Page 7 of The Wrong Husband

Bloody hell, she nearly caught me again.

This morning, I risked everything by breaking cover near her hospital to rescue that damn kitten.

She saw me. But I slipped away before she could make contact.

Now she’s on her street again— Pausing. Looking around her. She scans the darkness like sheknowsI’m out here.

I freeze.

There’s no way she can see me from this distance, not at this hour. Still, I hold my breath. My grip tightens on the steering wheel. I don’t even blink.

Why did she stop like that? What exactly did shefeel?

I’m parked far enough away. I’ve done this kind of surveillance a hundred times—hell, a thousand. Most people never even get a twinge. But her? She picks up on me like I’m transmitting on a private frequency only she can hear.

A full ten seconds pass before she finally walks up her path and disappears inside. The front door shuts with a quiet click.

Only then, do I let the tension bleed out in a slow exhale.

She left the lights on again. She always does. All day, every day. Maybe it’s a comfort to her, so she doesn’t feel like she’s coming home to an empty house?

I scan the surroundings of her house, my training as an undercover operative kicking in. Never let down your guard; that’s the first rule.

The second? Never get involved with those who know you in your undercover life.

I’m on a sabbatical from MI5.

She is my current assignment. And I already crossed the line of being personally involved, considering it’s my best friend who asked me to watch out for his little sister.

Still, I can only do my job if I keep some distance, which means, trying my best to ignore this draw toward her.

With half my attention still on her house, I reach for the tablet on the passenger seat. I ignore the open tab—a dense research paper on recent trauma protocols. I already speed-read it, along with the core textbooks in emergency medicine.

Just enough to hold my own in her world.

When you’ve got an IQ north of 150, it’s not hard to absorb the material. The real challenge is understanding how she thinks—what drives her, what keeps her tethered to a job that demands everything.

I want to know it all. That’s the first step to getting under her skin—and staying there.

I pull up the report I worked on earlier for James and send it to him. As I’ve done over the last three weeks, I video call him.

He picks up on the second ring. “How is she?”

“She seems fine.”

“What do you meanseems?”

I choose my words carefully, not wanting to let on how personally involved I already am on this assignment.

“Nothing’s changed since my last report. She works all day. Comes home so late, there’s only time for her to sleep. Tomorrow is her day off, so I’m hoping she’ll be out and about.”

“Hmm.” James rubs his jaw. “Sheisan ER doctor, and they work long hours, but you’re right. The fact that she hasn’t been out the entire week, except for the hospital and home, isn’t very healthy.”

He exhales hard. “I’m a shit brother. I should have been more involved in her life.” He drags his fingers through his hair. “Thanks for doing this, bro. I appreciate it.” His tone is gruff.

I feel guilty that I’m so invested; this has gone beyond professional. No way, can I tell James that…Yet.

If I do, he’ll pull me off the surveillance and hand it over to someone else. The thought of any other man parked in my place and watching her ties my guts in knots.