Page 28 of Entwined With You

He looks at me, his expression entirely blank.

“When we talked before the heist, that’s what she said. That someone told her that you couldn’t be trusted.” I watch his face, looking for any clue. “That you’d rigged the van to explode. That you wanted her dead.”

He bursts to his feet, and I can practically see the fury coming off him in waves.

“Who?” he demands. “Who the fuck said that?”

He runs his fingers through his hair, apparently not realizing that I haven’t answered. “Someone knew,” he says softly, almost to himself. “Someone knew the van was going to explode.” He glances at me. “Whoever that was has to be the person who planted the bomb.”

He moves to the center of the room and starts to pace, cursing under his breath, mumbling to himself. Finally, he stops and turns back to face me. “She knew there was a threat. So why would she stay in the car?”

“I guess it’s because she didn’t believe you’d ever do that.”

“Well, she was right. I wouldn’t. I didn’t.”

“But someone did,” I say.

He seems to collapse like liquid into a puddle on the ground. He’s sitting on his knees, his head bent forward. “Oh, God. Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

I watch his shoulders shaking as he silently cries, and when he looks up at me, his eyes are swollen, his cheeks wet.

“She died,” he says, his voice heavy with grief. “She died and her last thought was that I’m the one who killed her.”

Chapter Eight

“No, no,” I say, kneeling in front of the sofa and putting my hand on his thigh. “Brax, look at me.”

He lifts his head, his expression more miserable than I have ever seen it.

“She would never have believed that. Not ever.” The words seem to hang in the air. I’m telling him the truth—I didn’t believe it. Not until I was safely out of the van.

Not until after the van exploded, and I was alive despite myself. And when they showed me the proof, I became certain that my guardian angels had been right. The man I loved had tried to kill me.

But that’s not what I tell him now. Instead I tell him a lie that I wish were true. “She wouldn’t believe it,” I stress. “Not even if there was proof. She would have known it was fake somehow.”

He looks up at me, his expression so lost that I have to fight the urge to kiss him. “She wouldn’t have had time to think about it, anyway. Even if she did, it wouldn’t be to blame you. She’d think that someone set her up. Not you. Someone else.”

Some of the misery fades from his face. “Are you sure?”

“I know her better than anyone.” I don’t know what possesses me to do it, but I cup his cheek in my palm and meet his eyes. “Anyone except maybe you. Trust me.”

The words linger between us, bittersweet. Because right now, in this moment, I truly believe them.

But on that day—and for the last fifteen years—I trusted my saviors—now my employers—to know who planted that bomb.

Except what if they were only right about the fact of the bomb? What if they got the perpetrator completely wrong?

Oh, god.

Could I have really got it so wrong? For that matter, could they really have been so wrong?

Surely they didn’t—

I squeeze my eyes shut tight, forcing the thought to stay away. There’s no way. No way they would do that.

Really? The voice in my head is harsh. Because believing Brent fucked you over wasn’t just your invitation in to Group Ultra, it was the reason you walked through the goddamn front door.

I swallow, suddenly unsure of everything.