“Why?” Danny demands.

  “Distress, maybe,” Doc says, his tone knowing. “I heard you both yelling.”

  Danny lifts his face, and I see Doc on his knees beside me, and James and Beau by my feet. Doc tilts his head, looking between us both with disapproval. “If the body can’t cope, it shuts down. Simple. I have told you both endless times, Rose needs to calm down. Chill out, as you young people say.”

  I peek up at Danny and see the guilt take hold. I start to sit myself up slowly with Danny’s help. It was a panic attack. I blacked out because I couldn’t breathe. I look at Beau, and for the first time I can truly appreciate how debilitated she has been so many times. God, that was horrific. Struggling to reason with yourself, fighting for air, pushing back flashbacks.

  Danny gets to his feet and lifts me into his arms, carrying me out of the office silently, up the stairs to our room. He lays me on the bed, removes my robe, and tucks me in. Then lies down beside me on top of the sheets, fully clothed. His hand goes on my tummy. His head on my chest. I slip my hand into his damp, dark waves and massage his scalp.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

  “I didn’t pass out because we fought.”

  He lifts his head and looks at me. “What?”

  “I found a picture of your pops in the drawer of your desk. And the ring . . .” I shake my head mildly, not wanting to go there again but needing Danny to be rid of the guilt grabbing him. I know the ring I was looking at was Carlo Black’s, not Ernie’s, his brother, the man who took Daniel away from me when he was only minutes old. But those evil, emerald eyes. They got me.

  “Fuck,” he whispers. “They found the ring by Pops’s grave. I didn’t think—”

  I put my hand over his mouth. “Stop it.” I wriggle, forcing Danny to move, and I shuffle up the bed, resting my back against the headboard. “Come.” I offer my hands, and he takes them, letting me pull him closer. He straddles my thighs, resting his ass on his calves, and I smile down at his suit pants stretching across his thick thighs. “I’m glad I saw it,” I say, looking up at him.

  He balks at me. “Rose, baby, what the fuck?”

  Okay, so my initial reaction wasn’t all too great, but now? “That green ring is a reminder of how far we’ve truly come. How many obstacles we’ve overcome. And have still to overcome. We are stronger together.” That’s a fact. “Sometimes, we both just need a little reminder of that.” I guide his hand to my stomach, and he looks down. “I hate you.”

  He exhales on a quiet curse and wedges his fist into the mattress, leaning forward and kissing me. “I fucking hate you more.”

  And the universe aligns again, the rollercoaster slowing to a more manageable pace. I hook my arms over his shoulders and fall into the slow, calm motions of his kiss. It’s the longest kiss, neither of us willing to break it. He slips one arm under my lower back, and then falls to the bed, bringing me to rest on top of him. “Your cuts.”

  He kisses me harder.

  “You’ll be all creased,” I say around his mouth, my naked body squishing into his suit. Creased to kill.

  He hums, moans, pulls me in closer, and my body comes alive, need taking over. I sit myself astride his stomach, never breaking our kiss, and lace my fingers through his hair. I hear his phone ringing from his pocket. And then I feel it. “Oh,” I yelp, lifting my ass from his body to escape the hard vibration. He laughs into my mouth, forcing me to withdraw, just so I can get a glimpse of my chuckling god. It’s good to see him. I smile, feeling into his inside pocket for his cell and pulling it out.

  “Throw it away,” he orders, and just as I’m about to do just that, he stills. “Wait.” His cell is suddenly gone from my hand, as is my chuckling god. It was a brief appearance. He stares at the screen.

  “Who is it?” I ask, as he kisses my forehead and helps me to my back, laying me down.

  “I don’t know.” Another kiss on my cheek before he answers with silence.

  I hate the instant tension his body radiates.

  17

  JAMES

  After Danny took Rose upstairs, I followed Beau into the kitchen. She poured herself water, downed it, then left, not looking at me once. So I followed her to the gym. She will talk to me. She’s already been in here for over an hour this morning. Clearly, she’s not sweated enough. She places her phone on the bench and starts pulling on some boxing gloves, ignoring me standing by the door. The punching bag is about to get hammered.

