Page 26 of His Enemy's Daughter
Too late for that. I’m working with you, remember?
Fair point. Get some sleep. We’ll talk soon.
I stare at the screen, at this fragment of connection with a man who represents both my greatest risk and my best chance at freedom. Then I look at Rosalia’s flash drive, at the evidence of her crimes that she expects me to hide.
Three days to solve her problem while maintaining my cover, feeding information to Mauricio, and not getting killed by Father if any of this unravels.
I delete the message thread, erase all evidence of communication, and open my laptop.
Time to see exactly what Rosalia’s been doing and whether I’m smart enough to save both our necks.
Or whether this is the mistake that finally brings everything crashing down.
8
Mauricio
“If you breathe any louder, they’re going to hear us.”
Regina’s breath is hot against my neck when she whispers it, every syllable a distraction I can’t afford. We’re pressed together in a storage closet barely wide enough for one person, and the security patrol is close enough that I can hear the static crackle of their radios. Flashlight beams cut through the crack beneath the door, searching.
“If you hadn’t insisted on getting closer to the shipping manifest,” I murmur against her hair, trying to ignore how she smells like bergamot and vanilla and terrible decisions, “we wouldn’t be playing sardines with armed guards.”
“If you’d trusted my read on the guard rotation schedule,” she counters, her breath warm against my neck, “we would have had another seven minutes before they doubled back.”
The footsteps pause outside our door.
My hand moves to the gun at my spine on instinct, but Regina’s fingers close around my wrist—stopping me, steadying me, communicating without words that violence right now would doom us both. Her pulse hammers against my palm where our skin touches, and I’m suddenly hyperaware of every point where our bodies connect in this too-small space.
The guard moves on.
We don’t.
The silence that follows their departure should be a relief. Instead, it’s charged with something dangerous—awareness crackling between us like electricity looking for ground. Regina’s chest rises and falls against mine with each breath, and I can feel her heartbeat through the thin fabric of her tactical gear.
“They’re gone,” I say, but neither of us moves.
“I know.” Her voice carries that same breathless quality I heard in the parking garage, before I had the good sense to step away. “We should probably—”
“Probably.” But my hands have found her hips, steadying her or claiming her, I’m not entirely sure which. “Though the smart play is waiting another five minutes. Make sure they don’t circle back.”
“Five minutes.” She tilts her head up, and even in the darkness I can see the challenge in her green eyes. “And what exactly are we supposed to do for five minutes in a closet that’s approximately the size of a coffin?”
“We could review what we learned.” The suggestion comes out rougher than intended, my self-control fraying with each second she stays pressed against me. “The shipping manifest showed Rotterdam connections, just like your intel suggested. That ties into—”
“Mauricio.” Her hands rest flat against my chest, and I’m acutely aware she can probably feel how fast my heart is beating. “Do you really want to talk about shipping manifests right now?”
“I really want to do a lot of things right now.” Honesty feels dangerous but necessary. “Most of them would be spectacularly stupid.”
“Such as?”
“Such as kissing you.” The admission escapes before I can stop it.
Her breath catches. “That would be stupid.”
“Monumentally stupid.” I force myself to loosen my grip on her hips, even though every instinct screams to pull her closer. “Which is why we’re not going to do it.”
“We’re not?” But she doesn’t move away, doesn’t create distance, doesn’t do anything except look at me with eyes that promise things neither of us should want.
