Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
“You’re doing the handsome thing again,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “It’s very distracting when I’m trying to focus on federal crimes.”
He stares at me, his eyes searing into mine, and then he huffs a quiet laugh. “Try to stay with me here, Anniston.”
The files are worse than I remembered. Rows of payments. Coded references to private security firms. Mentions of “asset neutralization” that make my skin crawl. Banks leans in closer, shoulder brushing mine, and I have to physically stop myself from leaning into him.
“This connects to the same network my brothers and I’ve been chasing,” he says after a long minute, voice low. “The consultancy. The shell nonprofits. It’s all linked. Your research just gave us a whole new set of doors to kick down.”
I swallow hard. “So I really am in the middle of whatever mess your family is in.”
He turns to look at me then, his face inches from mine. Those gray-blue eyes are intense, steady, and way too easy to get lost in. My breath catches.
“You’re not alone in this anymore,” he says quietly. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”
I stare at his mouth for half a second too long before I catch myself. “You know, for a man who’s supposed to be keeping me alive, you’re making it very difficult not to develop a massive crush. This is terrible timing. I should be terrified, not noticing how good you smell.”
Banks holds my gaze for a long moment. Something flickers across his face, heat mixed with restraint, before he looks back at the screen. “Focus on the files, Anniston.”
“Right,” I whisper, cheeks burning. “Files. Murder. Danger. Got it.”
But as we keep reading side by side on the couch, knees brushing, I can’t help thinking that if I have to be on the run for my life, at least I’m doing it with the most attractive, competent, slightly broody man I’ve ever met.
And that thought is almost enough to make the fear feel bearable. Almost.
SEVEN
BANKS
I sit on the couch beside Anniston, the rugged laptop balanced across my knees. The encrypted transaction logs scroll in neat rows, full of shell company names, wire transfers, and coded references that should have my full attention. Instead, every few minutes she shifts closer on the cushion, her bare knee brushing against my thigh, and another casual, devastating comment slips out of her mouth. Each one lands like a spark on dry tinder, threatening to set the whole morning on fire.
“You’re doing the intense concentration face again,” she says softly, tucking a strand of messy blonde hair behind her ear. Her voice is low and a little husky from sleep. “Eyebrows furrowed, jaw tight, mouth set like you’re about to solve the world’s problems. It’s stupidly hot. I should be panicking about federal crimes and instead I’m thinking about kissing you. This is terrible for my survival instincts.”
My body reacts instantly. Heat surges low in my stomach and spreads outward, tightening every muscle. Fuck. I’ve imagined kissing her at least one thousand seven hundred and fifty nine times since yesterday afternoon. In the truck when her hand brushed mine. Right after I pinned the attacker in the boutique, when adrenaline was still roaring through my veins. On this very couch last night when I pulled her against my chest. Every time her lips part or she lets out that bright, nervous laugh, the fantasy returns stronger, sharper, more dangerous. I shift my weight slightly, adjusting the laptop to hide the very obvious physical response pressing against my jeans, and force my voice to stay level and professional.
“We should, uh… focus on the files.”
She bites her lower lip and nods, but the pretty flush creeping across her cheeks tells me she’s not the only one struggling. I can’t let this happen. This isn’t the time to develop feelings. She’s the principal. My client. My responsibility. My brothers are counting on me to stay sharp. Nash and Sin are fucking missing, God knows where. Dad’s also fucking gone. A distraction right now could get Anniston killed. Besides, she’s probably not even really into me. Stress and fear do strange things to people. Adrenaline creates intense bonds that feel deeper than they actually are. Once the danger passes and she’s safe again, she’ll see me as nothing more than the brooding security guy who happened to be there when her life exploded. Nothing more.
I need to stay professional.
I reach into my bag and pull out the encrypted satellite phone. Anniston watches me closely as I dial Mack. He picks up on the second ring, voice crisp and alert like he’s already been working for hours.
“Banks. You good out there?”
“We’re secure,” I tell him, keeping my tone even. “Anniston handed over a USB she stole from Meridian Financial. I’m looking at it now. It’s everything she said and more. Full transaction logs, shell company structures, direct references to the D.C. consultancy, even some internal memos that mention asset neutralization. It ties straight into the network Dad was investigating before he died, or…uh, vanished.” It’s still crazy to think he didn’t die all those years ago. I pause, and then continue. “Send this up to Vance immediately and have him cross-reference everything with what we pulled from Rowan’s story.”