Page 13 of Wicked Mistletoe

When I finally pry my eyes open, Stacey gives me an approving nod. “Good job, Emily. You’re making progress.” Then she tilts her head slightly. “But you’re still struggling with eye contact, huh?”

A bitter laugh bubbles from my throat. Eye contact. Right. Out of everything, she picksthatto focus on? But I bite it back. “Yeah. It’s the worst,” I mutter, squeezing my hands into a fist.

Holding people’s gaze makes my brain crawl and my eyes burn. A symptom of my condition, they call it. Like the urge to cover my ears or the endless loop of repetitive thoughts.Knowing doesn’t exactly make it any easier to deal with, though. Sure, I’ve fought off some of the habits, but the eye thing… that’s still a losing battle.

“I’m trying,” I feel the need to add.

“That’s all that matters,” she says with a warm, encouraging smile, always so supportive. But her support is bittersweet. It always makes me wonder what my dad would think of me now. He’s been gone six years now, and without him, I wouldn’t have met Stacey.

My gaze drops to the pictures on the floor, and it all comes rushing back—the dead people, the pools of blood, the grainy surveillance footage. Rafael… I swallow hard, my stomach twisting.

When I look up again, Stacey’s smile is gone, her face serious once again. “I know you don’t want to believe this, but think about it. Rafael came to see you last night. The very same night you set foot back in the city. How could he have known if he wasn’t involved in the underground?”

How did she—no, of course, she knows. Stacey knows everything. But how much?

Shit.

I swallow, her words sinking in. I know he’s been looking for me for years. But I thought I was hidden. Protected by the confidentiality Stacey promised. If he’s finally found me… it’s becauseshelet him. Because she wants to use me to get to him.

A bitter taste lingers in my mouth as I wrestle with the thoughts spinning in my head. “Why me? I’m still just a newbie. You could send anyone else to cover this mission—someone with more experience.”

“No one else will do,” Stacey counters, her voice firm. “It’s easier if you go. You won’t rouse much suspicion, and the Nightshades are more likely to let you in than a total stranger.”

The Nightshades. The name sends a chill down my spine. I shake my head, clinging to the last shreds of my denial. “I don’t know about everything else, Stacey, but I do know Rafael and the other guys would never hurt kids.Never.” Not after the way they risked their own lives to save me when I was nothing but a stranger to them.

She sighs, her shoulders sagging slightly. “Your mission is simple, Emily. You don’t have to do anything drastic. Just stay close to the man and watch him. You think Rafael Moretti isn’t the one responsible for the deaths of these kids? Prove it.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and slowly get up from the chair. This is my first-ever mission, and it’sStaceyasking. I can’t say no.I can’t say no.

“Iwillprove it,” I vow as I leave her office.

The world outside Stacey’s office is a blur. Whatever excitement I had walking into that building is now completely drained. I absentmindedly hail down a taxi, mumbling my address as I sink into the backseat. My head leans against the window, cold glass grounding me, but it’s no use. My thoughts spin out of control.

Rafael helped me all those years ago…savedme. They all did.Maybe this is my turn to help them.I shudder, shutting off the part of my brain that starts playing a reel of the events that happened that dark night. No. No. No. I can’t go back there. Not now.

Instead, I let myself drown in more recent memories—Rafael’s warmth, his teasing, his kiss. I sigh, embracing them.

There’s no hiding that I’ve always had this stupid crush on him, but I never dared to think he felt the same way. He always seemed a little… disgruntled. Even after we all ran away together, cramped into that tiny studio for a year. His teasing was relentless, especially when the others were around. So Iburied my feelings, convinced they were nothing but a childish fantasy.

Now, worry spikes through me. He’s definitely going to reach out again. What if he hates me for what I have to do?He can’t find out.He can’t.

The taxi jerking to a stop jolts me out of my spiraling thoughts, and I blink in surprise to find we’re parked in front of my Manhattan condo. The driver’s impatient glance prompts me to fumble with the fare. Ignoring his annoyed huff, I scramble out, clutching my jacket tighter against the biting cold, my breath turning into frosty clouds as I jog to the entrance.

Inside the lobby, I give a quick nod to the doorman, grateful for the warmth that seeps into my bones. The place feels like a sanctuary against the cold outside. The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, and I click the button for the third floor, finally allowing my shoulders to drop from their tense perch.

But as the elevator ascends, so do my worries.What the hell am I going to do? How the hell am I going to get Rafael to open up to me?How will I prove his innocence? Because heisinnocent—of hurting children, at least. He has to be. No matter what he is now, I know that like the back of my hand. Rafael wouldnevercross that line. We were those kids once. He just wouldn’t be that cruel.

The elevator chimes again as it reaches my floor, and the doors open to the quiet, empty hallway. I’m the only one on this floor, even though there are two apartments here. Both belong to the bureau, but I’m currently the lone occupant. Lucky me.

Halfway down the hallway, I freeze mid-step. Something catches my eye. My body goes rigid, and my hand moves on reflex to the holster at my hip. There’s something on the floor in front of my door.

I don’t move. My legs refuse. So I just stand there, eyes locked on that spot, heart hammering like it’s trying to senda warning signal. My eyes sweep the hallway, every nerve now buzzing with caution. It’s empty. Or at least seems to be.

But that doesn’t mean I’m alone. It doesn’t mean?—

Oh, get a grip.

I force myself to take a step forward, then another, each movement slow and deliberate.

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