He saidfourFBI agents.
But…
That’s not possible.
Thatcannotbe possible.
Because I know for a fact that onlythreedied in the bomb blast in East Boston. And as of this morning, Sykes was critical-but-stable in the ICU.
Which means…
Someone else is dead.
A fourth FBI agent.
A face flashes in my head before I can stop it — messy black hair falling into dark blue eyes. Killer smile, on the rare occasion he lets it show. Mouth that melts me into an emotional puddle, whether he’s using it to kiss me or telling me he loves me.
All day, since I opened that safe house door and saw the Evanoffs standing there instead of Conor, I have refused to entertain the possibility that he might be… that he’s…
I can’t eventhinkthe word.
My brain instantly rejects the mere idea of it, like a vending machine spitting out a crumpled dollar bill. Because a world without Conor Asshole Gallagher would simply be…
Unbearable.
I don’t know when it happened, or even how. I cannot trace the exact moment, cannot pick out the precise instant my heart changed from despising him to something entirely different. Something like…
Devotion.
I know it’s crazy. A week ago he was a stranger. He burst into my life, full of bossy demands and dark scowls and gruff orders, and flipped it upside down. And every day since, he has pushed me. Challenged me. Inspired me. Infuriated me.
He has sparked my temper and delved my deepest secrets. He has expanded my emotional limits and fucked my body beyond the brink of pleasure. He has awoken something inside me I didn’t even know was there until he coaxed it out.
Not with gentle hands and false promises; with stark truths and brute force.
Maybe at first, I didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to acknowledge how much I needed him. How much I wanted him. How similar we are, from the unrelenting stubborn streak to the disapproving parental figures to the tendency for self-imposed isolation. But now, as I stand here on the brink of losing him, I see it. I see it so clearly. And all I feel is regret that it took me so damn long.
I should’ve told him.
I should’ve said it back.
I shouldn’t have been so fucking scared of getting hurt again that I pushed away a man so well-suited for me, it’s like I dreamed him into existence one detail at a time.
I shake my head in disbelief.
He can’t be dead.
Then why is it Kaufman on the bullhorn?a small voice questions.If he could call out to you right now… don’t you think he would?
I shove the voice away, banish it to the back of my mind. Shove it away in a box and lock it up tight with a thousand loops of unbreakable chain.
In a daze of shock, I don’t struggle as the Evanoffs drag me through the house, avoiding windows and open expanses in case the snipers decide to try their luck. We make our way to the garage door off the kitchen and Lefty grins as he grabs the keys to my convertible from the hook.
I have a distinct feeling that whatever’s about to happen willnotbe good. But somehow, in the sudden numbness of shock over Conor’s unknown fate… I find it hard to drum up a suitable amount of concern for my own.
Stepping into the attached garage, Lefty scans the space, looking from the retractable door to my sporty black coup and finally back to me.
“Sorry. Only two seats in this ride.” He smirks at me and holds up the detonator. “Looks like you’ve reached the end of your road, Shelby Hunt.”