Page 22

“Revenge, then?”

Revenge.Such a simple word for the systematic destruction of her life.

“That’s our working theory.” Leo cradled his mug, but he didn’t drink. “We need confirmation before we move forward.”

Brock stirred his tea, creating a small whirlpool. “Bychkov’s vouching for you. That counts for something. Not many people he’d stick his neck out for.” His eyes narrowed. “Except maybe after Peru.”

Brock and Leo had shared history. Connection. The very thing she’d fought so hard against for so long.

A sly grin spread across Brock’s face before he slurped noisily from his mug. “Heard whispers here and there. Nothingconcrete, but I’ve got ears in places MI6 doesn’t. I can put out feelers.”

“We’d appreciate that,” Kat said. “Time isn’t exactly on our side.”

Brock opened his mouth to reply when a sharp beep sliced through the room. His head whipped toward the monitors—three screens flashed urgent red.

“Fuck.” Tea splashed across the table as his mug hit hard. The bumbling pensioner vanished, replaced by a razor-sharp operator.

His eyes locked with Leo’s. “Were you followed?”

Cold washed through Kat. “No?—”

“Kitchen. Move. Now.” Brock was already moving, words clipped like gunfire. He herded them into the narrow kitchen.His palm slammed against paneling and a section of wall swung inward with a pneumatic hiss. The space beyond was coffin-narrow. Barely three feet deep.

“In. Both of you. Now.” Brock shoved her into the black mouth of the hiding space.

Kat stumbled forward, glimpsing bottled water, beans and cat food, before Leo’s bulk filled the space behind her, his chest slamming against her back as Brock sealed them in.

Darkness. Complete and suffocating.

His breath ghosted across her nape, each exhale sending shivers racing down her spine. Steel and heat surrounded her—his body a shield, even in hiding.

His arms wrapped around her waist, his fingers splayed across her stomach. The solid wall of his chest expanded with each breath against her shoulder blades. His scent enveloped her—pine soap and something darker, pure male.

She found his forearms, intending to create space, but instead her fingers found the corded muscle beneath his sleeves. His skin burned against her fingertips.

Pressed against him in the darkness, she faced an unsettling truth—the greater danger wasn’t outside this hiding space, but right here, wrapped around her.

10

The panel sealedthem in darkness. Leo’s arms came around Kat before conscious thought—muscle memory from a dozen ops where keeping his partner alive meant keeping them close. But this wasn’t just any partner, and the way her body fit against his had nothing to do with tactical positioning.

The space was cramped with only a sliver of light from a gap at the top of the panel. Each breath drew her deeper into his lungs—rose with a hint of sandalwood and vanilla.

Her body pressed flush against his, her backside molded against him.

Too close.

Not close enough.

Fuck.

Her hair whispered against his jaw, and blood rushed south as his palm pressed against the soft heat of her stomach. The bare skin of her nape gleamed in the dim sliver of light, taunting him. The temptation to taste her, to press his lips to that inch of bare skin, set his pulse thumping in his temple, making it hard to think of anything buther.

“Leonid.” Her breath disturbed the air.

His name on her lips—Leonid, not Leo—hit him like a physical touch. Only his mother had ever used his full name with such intimacy.

A tremor ran through her. Barely perceptible, or it would have been, if every nerve ending in his body wasn’t cataloging her response to his touch. He gave her a gentle squeeze of reassurance and was rewarded by a tiny hiccup in her breathing.