Page 17

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

The hospital room door locks behind me with a soft click. Eamon's eyes track my movement as I approach his bed, hunger replacing the pain medication haze from yesterday.

"How long until the nurses check on you?" I ask, setting my gun and badge on the nightstand.

His mouth curves into the dangerous smile that first caught my attention months ago. "Twenty minutes. Why?"

Instead of answering, I climb onto the narrow bed, straddling his hips with care for his bandaged ribs. His hands immediately grip my thighs through my FBI-issued slacks.

"Sorcha," he growls, voice rough. "I'm not exactly at full strength here."

"Good thing I plan to do all the work." I lean down, lips brushing his ear. "You nearly died protecting me. Now I want to show you exactly what that means to me."

His grip tightens. "The nurses?—"

"Will mind their own business if they know what's good for them." I bite his earlobe, making him hiss. "This is what I need, Eamon. To feel you alive under my hands."

Three days of watching monitors, counting breaths, praying he'd wake up. Three days of realizing I'd burn down the entire Bureau if it meant keeping him safe.

I work his hospital gown up, revealing the hard planes of his chest marred by purple bruises and white bandages. My fingers trace around the injuries, worshipping every inch of unmarked skin.

"You're mine," I whisper against his throat. "My criminal. My protection. Mine."

"Yours," he agrees, bucking beneath me despite the pain. "All yours, agent."

The title sounds different now. Not a barrier between us, but a game we play. Federal agent and Irish enforcer, twisted together in ways that would horrify my supervisors.

I grind against his growing hardness, still fully clothed while he lies exposed beneath me. Power and vulnerability shifting between us like a drug.

"Tell me what you want," I demand.

"I want to watch you come apart on top of me. Want to feel how wet you get when you're in control." His voice drops to gravel. "Want to mark you so every fed in that building knows who you belong to."

Heat pools between my legs at his words. I reach for his hands, pinning them beside his head despite his injuries.

"You don't get to mark me," I say, grinding harder. "I mark you."

I lean down and bite his shoulder, just above the bandages. Hard enough to leave teeth marks. He arches beneath me, cursing beautifully in Irish.

"The FBI called six times today," I tell him, working my way down his chest with teeth and tongue.

"What did you tell them?"

"Nothing. I was too busy keeping you alive." I reach his hip bone, nipping the sensitive skin there. "But I have to go in this afternoon."

His hand tangles in my hair, pulling me back up to meet his eyes. "What will you tell them about us?"

"That depends." I position myself over him, still clothed but pressed against his cock through the thin hospital gown. "Are you planning to disappear when this is over? Go back to your life of violence and crime?"

"Not without you."

The words hit me like electricity. I rock against him, chasing friction through too many layers of clothing.

"Even if it means leaving Boston? Leaving your family?"

"You are my family now." His hands find my hips, guiding my movements. "My loyalty. My choice."

I pull back to shed my jacket and blouse, revealing the black lace bra underneath. His eyes devour the sight of me above him, rumpled and desperate.

"The review board will crucify me for this," I tell him, unclasping the bra. "For choosing a criminal over my duty."

"Is that what you're doing?"

I lean down, pressing my bare breasts against his chest, careful of his wounds. "I chose you the moment I let you into that safe house instead of calling for backup. Everything after was just me catching up."

He captures my mouth in a kiss that tastes like possession and promise. His tongue claims mine while his hands roam my bare back, mapping territory he's learned by heart.

"The door," I gasp against his lips.

"Is locked. And anyone who tries to interrupt us will answer to me."

The threat in his voice sends heat straight to my core. Even injured, even vulnerable, he's still dangerous. Still mine.

I work my slacks and underwear down, kicking them off without breaking our kiss. Now we're skin to skin, my wetness coating his length as I grind against him.

"Inside me," I demand. "Now."

He positions himself at my entrance, hands gripping my hips to guide me down. I sink onto him with a moan that echoes off the sterile walls.

"Christ, you feel perfect," he breathes, head falling back against the pillows.

I start to move, riding him with deliberate control. Each thrust sends sparks through me while his hands worship my body, thumbs brushing my nipples until I arch into his touch.

"Is this what you want from me?" I ask, picking up the pace. "Your federal agent, fucking you in a hospital bed while her colleagues hunt for her?"

"I want all of you. The agent, the woman, the fighter." His voice strains with pleasure and pain. "Every dangerous, beautiful piece."

I lean forward, bracing my hands on either side of his head as I ride him harder. The angle hits something deep inside me, making me cry out.

"That's it," he encourages. "Take what you need from me."

"I need everything." The confession tears from my throat as pleasure builds. "I need you alive. I need you safe. I need you mine."

"Then claim me."

I bite his jaw, his throat, marking him as thoroughly as he's marked my soul. My movements become frantic, chasing release while he meets each thrust despite his injuries.

"Come for me," he orders. "Show me who owns who."

The command pushes me over. I shatter above him, clenching around his cock as waves of pleasure crash through me. He follows with a groan that vibrates through his chest, spilling inside me while I collapse against him.

We lie tangled together, breathing hard in the aftermath. His hands stroke my hair while I listen to his heartbeat, strong and steady beneath my ear.

"What happens now?" he asks.

"Now I go face the music with my supervisors." I lift my head to meet his eyes. "Tell them I'm taking a leave of absence."

"And after?"

"After, we disappear. New city, new names if we have to." I trace the edge of a bandage with my finger. "Think you can handle a quiet life with a disgraced federal agent?"

