Page 3

With a sigh, I drop it into Malik’s open palm. He doesn’t say anything. I’m sure he knows. Carys is the kind of woman I like, and gathering information on her doesn’t sit well with me. She’s not a bad person, but sometimes she does bad things.
“I have some… news,” Malik hesitates.
I glance up, trying to catch his attention, but he’s not looking at me anymore. “Something I won’t like.”
“Maybe you will.”
“Malik, seriously, you’ve been my handler for a few years.” I let out a huff. “The way you started this conversation tells me I’m not going to be happy. Are they pulling me?”
“Yes.” Malik sighs, his shoulders dropping. “Probably.”
“I’m getting somewhere. It takes time.” I’ve never been pulled off an assignment before, and it stings more than I expect. Time, that’s what I need. She trusts me.
“It’s not what you’re assuming.” He sits on the edge of the double bed. The white duvet cover is too pristine, too pure compared to the rest of the dingy room.
I sit next to him, and he takes my dusty-brown hand in his two darker ones. My body relaxes as though it’s releasing a giant breath. I’ve been holding myself in for weeks. Being on high alert is exhausting. Here, with him, I can be me, Kimi. Out there, I’m Kim, and keeping my lies straight is like walking a tightrope. One wrong move, and I’m falling to my death.
With a side glance, I appreciate the familiarity of him, his broad shoulders, muscular biceps, and angular, open face. From the first time I arrived at a hotel room to find he replaced my previous handler, we’ve had an easy, steady relationship.
“For what it’s worth, I asked them to keep you on this assignment. You might stay. It depends on whether you’re picked or whether we can slot you in easily.”
“Picked? Malik, you know I hate riddles. Out with it.”
“Are you familiar with the Donaghey family?”
I frown, ticking through the operations I’ve been part of the last few years. “No,” I admit. Something about the name is just out of my grasp. The name spins around my consciousness searching for the last time I heard it.
“Hmm. That’s probably good. We couldn’t find any direct employment connections even though you grew up outside Boston. You consistently use Kim which makes it easier compared to other undercover agents.”
A name close to my own keeps me grounded. Some people need to divorce their normal selves. For me, weaving details is easier than inventing them, then remembering my inventions.
“What about the Donaghey family?” I remove my hand from Malik’s to rub his thigh in slow circles.
“Brothers. Mafia in Boston. The head of the organization, Eamon Donaghey, their father, was murdered.”
Now my brain latches onto what I saw on TV a while ago in Carys’s office. She knew the brothers and liked them. Or she liked one of them. My eyes narrow, trying to remember what she said. Her wording was precise, as though there was more to the story. At the time, I wondered if I should pry, but it hadn’t been information I needed for either job.
“The organization is fracturing. Lorcan and Finn are on the cusp of an all-out war.”
“And?” How well would Carys know these men? Sometimes connections between people are stronger than they appear.
“The younger brother, Lorcan, has been low-key looking for a female bodyguard to add to his staff.”
I freeze and remove my hand from Malik’s leg. “They want to undo months of work on my part to make me abodyguard? Are you kidding me? I’m practically the second-in-command with Carys. This is ridiculous. Off the top of my head, there are at least ten FBI women who could do this.”
“Any of those women read, write, and speak Irish Gaelic?” He cocks an eyebrow.
I frown. “They only communicate in Irish?”
Malik’s shrug is almost imperceptible while his dark eyes search my face. “Our mole says most top-secret communication happens in Irish Gaelic—emails, verbal conversations, text messages.”
Shit.I can see why they’d want to move me. My father, after my older half-brother was killed, developed an obsession with Irish Gaelic. It was all he spoke until his death. I had to learn it.
“I guess that answers thewhy mepart.” I sigh and stand up, crossing to the minibar and plucking out a couple of bottles. I pour Malik a whiskey in a coffee cup and pass it to him and then pour one for myself. “Am I getting an introduction? Is there a plan?”
“You’re not mad? You’re okay with being close to home?” Malik eyes me while he takes a sip of his whiskey.
“I’m not thrilled.” I put my own glass to my lips and breathe in the sharp aroma.