  I wander over to the corner and pick up the pads, slipping my arms through the bands and going to Beau, standing before her, forcing her to look at me. I widen my stance. Raise the pads. “Come on then, Beau,” I say quietly. It’s me she wants to hurt. Well, here I am. “Let’s get this out of your system.”

  Her lithe body engages, and I bend slightly, bracing myself, seeing the intentions in her eyes. Her first roundhouse kick connects beautifully, knocking me back a few paces. I step back into position. “Again,” I order, cricking my neck, loosening my muscles.

  She comes at me, launching a round of punches, one after the other, right hooks, jabs, and uppercuts. The pads absorb them all, every blow, and I start to move around the mat, encouraging her movements too. “Again,” I demand, thrusting the pads forward, and she yells, delivering another combination of kicks that have me staggering back until my back hits the wall. She backs off, wiping her sweaty brow with the back of her gloved hand, letting me reset. “Again,” I whisper, dipping, my eyes on hers, goading, part of me wondering what the fuck I’m doing, encouraging this kind of training when I know she’s on the verge of walking out on me and taking up her past as a cop. But the other part is relishing this. Knowing she’s getting what she needs, knowing she’ll be revisiting our past, seeing us in the kitchen of my apartment when she first took me off my feet, both physically and mentally. The first time we had sex. The moment we both succumbed.

  On that thought, I throw the pads aside and give her me in my entirety, unprotected. Unarmed. Exposed. Always exposed with Beau. She looks at me, her face painfully expressionless. This is the woman she was. The one she tried to forget existed but now wants back. The woman with power and unbridled strength. I’ve always needed Beau to be this version of herself. Away from the darkness. But always with me. If she goes back, if she steps into her cop boots again, she won’t be with me. Can’t be with me. “I see the woman you were,” I murmur, and she swallows, knowing what’s coming. “The woman you’re trying to forget existed.” Mine. She’s trying to forget she’s mine. It’s the only way forward for her. If she’s going back, she needs to forget she was ever in my world. I won’t let her. Never. She’s feeling helpless, guilty, like she needs to be free of the ropes tying her down. I can make that happen without her picking her badge back up, because, frankly, if she does go back, I’m worried about what she might discover. “I want you to find that woman. The woman you were. I need you to find her, Beau.” I step forward. “And give her back to me,” I whisper, seeing the tears in her eyes building. And then she yells, coming at me. I block each punch, deflect every kick, my body unmoving, absorbing her attack, hit after hit, kick after kick, until she’s out of steam and falls into my chest on a whimper of defeat, her gloved hands bunched in front of her face as she weeps into them.

  And I hold her.

  Tightly.

  My chin resting on top of her head.

  Calm. She’s giving herself back to me. But I’m under no illusion that she’ll stand down, and I have finally concluded that that is something I need to accept. Like she has accepted I kill. I know she can never truly go back, not with her history since she met me, and perhaps that is part of her problem. Resentment. I can’t change that. Just like I can’t change the inbuilt instincts in her that made her a formidable cop. The instincts she inherited from her mother. The instincts that help her survive being mine.

  “My period came,” she breathes.

  I clench my eyes closed, not knowing if I should be relieved or disappointed. Not knowing how she feels either. It’s a total fuck-up. I breathe into her hair, my arms locked around her neck, as her body jerks gently against me. I don’t know how the fuck I balance this. She wants to try for a baby. Then she wants to go all Lara Croft around Miami on a manhunt. I was unsure about the former. I’m dead set against the latter. Which makes the former a lot fucking more appealing. But her period came. Fucking hell, what am I thinking?

  I’m thinking about pretty much trapping her. Fucked up.

  But that’s what we are.

  I reach between us with both hands and take the gloves, easing them apart to expose her face, my chin on my chest as I look down at her. “Show her to me,” I order, and she looks up, her face a mess of tears but still so fucking beautiful. I wipe under each eye as she watches me, sniveling. “I love you,” I say softly, stroking through her hair, and she nods, a few fresh tears rolling. “I love you so fucking much, Beau. Broken, not broken. Happy, sad. Pregnant, not pregnant. I will do anything for your peace. Kill anyone. We need to figure this out before it kills us.”

