Page 27

I spot the signs. I always do.

From my desk, I watch her take a call, turning away so I can't see her lips move. I notice these changes against my will, proof I kept the distance between us for good reason. Despite what happened in New York, and how she felt wrapped around my cock. I can’t trust her.

No one in my family can afford to trust anyone.

I call Matthews.

"My office. Now."

He arrives and stands silently in front of mt desk. Years of military training shows in his posture.

"I need you to watch Orla Kelly," I say. "Discreetly. No contact. She takes lunch at twelve-forty. Start there."

"How much detail? What am I looking for?"

"Photos. Any meetings. Stay out of fucking sight, I want to know who she talks to, where she goes."

"Got it."

After he leaves, I look out over the harbor. The water is a dirty blue-gray. My fingers tap against wood—I rarely get this distracted.

The woman who proved her worth to me in New York. Who fits into my world. Who matched me in bed as if we'd been fucking for years.

Now a question mark.

Matthews texts at 12:43.

Secretary moving on foot.

I grab my jacket. "Push the one o'clock," I tell the receptionist who is at her desk during lunch.

Matthews waits in his car two blocks away from the office.

"Parker Street," he says as I shut the door. "Coffee shop at the corner. She goes there a lot, they know her name and order by heart."

Through the window of Parker Street Café, I see her. Green blazer, auburn hair tied back, sitting where she can see all exits.

A man walks up to her table. Gray hair, cheap suit, worn shoes. The way he stands there screams cop. My hackles go up right away.

"He’s law enforcement," Matthews says.

I nod.

The man sits down. No warmth passes between them she is not happy to see him, it looks like it is just business. But what business does she have with a cop?

I cross over the road to the pizza place next door where I can see their reflection.

Their talk looks like it is getting heated. He leans in and she pulls back. I catch what looks like "federal" and "timeline" on his lips.

Matthews goes inside orders a coffee he won’t drink, and gets close enough to listen. My phone vibrates in my pocket.

Mat:

Federal task force moving soon... taking too long... growing close to target.

Target. Me. My family. Our business.

Everything falls into place. Not a spy, or an enemy. Law enforcement. A professional betrayal wrapped in sex and sass.