“Is that really what you think?”
“Jesus Christ.” I whirled around at the sound of his voice in my ear. The frame slipped out of my grasp, but thankfully, his reflexes were on point, snagging it before it smashed to the floor. “How did you get over here?”
“There’s no way to justify what I did, but trust was never the issue, Sloane.” A frown marred his beautiful face. “They chose me to go to Ireland because I was a loner withno family, no one to miss me if I got caught in the crossfire. It was supposed to be a job. Get in, get the bad guy, and get back to my boring life. The narrative changed when I saw you sitting in the restaurant. You were unexpected.”
“I could say the same thing about you.”
He stared at the picture in his hands. “Fuck, they’re beautiful.”
“They are.”
“It wasn’t a made-up story.”
“Excuse me?”
“Everything I told you about growing up in the system was the truth, with one slight alteration.” After returning the frame to the shelf, he faced me fully. “Do you remember my foster father who died?”
“Of course I do.”
“What was his name?”
“Oh my God,” I gasped. The puzzle pieces clicked into place. I’d assumed it was from Waverly, but…
“You said his name was Duncan.”
He nodded. “His real name was Rogan James. You’re the only person I ever told about him.”
“Not even Waverly?”
“Not even her.” Duncan laced his fingers with mine. “Come on.”
Since my head was spinning faster than tires on a racetrack, I didn’t object when he led me back to the couch. My wedges clicked steadily on the floor, reminding me of the sound an old clock made when it counted off the seconds. Tick. Tick. Tick. It was apropos, seeing as time was running out for us to clear the air. The twins would be home in a few hours and before then, we had to figure out our next move.
We resumed our previous seats. Duncan released my hand in order to pick up my forgotten dinner. My stomachchose that moment to grumble loudly, eliciting a chuckle from the man next to me as he carefully placed the plate on my lap.
“It’s probably cold.” He pointed to the food. “Do you want me to heat it up?”
“No. It’s good.”
“Okay, then you eat while I do what I should’ve done nine years ago.” He took a deep breath, then stole mine with his lopsided grin. “Hi. My name is Duncan Palmer.”
4YOU’RE FUCKED
Duncan
Her mouth twisted in amusement, exactly the reaction I hoped for with my face-palm worthy introduction. We were headed into uncharted waters. Infusing a touch of humor might go a long way to ease the bumps we’d encounter. And there would be quite a few bumps before we hit solid ground. Including the one I was about to create.
“I was in Dublin investigating a man named Erik Murray. The guy was––is––extremely dangerous. He used his legitimate organization, Solace, as a front to sell weapons to whoever had the most money. There were also indications he was involved in human trafficking, though nothing has been substantiated. My job was to find a way to become embedded in his organization somehow. I’d been there for a few weeks when I got an alert from an informant. Murray was having a lunch meeting.”
“Let me guess. Shamrock’s?”
“Yes.” I reached out, tucking a lock of her long hair behind her ear, needing to touch her in some way.
“Sorry. Please continue.”
“Murray was at the pub already. Obviously, nothing happened until after you left. My plan was risky, but I didn’t have anything to lose. Long story short, I saved his life and he offered me a low-level job in his organization.” I picked up an eggroll from my plate, took a bite, and chewed. The small reprieve gave me a second to organize my thoughts. “Two weeks after we started dating, I had a rather heated discussion with my boss and his Irish counterpart. I wanted to pull you in.”
“Pull me in?” Her eyes widened. “What does that mean?”