previous owners. He acts as ground keeper and watchman in exchange for rent and food.”

“Wait a minute.” Angel paused on the bottom stair. “You bought this island.”

“Yes.”

She exchanged a look with Humphries. I glanced between them. “Is something wrong?”

“I just… didn’t even know our islands were for sale.”

“For the right price, anything can be bought, Angel.”

She pulled her lips in. Thin eyebrows slanted together, forming a pointed V.

I’d upset her.

I wanted to get to the bottom of that troubled expression, but Reid needed to be put to bed. I’d have to sift out the reason behind her sudden mood shift later.

With a sigh, I continued up the stairs and showed them to the living room. Angel acted reserved and barely looked at anything, but Humphries gawked unabashedly.

“So this is how the other half lives.”

“Make yourself at home,” I said, ignoring his statement.

“Here.” Angel handed Reid to me, her gaze glued to the ground.

“Sh, sh.” I soothed him as he stirred and waited for him to settle down. When he’d returned to sleep, I shot Angel a look. “Come with me.”

“I’d rather stay out here,” she said quietly but firmly.

Humphries shot me a triumphant look.

I accepted her choice and walked away.

Alone.

Reid’s baby powder scent wafted over me. Usually, I would give him a bath before bedtime, but I couldn’t find the energy to do so tonight.

My hold on Reid tightened.

This hollow feeling… was all because of Angel.

I set Reid in his crib and rubbed his head, sweeping his soft, brown hair away from his face. His thin eyelashes, his pug nose, his round chin. He was perfection. I never thought I’d care about anyone the way I cared about my son.

But Angel had unlocked that side of me. One I thought was hidden away. Like a man who couldn’t swim flailing in the deep end, I had no clue how to navigate the treacherous, unfamiliar waters.

Drowning was not a luxury at my disposal. Not when I had to keep myself and a two-year-old afloat.

A buzzing sound jerked me out of my thoughts.

I fished in my pocket for my phone and swiped my thumb against the screen. No new calls or messages. Stiffening, I reached for the burner I’d stored in my bag.

I unzipped the backpack, grabbed the phone and opened the lid. There were only three messages stored in the logs.

The first was the location of the hit, dated three days ago.

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