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After everything Ronan had seen during his years in the Marines, he’d thought little could still shock him.
He’d been wrong.
“It was awful.” Her voice shook. “So much worse than … Sergei. I just lay there, begging them to stop. But they ignored me. So, I focused on the star on top of the Christmas tree.”
His chest ached.
“I hate Christmas,” she stated, cold and matter of fact.
“I don’t blame you.”
Her laugh was small and broken. “Everyone else loves it.”
“Everyone else didn’t live your life.”
Silence settled between them, and he held her, listening to the steady beat of her heart beneath his hand.
He deliberately kept his thoughts away from Vasily and the anger simmering just beneath the surface. Right now, his focus was on the woman in his arms. The woman who trusted him enough to let down her guard. Trusted him enough to share her darkest, deepest hurts.
The woman who had survived things that should have broken her. Things that would have broken most people.
“I’m in awe of you, Felicity Graham.”
She didn’t respond. Her breathing had gone slow and deep.
A profound sense of satisfaction settled over him.
She was asleep.
In his arms.
Safe.
36
Rubicon
They settled into a routine of sorts, balancing their jobs with the added responsibility of watching over Raegan and her son. Rae mostly stayed home with Jack, but when she ventured out, Felicity accompanied her sister, while he shadowed them from a discreet distance. It took some last-minute calls, but they managed. Several evenings were spent as a group, refining the logistics for the upcoming trip — first to New York to meet with the FBI, then on to Hartford, Connecticut, for the murder trial.
So, on the surface, everything was progressing as planned.
But for two women who had only recently found each other, Felicity and Raegan spent surprisingly little time together. Only when circumstances demanded it. Felicity wasn’t ignoring her sister outright. Rather, she was keeping her at arm’s length.
The same way she did with him.
Even though he stayed with her every night, he still lived out of a duffel bag, stopping by his place every few days to collect fresh clothes. She hadn’t offered him a drawer, much less a place in her life.
Yet every night she stole one of his T-shirts to sleep in.
As if some part of her wanted him close, even while the rest of her fought it with everything she had. That she still intended to leave Clearbrook after the trial was obvious. What troubled him was the growing certainty that she had no intention of letting him come with her.
Too bad.
Because Ronan Murphy had never been particularly good at taking no for an answer. He intended to do everything in his power to change her mind.
Then he stumbled across a document she’d left on the printer in her home office.
At first glance, it looked innocuous enough.
