Page 27 of Bride of Vengeance
"Rodriguez?" he asks.
"He thinks I should turn myself in."
"He's in love with you."
The observation hits like a physical blow, not because it's wrong but because it's so obviously right. "That's none of your business."
"Everything about you is my business now." He steps into the room, moving with that predatory grace that makes my pulse skip. "We're in this together, whether you like it or not."
"I don't like it."
"I know."
"I don't trust you."
"I know that too."
"Then why—"
"Because you don't have a choice." His voice is gentle but implacable. "Harrison has painted you as a traitor and a killer. Every federal agent in the country is looking for you. Your former partner just tried to convince you to surrender to people who want you dead."
People who want you dead.The words settle in my stomach like stones. He's right. Rodriguez might genuinely want to help, buthe's operating from inside a system that's been compromised. Turning myself in would be suicide.
"So what now?" I ask. "I hide in here forever? Become some kind of kept woman while you handle everything?"
Something flashes in his eyes. Something that looks dangerously like possessiveness. "Would that be so terrible?"
The question catches me off guard, probably because part of me doesn't think it would be terrible at all. Part of me is attracted to the idea of letting someone else carry the weight for a while. Of being protected instead of always being the protector.
Dangerous thinking, Mariana.
"Yes," I lie. "It would be terrible."
"Because?"
"Because I'm not the type of woman who needs rescuing."
"No," he agrees, moving closer until I can see the gold flecks in his dark eyes. "You're the type who rescues others. Even when it costs you everything."
The compliment, if that's what it is, makes heat unfurl in my chest. When was the last time someone saw me clearly? Really saw me, not just the badge and the gun and the professional competence?
"You don't know me."
"I know you spent your own money to buy coffee for the homeless woman who sits outside your office building every morning. I know you volunteer at a literacy program on weekends. I know you send half your paycheck to your mother in San Antonio because your father's medical bills are crushing your family financially."
How the hell does he know about my father?
"You really have been stalking me."
"I told you. I've been protecting you." He reaches out, fingers barely grazing my cheek. The touch is soft, reverent, completely at odds with his reputation as a killer. "Someone had to."
"I can protect myself."
"Can you? Because from where I'm standing, you've been fighting a war with both hands tied behind your back. Following rules that your enemies ignore."
He's not wrong.
The realization burns. For two years I've been playing by the Bureau's rules, following proper procedure, trusting the system to deliver justice. Meanwhile, Harrison has been trafficking witnesses and framing honest agents while hiding behind his badge and his position.
