She tilted her head to the side, and her hair fell over her shoulder. “Just think … you almost got rid of me.”

  I knew she was teasing and trying to lighten the mood, but she was way off. That shit wasn’t funny.

  “I don’t want to get rid of you.”

  She smirked. “Yeah, you do. You just don’t want Sarah to lose someone she loves. That’s why I’m alive.”

  My empty hand fisted, and I set down the can on the bar with a hard thud. “No, Oakley, I don’t. Would it be fucking easier if I felt that way? Yeah. But I don’t. I can’t imagine a fucking world without you in it, and I don’t want to.” The words came out angry, and they said more than I wanted to admit, but she’d pushed me.

  I hated that she thought I wished she were dead. That her life meant nothing to me. Especially when those blue eyes told me she still felt something for me. She had never been good at hiding it.

  The door opened, and I tore my eyes off her and looked at Thatcher as he walked inside. I waited while he made his way inside the lit area of the safe house. When he got close enough, he held up his hand, and Oakley’s phone lay flat in his palm.

  “I need you to make a call,” he said to her.

  “Has it been stripped?” I asked him, not liking that he’d brought her phone in here.

  He shifted his eyes to me. “Do I look fucking stupid?”

  I deserved that, but, damn, today had me on edge.

  Oakley stood up. “My phone,” she said, walking toward him.

  “Yeah.” He nodded at me. “Do your thing.”

  I left my beer on the bar and went to take her phone, then headed to the computer. We had to use the satellite to get any reception in here for it, and then I had to add the tracer to it. Make sure whoever she was about to call could be tracked.

  “You gonna tell me why we are using Oakley?” I asked him.

  I knew there had to be a reason, just like I knew I had to obey. This wasn’t a request. Oakley was somehow connected even if she didn’t know it.

  “Yeah, she’s dating someone of interest.”

  I froze, then turned to look at her.

  The look of confusion on her face as she stared at Thatcher told me she had no idea what he was talking about. “Hamilton?” she asked him.

  He shrugged. “If that’s his real name.”

  “How do we know?” I probed.

  “The number in her phone that he has called and texted her from is the same number that we were able to trace from the call that I received.”

  “Motherfucker!” I roared, gripping the edge of the desk before swinging my eyes to Oakley. “When did you make plans for tonight?”

  Her eyes were wide and panicked. “Today. Not long before you showed up. I … I was drying my hair, and I turned off the hair dryer. My phone rang. It was Hamilton. He asked me out.” She shook her head. “It can’t be him. That makes no sense.”

  “What all did he say to you?” I demanded.

  There had to be something there. If he’d set a fucking bomb in her car, then he had a plan.

  “He … he said …” she stammered. “Uh, well, he asked if I wanted to go to dinner and a movie. I said yes. Then, he asked what I was doing. I told him I was working. No, wait. I said I was getting ready to go grocery shopping. He said to finish my work at the house and then he’d come get me early and take me to the grocery store. I thought it was an odd request, but I said okay.”

  I felt Thatcher’s gaze on me then. I didn’t look at him. I kept my eyes on her. Looking for any sign or suggestion that she knew something. The memory of the liar that she had once been was in the back of my head, reminding me how good she was at it. Could she be that good of an actress though? Nothing gave her away. Not one small sign that she was keeping something from me. All I saw was fear, disbelief, horror, reflected in her eyes.

  “When he said he’d take you to the grocery store, did he say anything else? Like not to leave the house? Anything?” Thatcher pressed.

  She shook her head. “He … he made me promise that I’d wait for him, but that’s it.”

  Did Thatcher see something I was missing? Was my fucking connection to her, which I couldn’t seem to sever, keeping me blinded to a truth she was hiding?

  “He was never gonna hurt her,” Thatcher said finally.

  I swung my gaze to his. This time searching his face for anything to tell me I shouldn’t trust her. Thatcher didn’t let emotions get in the way because he didn’t have any. He was detached, and because of that, he read people better than anyone I knew. If she was lying, he would see it.

  “The bomb was in her fucking car,” I bit out. How could she be in on something like this?

  “Yeah. And he was making sure she didn’t get in the car. Her keys weren’t in the house. We searched everywhere. He’d taken them already. She was never meant to get in that car. That was all a setup to force your hand.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Why didn’t I know about the keys until now?”

  He shrugged. “Because I had a hunch.” He glanced over at Oakley, then back at me. “Why choose her car as the one to set a bomb in? It didn’t make sense. When the guys searched for her keys, they were gone.”

  There was no accusation when he looked back at Oakley. He wasn’t blaming her, and from where I stood, I could tell he didn’t believe she had any idea Hamilton was mixed up in this shit. The relief that came with that knowledge shouldn’t have been so damn powerful. But it was. And not just because Sarah loved her. I needed Oakley to be innocent.

  “What are you getting at?” I asked him when he didn’t say more.

  Thatcher nodded his head at Oakley. “She’s Hamilton’s weak link, but he tried to test you and see if she was yours too. You saved her; she’s locked away from him. He can’t get to her, and he now knows she’s important to you. But what he doesn’t know is that we are now aware she’s important to him and he’d have never let her get in that car. Oakley was the only one of those he threatened who was actually safe.”

