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TWENTY-THREE

HARKIN

Call Me Devil - Friends in Tokyo

I t never gets any easier leaving her dead asleep, warm, and tucked on her side in my big bed. But it’s the only time I can get any work done without her curious eyes on me. Not that I’m deliberately trying to hide this from her. I just need to be one thousand percent sure before I blow up her world again. Shit, I’m not sure she has anything left to chip away at with how this last year has been.

James sent over the confirmation text earlier, letting me know the information was ready and waiting. It sat at the forefront of my mind all day while we relaxed around the house for the first time in what felt like weeks of constantly being on the go and on edge.

Secluded in my office, with the door cracked to hear her footsteps, should they come, my shoulders relax the moment my fingers rest against the keys. This is it. This is the ace up our sleeve. The one thing we might be able to use to get Domenico off our backs for good.

The code opens the encrypted file, and photo after photo appears across my screens. The evidence is damning, and there’s no denying it anymore. Keira is the strongest woman I have ever met, but this here might just be the sword that severs her Achilles. That doesn’t stop my brain from harping on the truth. I must tell her. And it has to be done before we track down her grandfather and force a meeting to get to him before Domenico.

I let that knowledge guide me to the next thing on my list. Nikita dropped Keira’s grandfather’s possible locations in our laps. But the man has a lot of property under his and the family’s name. Narrowing it down is taking more time than I expected, but there are three places left to choose from as of last night. There’s a building in Midtown Manhattan, an apartment in Jersey, and a large estate outside the city. It’s comical how similar Domenico and this man seem on paper.

My gut reaction says he’d be in the city. Domenico wouldn’t waste time working so far out of his territory otherwise. The cameras I’ve been able to access haven’t given me a clear shot of the man in the twenty-year-old mug shot I’m working off. But it doesn’t mean he isn’t there, entering from somewhere out of range.

We don’t have time to send James’s contact out to all the addresses for surveillance. Domenico’s text could come in any day now with the meeting set. Our only option is to move in blind and half-cocked. What could go wrong?

“Fuck me,” I whisper into the quiet, drawing a hand down my face.

First thing tomorrow morning, I need to tell her. Give her the evidence we’ve gathered and see how my girl reacts. Maybe I’m not giving her enough credit. She could be fine. I know how well she compartmentalizes the shitty parts of our situation to keep pushing through to the other side. I let her keep building up those walls. But one day, when Domenico is no longer in our hair, and my ex stops popping up out of the blue, I will pick them apart brick by brick until she’s free from the tomb she built for protection.

My fingers hover over the control and P keys, my brain and body warring against each other to be open and honest instead of secretive to protect her. We made a promise, though. This is a secret we need to share. I have no right to keep it from her.

The hiss of the inkjet printer keeps my mind occupied until the last photo sits across my desk. Tucking the photos away into a file folder, I stand and stretch the kink out of my lower back. It’s well past one a.m., and my brain is finally quieting now that I have a plan. Tell Keira, make our way up to midtown Manhattan, drop in on an unsuspecting grandfather to cut her father off at the knees. You know, it's just like any other typical day.

Cinder perks up from my spot, ears moving like satellites at my approach. “Bed,” I command, and she desperately wants to ignore me, but knows better. At least, when I slide between the sheets, pressing into Keira’s back, warmth envelops me everywhere. The combination of a settled consciousness and the warm environment makes me fall asleep in minutes.

Hours later, I’m extricating myself from Keira’s limbs, wrapped around me like she’s worried I’ll leave her side while she sleeps. Thick gray clouds line the sky, dimming the world outside. Rivulets coat the living room windows, adding to the already darkening mood of the morning. An omen, no doubt.

My phone vibrates against the kitchen island, dragging me from loading the beans into the grinder.

We’ve got a situation.

I don’t bother texting back, hitting his contact before bringing it to my ear. The call rings once before I hear his gruff voice on the other line.

“Nikita’s dead,” James says unceremoniously.

I draw in a deep breath. This is the last thing we need to add to the mix. “When?”

“Last night. It looks like a sniper shot through her window.”

“Jesus Christ. How’d you hear?”

“I’ve been watching her since she popped up at the last safe house. Her place is swarming with cops and lots of suits.”

“FBI?”

“And then some. She was deep in their pockets. Working her way out of some trouble she found herself in.”

“You think it’s related to what she gave us?” I ask because I know it’s the first thought that will pop into Keira’s head.

“Timing’s inconvenient for it to be something else, but I can’t confirm otherwise.”

“Fuck! This is not what I needed. I’m about to tell Keira this morning.” I don’t need to explain more. He knows what I’ve been holding back from her. “Now, I have to break this news to her, too.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“Really?”

“Too soon?”

“Way too fucking soon.”

“I’m sure she had a list a mile long of people looking to take her out. I’m not about to shoulder her death, and neither should Keira.”

