Page 6

Never risk exposure.

Never let anyone close enough to compromise you.

But much to my utter confusion, with Lucy's unconscious form in my arms, those iron-clad rules shatter. The need to protect her overrides years of planning and preparing.

I shoulder through the door of my apartment. The metallic scent of her blood fills my nose, mixing with her vanilla perfume in a way that makes my stomach clench.

I lay her on my bed, since the couch is lumpy, and go to gather first aid supplies, cursing at myself. Years of careful planning, of staying invisible, of hunting from the shadows, all of it compromised because I couldn't walk away from a pretty woman with more courage than sense.

My brothers are going to kill me. If the Keans don't get to me first.

I cut away her bloody sleeve. The wound isn't deep, but it's long, a defensive slash that caught her when she raised her arm. Fighting back, because of course, she did. Too brave for her own good.

I clean the cut, trying to ignore how soft her skin feels under my hands, how right it feels to take care of her. This isn't part of the mission. This isn't what I came back to Boston for.

“What is it about you, Lucy?”

As I watch her, I have a sense of drowning. I don’t understand it. Women are a dime a dozen in my life. I enjoy them but don’t get attached. So why do I feel like something inside has shifted? I want to lie beside her, gather her close, and protect her from the ugliness of the world she just stepped into. My carefully constructed, well-planned life is realigning itself around this woman, and I'm powerless to stop it.

3

LUCY

Oh, God. Where am I?

I wake in a bed that isn’t mine, in a room I don’t recognize. Panic rips through me as I take in the strange surroundings.

Memories flood back. The pub. The alley. Kean’s crew. Flynn.

He saved me, or did he? Did he overtake Kean’s men only to take me for himself?

I move to rise from the bed when a sharp pain grips my arm. I look at it, noting the bandage covering a wound. I remember the knife. And then later, blood.

The sound of movement from another room sends fresh adrenaline coursing through my system. I scan for weapons, exits, anything I can use to defend myself. I stand, looking out the window to find a four-story drop to the street below. Not an option. A heavy lamp on the bedside table might work as a makeshift weapon.

My fingers close around the lamp's base just as footsteps approach the bedroom door.

The door opens and Flynn’s tall frame fills the doorway. “You’re awake.”

I have a strange sense of relief at seeing him, even as I’m terrified I’m still in trouble. I don’t know this man. Yes, I find him attractive, but Ted Bundy was a good-looking guy too.

Through the bedroom door, I can see a slice of what looks like a living room and the front door. I wonder if I can nonchalantly thank him for helping me and leave.

He crosses the room in three long strides, keeping his distance as if he can tell I’m skittish. "How's the arm?"

I glance at the bandage. The wrapping is neat, almost professional. "You did this?"

"Better than letting you bleed out in an alley." His blue eyes lock with mine. "Though maybe next time, don't follow strange men into dark corners?"

Heat creeps up my neck. "I was following a lead."

"You were following trouble." He moves to the window, adjusting the blinds. The moonlight catches his profile, highlighting a fresh bruise along his jaw. "And finding it."

I’m filled with conflicting emotions. This stranger saved me, patched me up, gave me his bed. But he's also an unknown variable in a city full of dangerous men. The journalist in me can't ignore the questions piling up. Why was he watching me? How did he take down four Kean men without breaking a sweat? Why bring me to his place instead of a hospital?

"Thank you," I manage. "For stepping in. Hope you weren’t hurt too.”

He shrugs. "Like I said, I enjoy a good fight."