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“It’s taken care of,” Carver lied, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. “She won’t talk.”
Funny. This was the first time he’d lied to Devlin, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell the truth. He needed time, and he needed to believe Lucy would stay true to her promise.
Devlin fell silent on the other end. “Make sure of it,” Devlin said finally, his voice cold and final. “Loose ends are unacceptable, Carver. You know that.”
“I know,” Carver replied, and before Devlin could say more, he hung up and slipped his phone back into his pocket.
Carver reached his car and got in, gripping the steering wheel tightly. The hunt for Emmet was back on, but now there was more at stake. He had to ensure Lucy’s safety and silence while proving to Devlin that he hadn’t lost his edge.
As he drove through the city, his mind raced with plans to track Emmet down. Emmet wouldn’t get far—Carver knew his habits, his hideouts. But as determined as he was to deal with Emmet, the image of Lucy’s beautiful and terrified face lingered in his mind. What am I going to do with you?
****
Carver eventually returned to his apartment, exhausted and frustrated. All he wanted was to take a bath, wash the stink of the streets off him, eat dinner, and maybe work out a little to clear his mind.
The hunt for Emmet had been fruitless, and his thoughts kept straying back to Lucy, making it impossible to focus. He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the grime and tension of the day.
As the steam enveloped him, he closed his eyes and tried to push away the conflicting emotions that had been plaguing him. When he finally emerged, feeling slightly more human, he wrapped a towel around his waist and headed into the kitchen, his mind already on dinner. Just as he reached for the refrigerator door, a knock echoed through the apartment. Carver froze, his annoyance flaring. Devlin or one of his cronies, stopping by to check on him perhaps? The thought irritated him, but he nonetheless went to the door, prepared to deal with whatever intrusion awaited.
He checked the peephole and felt his heart skip a beat. Lucy stood there, awkwardly holding a casserole dish. Carver was stumped. Some part of him had expected her to cut him loose, to run. It was what any logical person would do. He didn’t expect her to linger, let alone turn up at his doorstep again with another delicious food offering.
He opened the door, his expression a mix of surprise and confusion. “Lucy,” he said.
She gave him a tentative smile, her cheeks flushed. “I thought you might be hungry,” she said.
He stepped aside, allowing her to enter. “Come in,” he told her.
As she walked past him, Carver couldn’t help but notice the way her presence filled the room, making it feel warmer, more alive. She set the casserole dish on the counter and turned to face him, her eyes darting around the apartment before finally settling on him.
“I hope you like lasagna,” she said, her voice a bit shaky.
“I do,” he replied, his voice softening. “Thank you.”
They stood there for a moment, the silence between them charged with unspoken words and unresolved tension. Carver’s mind raced as he tried to make sense of her presence.
“Why did you come back?” he asked, unable to keep the curiosity and concern out of his voice.
Lucy took a deep breath, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of determination and vulnerability.
“I … I wanted to understand you better. And maybe … I couldn’t stay away,” she admitted.
Carver’s heart pounded in his chest as he took a step closer to her. “You know what I am, Lucy. You know what I do,” he said.
She nodded, her gaze unwavering. “I know. But I also know there’s more to you than that. I saw it in your eyes, in the way you tried to protect me when those robbers broke into my apartment,” she said.
He reached out, gently cupping her cheek with his hand, his thumb brushing over her soft skin.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, though his heart screamed the opposite.
“Maybe not,” she replied, leaning into his touch. “But I am.”
The distance between them disappeared as he pulled her into his arms, their bodies fitting together as if they were made for each other.
He kissed her then, softly at first, testing, tasting. But the tenderness quickly gave way to a deeper, more desperate need, the kiss growing hungrier, more intense. Her hands slid up his chest, fingers tracing the hard lines of his muscles, igniting a fire within him that he couldn’t control.
Carver broke the kiss, his breath ragged as he looked into her eyes. “Lucy, you have no idea what you’re getting into,” he said.
Why was he trying to convince her this was a bad idea when he should be doing the opposite?