“Right, well, I’ll just tell her that and say it was your advice.”

“Fuck you,” he spits, but there’s a lightness to his tone. “I’ll keep you posted if I hear anything more.”

“Alright, man. Thanks for the update. Oh, and tell Stacey to keep her phone on her. I’m sure Keira will reach out today after I dump all this shit on her plate.”

“Copy that.”

The line goes silent. I let the phone clatter to the countertop and grip my fingertips around the edge, hanging my head. Another stone on the pile, trying to topple the entire thing. Going through the motions, I make us coffee, steel my shoulders, and head back to the bedroom.

I leave her mug on my nightstand and slip back into bed, sitting up against the headboard. Weighing my options, I spend the next hour debating which piece of shitty news I should start with while watching her sleep peacefully. Ultimately, it comes down to what will send her spiraling further. Her body begins to stir against the sheets, eyelids fluttering open. A small, sleepy smile pulls across her face when she spots me.

“Morning, beautiful.” I finally break the silence of the still room.

“Another coffee wake-up, I see.” She eyes the empty mug in my hands, raising a sassy eyebrow.

“Sorry to disappoint.” I let out a small huff of laughter, reaching back behind me for her now cold mug of coffee. “It’s cold. I can go warm it up for you.”

“No need,” she says, sitting cross-legged next to me. The sheet wrapped around her waist, breast bared to distract me. “Were you watching me sleep?”

“Mhmm.”

“Creep.”

“Not the first time, sweetness. And I can promise you it won’t be the last.”

That gets a big smile from her. She hides it behind the rim of her coffee cup, taking a sip.

“Why do you look like someone kicked your puppy?”

The saying seems ridiculous now that I have a dog for the first time in my life. I can’t imagine anyone kicking Cinder and leaving me with what I can only assume is more a look of dread than one of sorrow.

“We need to talk.” I hate those four little words the moment they come out of my mouth. I can see the panic rise in her eyes. Her anxiety is diving headfirst at the wrong assumption. “Stop right now. It’s not about us.” When her shoulders visibly relax, mine follow. “James called earlier. He got an alert that something happened.”

“Would you just spit it out? This peeling off the Band-Aid shit is making it worse, Harkin.”

“Nikita’s dead, taken out by a sniper. It doesn’t mean it has anything to do with us or what we asked her to investigate. James said the place was crawling with suits, and it seems she was deeper in with the feds than she let on.”

Keira’s eyes are wide, her finger thrumming against the mug gripped tightly between both hands. She doesn’t respond, but I can see the wheels turning in her mind. It’s hitting her hard, but she doesn’t show it with tears or theatrics. Instead, her face gets this pinched, determined look, like she’s about to jump out of bed and make a break for Nikita’s apartment. I drop my hand to her knee.

“There isn’t anything we can do. If we go poking around the scene, it’ll only draw suspicion our way. We can’t afford to have that kind of heat on us right now when we’re working against two of the five crime syndicates in New York City. But James is keeping an eye on things from afar. He’ll let us know if anything new comes of it.”

She’s quiet for another moment, staring into her mug like the answers to all our problems are swirling around in there for her. “Is there proof?”

“Proof?” I ask, not sure where she’s going with this.

“Proof that she’s dead. If she was working with the feds or trying to take people worse than my father down, how do we know she was actually shot? Maybe they’re doing all of this to get her into witness protection, or fuck, maybe she’s been kidnapped.”

“Sweetness.” I run my hand soothingly across her thigh.

“In either of those situations, she would have been taken away quietly, simply vanished for a while. There wouldn’t be half of the NYPD camping around her home for the last twelve hours.”

“Fuck!” The excuses seem to wash away at my words, taken over by a sudden fury.

The mug in her hands flies across the room, crashing against the wall, coffee dripping down the white paint. She gets off the bed, stomping back and forth in front of me.

“This is all my fault. I never should have involved her.”

There it is, the moment I was dreading. I knew she’d blame herself in this situation, regardless of Nikita’s associations.

“Keira.” I try to pull her from her whispered musing, but she doesn’t stop to look at me. Standing from the bed, I move into her path, and her body collides with mine. “Keira,” I say again, a little more sternly this time. My tone and fingers holding her in place by the shoulders stop her, and she looks up. “This isn’t your fault. Even if, and I say if with the smallest possibility, Domenico was involved, this is on him. You didn’t hire the person to take the hit. You didn’t pull the trigger. It’s too heavy of a burden to bear.”

She falls into my chest, letting me hold her while she processes only half of the news I need to share. After a few quiet moments, she pulls back, finding my eyes.

“I’m going to find out who did this to her. I’m going to find them, and when I do, they’re going to regret the choice they made to take her life.”

I cup her face, and she leans into it, not losing any of the fierce determination in her eyes. “One thing at a time, sweetness. But the news about Nikita isn’t all I need to talk to you about. Come to my office.”