  My stomach turned, and bile burned my throat. All this time, she had been dating someone dangerous. He could have hurt her at any time. I’d not protected her.

  “We don’t know this Hamilton guy is who we are looking for.” I fucking needed him not to be our guy. If he was, I was going to live with the horror of what could have happened to her over and over in my head on repeat.

  “It sure is looking like we are real damn close. Let her call him. Then, you work your magic with that damn super computer.”

  I turned my gaze to Oakley. She was close to having had enough for one day. I wanted Thatcher to fucking leave and let her digest all this. She needed some time to rest, let it all settle. She didn’t need to be forced to make a call like this.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Yeah, she fucking does,” Thatcher interrupted me.

  I turned then and took a step in his direction. He wasn’t going to force her to do anything.

  “I’ll do it, Wilder,” Oakley blurted out. “He’s right. We need to know.”

  I swung my gaze back to her as she stood there, looking even paler than when I had told her I was in the Mafia. She wasn’t ready for this mentally.

  “You need some time to process,” I told her.

  She shook her head. “We don’t have time. Sarah is locked up in your house, miles away, because of this man, and if it is Hamilton or if Hamilton knows who it is, then we need to find out. If it’s him”—she paused, and pain flashed in her eyes—“then I brought him into our lives—Sarah’s life. This is on me.”

  No, it wasn’t. This shit was on me. I’d kept my life from her. The truth from her. I hadn’t thought for a second that someone would find her and she’d be used as a target or a weapon. My sudden need to protect her, which had roared to life the moment I thought she was in danger, confused me, but it was there. Taking over. Clouding everything else in the process.

  “You ready to back down now, guard dog?” Thatcher drawled and smirked at me as he watched Oakley to see if she was going to do it or not.

  She was looking at me, and the trust in her eyes undid me.

  “What do I say?” she asked me. Not Thatcher. Her gaze stayed on me.

  Thatcher didn’t give a fuck who she was asking. “You tell him you left with a friend. Mention that you had car trouble and you think someone was trying to hurt you. He will question that, but you act like you are trying to protect him from it. Just tell him he needs to stay away from your house for now and you’ll let him know when things are safe again. Then, tell him you miss him or some shit. Anything to make him want to get you back,” he instructed her, and she finally shifted her focus to him as he talked.

  My entire body was so tense that my head was pounding. This had to be done. Listening to her talk to this son of a bitch was going to send me over the goddamn edge if I didn’t stay focused on the goal. We had to find his location, and this was the only way.

  I turned to handle the connection board. “Call him,” I told her.

  There was a pause, silence. Then, her phone connected, and I watched it from my control system.

  “Hey, Oakley. Are you okay?” A male’s voice came over the line.

  The roar from deep in my chest began to radiate through my body.

  He had gotten too close to her, and I’d let it happen. Never again.

  Twenty-Five

  Oakley

  “I’m sorry, Hamilton,” I began and swallowed hard, praying I could do this without giving myself away. “Something … happened. My car had some problems.”

  I paused and looked at Thatcher. He nodded his approval.

  “Your car? What happened to it? Tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you.” Hamilton’s tone was tense.

  Was he worried?

  “You can’t. Just … stay away from my house, okay? It’s not safe, and I don’t really have the answer as to why. I wish I could tell you more, but right now, all I know is, someone doesn’t like me, although I can’t figure out what I could have done to anyone. Other than my stepmother, but this is … intense. It can’t be her.” I was rambling.

  The longer I had him on the line, the better for Wilder to get his call traced.

  I forced out a laugh. “Anyway, just stay away. I don’t want you to get hurt. I’ll be fine. Once this is cleared up and I can figure out what is happening, I’ll let you know.”

  “No!” The fierce tone that came over the line made me jump. “If someone is trying to hurt you, then I can protect you. Let me come get you.”

  Wilder turned then and gave me a nod. He had the location, and I could end this.

  “I have to go. Thank you, and … and …” I looked at Thatcher, who raised his eyebrows at me. He wanted me to say it. Lie to him. “I miss you.” I ended the call before he could respond.

  Thatcher grinned. “Good girl,” he said, then took the phone out of my hand, dropped it to the ground, and smashed it under his black combat boot.

  I shivered, staring down at the pieces of what had once been my phone.

  “Here,” Wilder said, turning to Thatcher and handing him something. “Now, go. Let her have some time to deal with this shit.”

  Thatcher gave him an amused smirk before turning to leave. When the door closed and the dead bolt slid into place, I sank down onto the sofa. My head hurt, and I felt nauseous.

  “Lie down,” Wilder said to me, taking the pillow from the twin bed and placing it at the end of the sofa.

  I didn’t argue. The room was spinning now. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on my breathing. A blanket covered me, and I opened my eyes to see Wilder standing over me. Our gazes locked, and my stomach felt funny. Something was different.

  “You did good,” he said softly. It had been so long since he’d spoken to me in a tone like that, and I didn’t know what to think. “Close your eyes. Sleep. Rest. I’ll be here. You’re safe.”

  I did as he’d said, and the exhaustion from the day took over.

