Page 147 of Filthy Promises

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The doors slide open…

… and Vince steps out.

He looks wrecked—tie gone, hair even more mussed than it was before, five o’clock shadow staining his jaw dark. But his eyes are sharp as ever, immediately locking onto me standing there like an idiot with the stepladder and his laptop clutched to my chest.

For a long moment, we just stare at each other.

“You came back,” he says finally, his voice rough.

“So did you.” I clutch the laptop tighter, suddenly unsure. “I thought you might be… I don’t know, arrested or something.”

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Not today.”

He approaches slowly, as if afraid I might bolt. To be fair, it’s not an unreasonable concern. I’m still considering it.

“I believe that’s mine,” he says, nodding to the laptop.

“Oh. Right.” I hold it out. “Sorry about the, um, hiding it in my shirt thing. It was the only thing I could think of.”

His fingers brush mine as he takes it, sending that familiar electric current racing up my arm. “It was quick thinking.”

“Did they find anything? The FBI?”

“No.” He studies me intently. “Thanks to you.”

I shift uncomfortably under his gaze. “I should go. It’s late, and I?—”

“Why did you do it?” he interrupts.

“Do what?”

“Protect me.” He places the laptop on a nearby desk, stepping closer. “You could have handed this over. Could have told them everything you know. But you didn’t.”

I swallow hard. It’s a question I’ve been asking myself since the moment I shoved that laptop under my shirt.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.

“I think you do.”

He’s not wrong.

He’s also not getting a straight answer from me.

I look away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. “What happens now?”

“Now?” He sounds almost amused. “Now, I owe you more than I can ever repay.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Vince.”

“I disagree.”

There’s a softness in his voice I’ve never heard before. It makes my chest ache with all the what-ifs that can never be.

“The FBI will be back,” I say, changing the subject. “They had a lot of questions about your relationship with Solovyov, whoever that is.”

“I’m sure they did.” He runs a hand through his hair. “You didn’t tell them anything?”

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