Page 73 of Sinner’s Game

I stand up and start pacing. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I’m not. I like knowing you’ve got my back, and I definitely like being taken care of. It’s just … safe house. I mean, when did safe houses and almost getting shot in the back enter into my life picture?”

I’m trying to sound light and airy, as if this is all just something to ponder, but I fail. Even I can hear the fear I’m trying to disguise, and soon enough, Ronan is standing, too, and pulling me into his arms.

“We’re going to figure this out.”

I nod, not looking in his eyes. I want it figured out—I do. But the downside of that success is I lose Ronan. Because that is one thing he’s made perfectly clear.

I draw a breath. “Listen, Ronan…”

He looks at me. “What is it, angel?”

I shake my head, feeling like a fool, but we’re trapped in a tiny safe house. Do I really want to start an uncomfortable conversation about a future he swears he doesn’t want?

No, I don’t. Because as much as I want that conversation to end with him pulling me close and promising never to leave me, I’ve seen the damage that the past has done to this man.

So instead, I shake my head again, then move out of his embrace. “Nothing,” I say, then shove my hands into the pockets of the sweatpants I’m wearing.

“Just, um, that I should probably see if there’s anything in that refrigerator to cook for dinner.”

He reaches out, brushing my elbow. “You don’t have to cook. I’ll do that.”

I shake my head. “No. This is the way it works. You save my life, and I feed you.”

“Well, that sounds like a fair deal.”

I open the refrigerator door and frown at the contents. Then I open the freezer. It’s a little better there. There’s a roast, which I don’t have time to defrost, but there’s also some frozen hamburger patties. I go check the pantry and find a package of hamburger buns that are only a few days old. Either the turnaround in a safe house is frequent, or someone added to this stock before we arrived.

“So the guy you were talking to,” I say as I begin prepping the meal, “he’s that Colonel from the place you and Tamra told me about? That covert branch?”

“Yes. Anderson Seagrave. Good guy. I’ve known him for years.”

“And he’s helping you track Sheldon Cartwright? The guy who killed Michelle?”

“My father killed her.” His voice is harsh. No nonsense. “But yes. According to Seagrave, he’s in LA on a revenge mission. Payback for an operative who betrayed him.”

“Which means you still have time. That night you stayed with me instead of going on your trip didn’t screw you over. You can go up to LA right now. You can get your revenge.”

His jawline tightens. “I’m not leaving you.”

“It’s a safe house, Ronan. Aren’t they named that for a reason?”

“I’m not leaving you.”

I shake my head, turning away from the burgers now sizzling on the grill. “You can’t put this on protecting me,” I say. “Reggie is here. That whole team that surrounded us at the restaurant is here. You should go. I’ll be fine.”

“No.”

I gape at him.

“End of subject, okay?” His voice is gentle. “You’re just going to have to live with the fact that I’m not leaving you. Do you really think I’d trust your safety to someone else?”

“You trust Saint’s Angels.”

“Not for this,” he says. “Not for you.”

My heart squeezes, and I nod. “Okay. But, Ronan, is this ever going to be over?”

“It will. I promise you.”