Page 174 of Sins of a King

“Out.”

I waved them both away and then collapsed into bed. Rolling over onto Flynn’s side, I fell asleep. The phone ringing jarred me awake. I went to answer it and wet my dry lips. “Hello?” I croaked.

“Barrett.”

“Flynn,” I said in relief. “You’re awake.”

“Unfortunately,” he groaned. “I feel like hell.”

My eyes settled on the alarm clock. It was two in the afternoon, which meant it was evening in Scotland. “God, I miss you,” I blurted out.

“I miss you,” he said. “I wish you were here.”

“Me too. I’m sorry I had to stay here. We thought it would be—”

“I know, hen,” he crooned. “I know why you’re there. If we were normal people, you’d be with me.”

“If we were normal people, I doubt you would be in this position.”

“Valid point.”

“How is Duncan? And Malcolm?”

“Malcolm has been cursing at me in a Gaelic English mix, saying I was a damn fool to trust an FBI agent.”

“Oh no,” I said with a chuckle.

“He’s called me a bloody eejit no less than five times. Somehow that man makes me feel like a teenager all over again.”

“I don’t want you to worry about a thing,” I said. “Just get well, and I’ll figure a way out of this mess with Winters.”

He paused for a moment before asking, “Do you think there’s really a way out of this? Winters is after my blood. He won’t stop until he gets it.”

“There’s always a way,” I said, believing it. “I just haven’t figured it out yet.”

“We,” he corrected. “We haven’t figured a way out of it. But we will.”

“We will,” I vowed.

Chapter 56

Two weeks passed, and everything with Winters was quiet. Flynn was on his way to a full recovery, and even though we talked and video chatted every day, it wasn’t the same as being able to touch his face, love his body, or have him cradle me in his arms.

Everyone was still on guard—the bust with Winters had everyone tense and overly cautious. I didn’t believe it was over. That just wasn’t our lives. We had brief lulls and moments of calm, but usually, we were dealing with catastrophes, kidnappings, and gunshot wounds.

I went to the doctor who confirmed I was pregnant—and about six weeks along. The reality of it hadn’t hit me yet, but I knew I needed to tell Flynn. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about it, but I knew I was keeping it. There never seemed to be a good time to drop that kind of bomb on him, especially with an ocean separating us.

“Have you told Flynn you’re pregnant?” Ash asked one day over lunch. We were at a French restaurant on the Upper East Side, close to The Rex.

“Have you told Duncan you have feelings for him?” I shot back.

Her fork stopped halfway to her mouth. “Why would I do that? He’s in Scotland.”

My eyes widened. “How did you—”

“He calls to check in on me.”

“You want to sleep with him.”