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“That’s right. Your personal connection means you’re not thinking clearly about this. And when you get personal, you mess up.”

The chill deepens, because I know he’s not just talking about this case anymore.

“I can’t trust you not to rack up a twenty-thousand-dollar invoice for a single night’s work again. You hear me, Kelly? So yes, I think the best solution is to turn her over to me.”

“Not a fucking chance,” I say, my voice cool. I’ve walked all the way over to the west side of my property—I need to get back before Sasha wakes up. Things aren’t just bad with Lionel. They’re so much worse than I thought.

“In that case, you have until Monday to be back in the office, with either a new plan for this girl or your letter of resignation.”

That gives me only the weekend to come up with a plan.

“And Kelly?”

I don’t answer. I’m still processing this new information. He continues, taking it for understanding.

“We’re canceling protection on Smith. When you come back in, you and Ford are getting reassigned to a new case. This one’s in Houston.”

I want to laugh. He has to be joking.

But the extended silence tells me he isn’t.

“Lionel, what the fuck? We’ve put eight months of our lives into this client. We’re this close to blowing it open.”

But I don’t even care about that right now. If we’re relocated, it won’t matter if we’re keeping tabs on Creelman. We’ll be too far away to do anything about it. I’m so filled with rage I feel like my ribs are melting. I don’tgetpissed like my brother Eli does. And I don’t make rash decisions like Jude. I look at the facts and the evidence, and I come up with the best plan for the best possible outcome.

This is all new to me.

Remain fucking calm.

As Lionel gives me some bullshit about why he doesn’t think Smith’s company is a big enough target, I run through my options as fast as I fucking can.

I could go on the run with her. Move to fucking Aruba until shit calms down.

But I can’t just upturn her life and disappear forever on mine.

I need to be able to keep tabs on Creelman, and Sam Macklin, too. And I need McCrae’s resources to do that.

I just need a plan. And I can’t fucking think of one right now.

Lionel’s right—my feelings are clouding my judgment. I press my hand against the tree next to me, glancing back to my house, where Sasha’s sleeping. Except the window in view is the one in my room, and the curtains are open. Shit, she’s up.

“Kelly?”

Forty-eight hours to come up with a plan.

“I’ll need until Tuesday.”

A pause. Then, “If I don’t see you by one o’clock Tuesday afternoon, you’re gone.”

I hang up before he can. Petty, sure, but I can’t let him think he’s got me with his bluff. Because he wouldn’t let me go, would he? He told me himself that Ford and I are the backbone of McCrae, and I know if I left, Ford would, too.

I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers. I’ll think of something. I’m good at thinking of shit, and I’ve done it more on the fly than I’m doing now.

I just need to figure out how to take my goddamned feelings for Sasha out of the mix. It’s a complication making everything a thousand times worse.

I can do that. I just have to figure out how.

Coffee would help.