  On a whimper, she launches herself into my arms and hugs me, sobbing into my neck. I love it when she’s vulnerable. When she needs me. I also loathe it.

  “My love for you walks hand in hand with my hate for the world,” she whispers, and I clench my eyes closed, hearing her point. Hearing myself.

  They are equals. Passion fueled. Your love and your hate are what makes you, Beau, and mine is what makes me. I will treasure your love, and I’ll nurture your hate. Because without your hate, you’re not the woman I love.

  Jesus. Hate. It’s consuming us.

  “Ollie sent Beth to the club, Beau,” I say, tense, bracing myself for her reaction.

  She pulls away. “How do you know that for sure?”

  “Otto got into Beth’s phone records. She and her husband split and . . .”

  “She has feelings for you.”

  I shrug like a chump. “Like Ollie does for you.”

  “We were engaged.”

  “Don’t remind me.” I sigh, wiping under her eyes. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck is going through Beth’s head, but she’s very deluded if she thinks there was ever anything more than fucking.” Painfully, I realize Ollie had way more than fucking with Beau. I honestly think he’s obsessed, but with Beau or with me? Beau, because he loves her, me because he has an axe to grind. Either or, I can never kill him. “I love you, Beau. And it hurts so bad when you pull away.” I lift her up and carry her to the horse, sitting her on it and stepping between her legs. I take her gloved hands in turn and start unfastening the ties, pulling them off. She flexes her fingers, and I lift her tank, dipping and kissing her scar. Then I devote some time to her arm, kissing down the length of scar tissue to her hand. I find the ring on her right hand and spin it slowly on her finger, the diamond sparking up at me.

  Light.

  I see it on my mother’s finger. I see it in the ruins of our country estate surrounded by ashes. I swallow, and Beau’s other hand is suddenly before me. She removes the ring, and my heart stops beating, waiting for her to hand it to me. She’s done. Can’t sustain this anymore, can’t fight through the darkness with me to find our light.

  But she doesn’t give it to me. She puts it on the index finger of her left hand.

  I shoot my eyes up to hers, my hands splaying her thighs. Her face is breathtakingly impassive. But her eyes speak to me, and she lowers her face toward me, her hands slide through my hair and grips, and she pushes her lips to mine. “Yes,” she whispers into my mouth, and the word finds its way into my chest and fuses to my heart.

  Lightness entices lightness.

  And I feel like I’m floating right now. “Yes?” I ask, needing, wanting, to hear it again. I pull her off the horse, her legs around my waist, and stand, indulging in our kiss, moaning my contentment. Bliss.

  “Yes,” she says around my lips, tightening every muscle around me. A sign. She’ll never let me go. “Yes.” She bites my lip. “Yes.” Swirls her tongue through my mouth. “Yes.” Dots kisses all over my face.

  I groan and pull back, looking at her. Taking in every exquisite piece of her. “I might not show it on the outside, Beau Hayley, but you make me an extremely happy—”

  “Assassin?”

  I smile, kissing her again. “We will be okay.”

  “I—”

  The gym door flies open and Brad appears, looking a little ruffled. “Jesus, do you two ever put each other down?” He waves a hand at us, exasperated. “I’m glad you’ve made up. We have a development. Danny’s office now.” He turns and leaves, and I feel Beau stiffen in my arms. And here we have our first challenge.

  “Development on what?” she calls after him. I place her down and look at her seriously. “We’re yet to discuss boundaries,” she says, kind of nervous, kind of cocky. “And part of the crazy I’m feeling is not knowing what the hell is going on.”

  Of course, because her craving information, scratching around for the truth, is what made her an incredible cop. It’s as essential as breathing to Beau . . . and I’ve denied her that. Fuck. “And there I was thinking you putting that ring on the correct finger was a sign.”

  She looks at me like I’m stupid, because, obviously, I am. “You know who I am, James.” She tucks herself into my side and lets me walk her out of the gym. “As I know who you are.”

  A cop.

  A criminal.

  I don’t release her when we reach the lobby. I don’t order her away or send her to our room. No. She’ll always be by my side. Even when I’m walking into fucking battle. Fuck my life, I lead her into Danny’s office, and when every eye in the house turns our way, I silently dare any of them to challenge me.