His laugh rumbles through his chest. "Darling, nothing about you will ever be quiet."

A knock at the door interrupts us. I scramble for my clothes while Eamon adjusts his hospital gown.

"Mr. Kavanagh?" A nurse's voice calls. "Visiting hours end in ten minutes."

"Come in," he calls back.

I'm dressed and composed by the time she enters, though my lips feel swollen and my hair is mussed.

"How's our patient?" she asks, checking his monitors.

"Much better," Eamon says, eyes finding mine. "Ready to start recovery."

She makes notes on his chart. "Doctor Morrison will discharge you tomorrow if your vitals stay stable."

After she leaves, I gather my belongings from the nightstand. My badge feels heavier in my hands.

"I'll be back tonight," I tell him. "After I deal with the Bureau."

"Sorcha." He catches my wrist as I lean down to kiss him goodbye. "Whatever they threaten you with, remember—we have evidence of their corruption. Byrne's conspiracy. They need us more than we need them."

I nod, though we both know the truth. I've crossed too many lines to come back from this unchanged.

"I love you," I tell him.

"I love you too. Now go show those bureaucrats what happens when they try to separate us."

I walk out of that hospital room a different woman than the one who entered. The federal agent who started this investigation died somewhere in the wreckage of corruption and violence.

The woman leaving chose love over duty, passion over procedure.

And I regret nothing.

Two hours later, I sit across from Assistant Director Martinez, Deputy Director Walsh, and Internal Affairs investigator Sarah Kim. The tribunal feels like a firing squad.

"Agent Quinn," Martinez begins, "your actions during the Kavanagh operation raise serious concerns about judgment and protocol adherence."

"The operation succeeded," I reply. "We exposed corruption within the Bureau and dismantled a criminal conspiracy."

"At considerable cost to operational security," Walsh adds. "Your relationship with the target compromised the investigation."

"My relationship with Eamon Kavanagh provided intelligence we never would have obtained through traditional methods."

Kim consults her notes. "You operated without authorization, endangered federal personnel, and developed personal feelings for a known criminal."

"I adapted to developing circumstances and followed the evidence where it led."

"Even when it led you to trust an Irish mob enforcer over your sworn duty?" Martinez asks.

The question hangs between us. Three faces wait for my answer—an answer that will determine my future in federal law enforcement.

"Eamon Kavanagh saved my life. Multiple times. He provided intelligence that exposed Agent Byrne's corruption and prevented further criminal activity." I meet each of their gazes. "Yes, I trusted him. That trust was justified."

"Was it justified when he eliminated Vincent Collins?" Walsh presses.

"Collins was eliminated during an armed confrontation. I was not present during that specific incident."

"But you had prior knowledge of Kavanagh family intentions."

"I had knowledge that Collins posed a continued threat to the investigation and to witness safety."

My phone buzzes with a text. I glance down: Byrne arrested. Confessed to eliminating Agent Stevens. Case closed. - Martinez

I look up to find Martinez watching me read.

"We arrested Agent Byrne an hour ago," he says. "He approached Agent Ramirez this morning, claiming you were feeding information to the Kavanaghs and needed elimination. Ramirez reported the contact."

Relief floods through me. "He confessed?"

"To multiple federal crimes, including the murder of Agent Stevens." Martinez slides a tablet across the table. "He's attempting to implicate you in his conspiracy, but his accusations contradict all evidence."

The video shows Byrne in handcuffs, voice carrying his desperate lies: "Quinn was working for them from the beginning. The whole operation was compromised."

"His story falls apart under scrutiny," Kim notes. "Communications records, witness statements, and physical evidence all support your version of events."

"However," Walsh continues, "your unauthorized methods require formal review. Internal Affairs must investigate your actions during this operation."

I nod. Expected this outcome.

"Effective immediately, you're placed on administrative leave pending that investigation."

The words sting but don't surprise me. "How long?"

"Six months minimum. The investigation will determine whether disciplinary action is warranted."

Six months of limbo while bureaucrats debate my fate. But I made my choice weeks ago in that safe house.

"There is one positive development," Martinez adds. "The Kavanagh family provided extensive cooperation in the Byrne investigation. That cooperation resulted in a limited immunity agreement."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning Eamon Kavanagh won't face federal charges for his assistance. Clean record, moving forward."

At least he's protected. Whatever happens to my career, I accomplished that much.

"Agent Quinn," Martinez concludes, "clean out your desk. Turn in your credentials. We'll contact you when the review ends."

I stand, shake hands professionally, and walk out with my spine straight.

In the parking garage, I dial Eamon.

"How did it go?" he asks immediately.

"Administrative leave. Byrne's in custody. You're clear of federal charges."

"What about your career?"

"Uncertain. But I made my peace with that choice." I unlock my car. "Eamon, how do you feel about California? Or maybe Colorado?"

"Are you asking me to run away with you, Agent Quinn?"

"I'm asking if you want to build a life with me somewhere they don't know what a Kavanagh is."

His laugh carries joy and relief. "I thought you'd never ask."

"Pack light. I'll pick you up tomorrow morning."

"Sorcha?"

"Yeah?"

"No regrets?"

I think about the badge I just surrendered, the career I spent twenty years building, the institutional loyalty I abandoned for one dangerous man.

"None at all."

The FBI gave me purpose for two decades. Eamon Kavanagh gave me something worth abandoning that purpose for.

Tomorrow we start over. New city, new names, new life.

Just the two of us against whatever comes next.

It's everything I never knew I wanted.