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Her voice was soft. “Just wait.”

11

Headlights blazedthrough the windshield like interrogation lamps as the police car approached, washing everything in stark white. Kat’s heart thudded against her ribs. The cruiser drew closer, close enough to reveal the officers inside—one speaking into his radio, the other focused on the road ahead.

Then the cruiser was past, the red taillights shrinking in the rear-view mirror.

Neither of them moved. The tunnel’s fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting alternating patterns of light and shadow.

Kat exhaled slowly, a rush of air that deflated her entire body as she sank back against the seat. “That was close.”

Only then did she register the heat beneath her palm—her hand still covering his, fingers curved over battle-scarred knuckles, tracing the raised ridges of old wounds.

God.

She turned toward him, intending to pull away with a casual remark, but the words evaporated when her gaze collided with his. His eyes held hers, green-black, before dropping to her mouth.

The air between them compressed, and it was impossible to breathe. Her tongue darted across suddenly dry lips.

The tunnel, the hunt for Korolov, the charges against her—everything receded, leaving only the point of contact between her and Leo.

His skin was surprisingly warm. Real in a way that made her carefully constructed life feel like tissue paper.

For years, she’d built walls around herself, compartmentalizing her life into neat, manageable sections. Professional and organized. Yet one touch from this man threatened to collapse everything she’d worked so hard to maintain.

She caught the flex of his jaw, the way his grip flexed on the steering wheel like he was restraining himself from something. For one reckless heartbeat, she thought he might actually pull over. The look in his eyes was molten, dangerous—like he was calculating how quickly he could get them somewhere private. Her pulse thundered as she imagined him doing exactly that, imagined his hands finally free to?—

The tunnel opened to the night sky, streetlights replacing the harsh fluorescents. Sudden light flooded the car, shattering the spell between them.

Kat jerked her hand away. London blurred beyond the glass—the city she loved now nothing but scattered fragments of refracted light.

“We should reach Jane’s in fifteen minutes.” His voice carried a gravelly roughness that hadn’t been there before. She definitely didn’t imagine it.

“Good,” she replied, not trusting herself with more.

She pressed her fingertips against the chilled glass, the lingering warmth of his skin still a memory against her palm.

The contrast was jarring. Hot and cold. Safe and dangerous. Professional distance and... whatever the hell this was between them.

For years, she’d watched colleagues try and fail to balance personal relationships with the demands of service. And she’d been good with the choices she had made. No one had forced her.

Yet for the first time, some rebellious part of her wondered: what if she didn’t choose? What if she reached for what she wanted? The possibility was terrifying, like standing at the edge of a cliff in a thunderstorm—no way to tell if jumping would destroy her or teach her to fly.

“The rain’s getting worse.” His voice broke into her thoughts, and she turned to face him.

This man. This man had droppedeverythingto come and be here for her. Her cheeks heated. She hadn’t even asked about that—what he’d given up to be here.

“It’s London.” She struggled to speak against the heat at the back of her throat. “It’s always raining.”

But as they drove through the glistening streets toward Jane’s, her body and mind registered the same thing. Something fundamental had shifted between them—and within her.

Something that couldn’t be undone, no matter how desperately she tried to rebuild the walls that Leo had already turned to dust.

12

The apartment blockknifed into the storm-dark sky, weathered brick slick with fresh rain.

More fucking rain.