  Of course, Danny doesn’t heed the warning. “Are you fucking joking?” he asks from his chair behind his desk.

  I don’t answer. He knows as well as me that we need to flex, so here I am, flexing. I release Beau, and she goes to the couch and lowers in between Goldie and Ringo, her lips pressed together.

  Shaking his head, Danny stands and rounds his desk, approaching her.

  She looks up at him, not speaking a word, but I know she’s got plenty to say. Yet in this moment, Beau knows what’s good for her, and showing willingness is what’s good for her. Like putting that ring on the correct finger. A ploy?

  Danny’s eyes narrow, and I stand back, letting this play out. “This isn’t a place for a wom—”

  “Don’t do it,” Ringo warns, as Goldie’s body visibly straightens on the couch. “Please, Danny, I beg you, do not do it.”

  Danny turns his eyes onto Goldie, while Beau fights her smirk. “If you smile, I will kill you,” Danny hisses, making Beau get her lips quickly in check. But not mine. Or Brad’s and Ringo’s and Otto’s and Goldie’s. We’re all fighting smiles. Except Danny. He takes a patience-gathering breath. “I’m letting this slide for now.”

  I look at Beau, whose face tells a different story.

  “I’ve had a call from The Shark,” Danny goes on.

  All amusement leaves us.

  “The fuck?” Brad blurts. “Do people google ‘The Brit’ now and find your height, wealth, and fucking cell phone number?”

  “Interesting after The Ox showed up at the club last night,” I muse. What the fuck’s going on?

  Danny looks at me, his face as thoughtful as I guess mine is.

  “Wait, The Ox was at the club?” Goldie asks, throwing a frown around the office. “When?”

  “When Ringo took you for dinner,” Danny mutters, eyes never leaving mine.

  “He didn’t take me for fucking dinner. He took me for food. So The Ox showed up and—”

  “I killed him,” Danny says, blasé, still looking thoughtful. “After he politely requested we stopped supplying the Mexicans.”

  “And what did The Shark want?” I ask.

  “Guns,” Danny says quietly, his fingers forming a steeple, resting against his top lip, thoughtful.

  “Are you really considering arming our enemies?” Brad asks, looking as concerned as everyone else in the room.

  “Yes,” I answer for Danny. “Sounds like the Polish and the Russians are no longer working in harmony,” I muse, perching on the edge of Danny’s desk. “Looks like word is getting round that The Brit is offering a cracking discount on weaponry.”

  “And what about The Bear?” Brad asks. “I don’t want it to be taken as gospel, but I’m pretty fucking sure he wouldn’t want his minions doing business with The Brit and The Enigma, since both want his identity so they can fucking kill him.”

  “Perhaps he doesn’t know,” Goldie pipes up, getting a grunt of agreement from Ringo.

  I nod, looking across to Beau, who’s being surprisingly quiet. What’s she making of all this? I tilt my head, and she shrugs, nonchalant. Who the fuck is she trying to kid? “Talk,” I order, making everyone in the room look my way.

  She scowls at me. But she talks. “It’s falling apart,” she says, all eyes turning onto her. “He thought he had you both at the boatyard the night Perry Adams died. You proved him wrong. Made him look like a dick, even if you looked like dicks yourselves for killing the wrong man.”

  I hear Danny cough under his breath, probably in disbelief. She’s fucking pushing it. “You killed him, Beau,” I remind her.

  “My point is—”

  “She has a point?” Danny asks. “Oh good. I thought she was just here to piss me off.”

  Beau smiles, and Danny mutters something about preferring her as his wife’s friend.

  “I can see me being here is a problem for you macho men.” Beau stands. “So I’ll take my conclusions elsewhere.” She takes three steps, and Danny swoops in, lifting her from her feet gently and taking her back to the couch. I smile. He knows she’s got skills. He’s objecting simply because it’s Beau. My girl. His wife’s best friend. His friend, too. And…a woman. He needs to get over that.

  “Sit,” he orders, frowning, glancing at me. I raise my brows and he shakes his head. “Please,” he exhales.