Page 57 of Hot Pursuit
“Extremely dangerous. Probably the most violent active organized crime unit in the United States today. Involved in narcotics trafficking, arms deals, loan-sharking, murder-for-hire, and don’t forget, the occasional forgery. Though, they have other people to help them with that.”
Jo shook her head in denial. He tightened his grip on her hand and dug his fingers into her back as though anticipating her instinct to run.
“I don’t believe you.”
But she did.
Her gut clenched painfully tight. Because deep down, she did. Bit by bit, things clicked into place. Puzzle pieces and questions she’d pushed to the back of her mind slowly slipped out of hiding, fitting together to form a picture she didn’t want to see, didn’t want to know, yet couldn’t prevent from forming. The meetings her father and Thad disappeared to. The hours they spent together, in planning sessions she wasn’t allowed to join. The people who followed her. The paintings that went missing. The money that came in. Most of all, the deep shame that sometimes glimmered in the backs of Thad’s stormy eyes, in the backs of her father’s green ones, dark and overwhelming.
What do you know, Nate?
What haven’t they told me?
What am I part of?
“You’re a smart girl, Jo. In fact, I find your intelligence incredibly sexy. So I didn’t understand at first why you’d allow yourself to be so willfully ignorant.” He paused, letting his words sink in, letting her doubts simmer. Jo swallowed, stepping where he stepped, letting him lead, because she was hanging on his next words, mentally paralyzed. “And then, once I got to know you, understand you, everything became clear. Love.”
“Love?” Jo’s voice was breathy as she repeated the word.
“Love can make you blind,” Nate murmured, then leaned close, pressing his lips against her ear. “Or if you let it, love can finally make you see.”
“Nate—”
He cut her protest off by pushing against her waist, sending her spiraling into a circle as the music hit a crescendo. Their fingers clasped tight as he twirled her across the dance floor. His touch was the only thing that kept her from floating away. And a second later, she was back, pressed against his chest, looking up into those understanding eyes, those pleading eyes.
“Don’t you want to see, Jo?” He held her hand and released her hip again, so she spun and spun and spun, body a mirror of the turmoil circling inside her brain.
She did want to see.
She did.
But she couldn’t.
Because it would make everything fall apart.
Her family.
Her life.
The balance she’d so carefully maintained.
Jo landed back in Nate’s arms.
She dropped her gaze to his chest, focusing on the little wire hanging from his ear, remembering the mic that had to be hidden by his wrist. Because he was a Fed. The enemy. But when he leaned down, the smell of woodsy soap and something entirely him filled her nose, and it became more difficult to draw that line. With his fingers brushing softly over her spine and his other hand rubbing her palm and his warm breath tickling her neck, everything blurred. Right. Wrong. Loyalty. Love.
“I have files,” he quietly pressed. “I have photographs. I have pages upon pages of information. Coincidences that are far too frequent and counterfeits with your father’s signature flair. All I need is proof. Concrete proof that will hold up in court.”
Her heart pounded so hard she feared it would break free of her chest.
Drumming and drumming and drumming.
His words swirled, a tornado plowing through her thoughts.
Files. Photographs. Information.
Coincidences. Counterfeits.
Files.