  When my eyes opened again, they were treated to the view of a muscular, naked back, dark and damp hair, and a narrow waist before the rest of Wilder was hidden behind the counter. The smell of melted cheese and butter filled the air, and I realized he was cooking. Shirtless. He’d had a shower. Was he just wearing a towel? And was this going to happen a lot? Because I might not ever want to leave.

  Feeling as if I should slap myself, but unable to move, I blinked, and thankfully, he was still there. Cooking. Flipping something with a spatula. Dear God, was that meant to be sexy? Because it was. The way his back flexed with each shift of his body. The blanket he’d put over me was getting too hot. I needed air. But if he knew I was awake, this peep show would end. Decisions.

  Wilder turned then, and his gaze locked on mine. Dang. I’d been caught. I yawned and tossed the covers back before sitting up. Maybe he wouldn’t think I’d been silently ogling him. Doubtful. That was, if he had looked in a mirror lately.

  “Do you feel better?” he asked with real concern in his tone.

  This day could not get any weirder. Wilder worried about me was almost as out there as the fact that the guy I had been dating had put a bomb in my car.

  Right. A bomb. In my car.

  I was back. Focused on the issue at hand. Not a half-naked Wilder.

  “Yeah. My head isn’t hurting now,” I replied, trying not to look at his chest. But I swore there was a tattoo on his left rib cage. I wanted to check it out. See what it was. Ask him when he had gotten it.

  “I made some grilled cheese. Want one?” he asked. “You need to eat.”

  I needed a distraction. I stood up and walked toward the kitchen side of the cave we were in.

  “Yes, please,” I replied.

  He nodded, still watching me as if I was about to pass out at any minute and he might need to run and catch me. The only lightheadedness we might need to worry about here was the hot, shirtless man teasing me with a view. One I hadn’t seen but once, and that had been nine years ago. That view had gotten more well defined with thicker, corded arms and a freaking tattoo I wanted to stare at but couldn’t without being caught.

  “What about something to drink? We have water, soda, and beer,” he offered.

  “Water is good, but I can get it,” I said, walking around the counter to see he was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants.

  Sweet Jesus, I had to be sleeping. This was not real. There was no way this man was walking around shirtless in gray sweatpants.

  “I was hot, after the shower,” he said.

  My eyes snapped back up to his face. Oops.

  “Oh,” I muttered, not sure what to say to that as my face heated from the fact that he’d seen me checking him out. I cleared my throat. “I wasn’t complaining,” I added, then flashed him a smile before opening the fridge to get out a bottle of fancy water.

  Holding it up, I looked at him. “This looks pricey.”

  He shrugged, and his broad shoulders drew me in. “The Shephards. You know how they are …”

  The way his voice trailed off at that last bit made me assume he was referring to Sebastian and me dating for a while. No need to be awkward about it. He’d married my stepsister. I had only dated his friend’s younger brother … wait.

  “Sebastian. He’s … one of you,” I said slowly as I let it sink in. I’d dated him seriously. He’d gotten on one knee and asked me to marry him. And had assured me that all those things people had said about their families were rumors.

  “Yeah, he is. I was surprised when Thatch said Sebastian hadn’t told you. Since he had proposed. I guess I kind of thought you knew and just never talked about it.”

  One would think. Getting angry with a guy who had asked me to marry him and not told me he was in the Mafia was pointless. I’d turned him down, and it had been years ago. But I was still slightly miffed.

  “I suggest that when you propose to a woman again, you mention this to her. The Mafia thing. She should know.”

  He turned back to the grilled cheese. “Sylvia knew. I told her before we got married.”

  Okay, now, I was stunned, and as stupid as it was, I felt betrayed again. Even though they had been married, I had always felt like the connection I had with Wilder was deeper than what they had. If I had been the one to marry him, I would have done everything in my power to keep him. I would have fought for us.

  I walked over to the small table, needing to get a grip. There was no need to be upset about this now. It was the past. Still, it felt as if I’d been kept in the dark. Not trusted. It stung. Pulling out a chair, I sat down and opened my water.

  A plate with a grilled cheese with the edges cut off was set in front of me. I looked up at Wilder, who seemed like he was going to say something. But he didn’t. He just stared at me for a moment. The pulse in his neck caught my attention and then the way his neck flexed as he swallowed.

  He turned and walked back to the stove.

  “You cut off the crust,” I said, glancing back at the grilled cheese.

  “You don’t like the crust,” he replied.

  That did things to my chest that I wished it hadn’t. “Yeah, but you remembered.”

  He stilled, then looked back at me over his shoulder. “I remember everything,” he said to me before putting another grilled cheese on a plate.

  “Is that a requirement in the Mafia? To remember all details,” I asked.

  Wilder turned and walked over to the table. “It helps. But that’s not why I remembered how you liked your grilled cheese.”

  My eyes fell to his tattoo again, and I was going to ask, but first, I wanted to hear what he was about to say. Tearing my attention off his abs, I lifted my eyes back to his face. “Then, why did you?”

  He set his plate down and sighed before taking the chair across from me. “Because, Oakley, every-damn-thing about you is seared in my brain. Not something I can control.”