Page 138 of The Bachelor Spy
“You doubt me?” He frowned in mock offense. “I wouldn’t have ruined another good shirt otherwise.”
Her lips barely quirked.
“And I imagine we’ll find the kill list, the codes, and her latest intelligence in her own bag,” he continued, gesturing toward the satchel Rivers had dropped. “It may not be everything, but it’s enough.”
Her gaze trailed over his face, his bloodstained shirt, her frustration bending to a sweeter expression. Tenderness. “You were going to give her the satchel.”
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Because he didn’t know what the answer was.
Would he have given up the information to save her life? Could she have even respected him if he had?
He sighed, closing his eyes. Thank God he didn’t have to find out—for his own heart or hers. Thank God for Brandon shining light onto that dark moment at just the right time.
“You’re an idiot,” she whispered, drawing close enough to place a palm to his chest. Perhaps that would be her endearment for him. It suited more than not, he supposed.
“Frequently.” He grinned. “But I hope I’myouridiot, flower.”
“No.” Evie shook her head with the faintest smile. “Not that one either.”
A sound from the doorway made them both turn.
Brandon still stood there, serving platter in hand, looking at Rivers’ body with an expression of mild distaste—whether from the idea of her betrayal or of cleaning up the mess she’d left behind, Blake wasn’t certain.
Then his attention moved to the two of them. “NowI shall alert the authorities.”
A soundless laugh shook through Blake’s chest, inciting a twinge of pain, but he shrugged it off. “Thank you, Brandon. You were the hero of the moment yet again.”
Brandon held Blake’s gaze, a gentle look sweeping over his features. It bathed Blake in the warmest light, and he had the oddest sense of what Brandon may have been like as a father. Or grandfather.
An excellent one, for certain.
Without another word, the butler dipped his head and exited the room.
Evie stared at the closed door and turned wide eyes to Blake. “The people in this house arenotnormal.”
Blake chuckled. Which was probably the reason he’d always liked this one more than his own. “But those are the best sorts, you know.” He reached for her with his good arm, drawing her close, surveying her injuries again. “And they’re always collecting new members.”
She rolled her eyes, but the smile she unleashed upon him confirmed his idea that she had a soft spot for the abnormal, at least in Havensbrooke’s sense of the word. The cut on her neck and the dark stain of red at her shoulder sent Blake into motion.
“Now, since we are, in fact, the walking wounded”—Blake winced as his shoulder protested the movement—”I think we ought to find some bandages for the two of us.” His smile turned wicked. “Your room or mine?”
“Does yours even have bandages in it?”
He frowned and stared up at the ceiling in thought. Did his room have bandages?
She shook her head and took him by the good arm, leading him back toward the servants’ hall and her room. He liked this—being guided by her. Feeling her near him. Reveling in the soft looks she kept sending him, even if one of her eyes was horribly bruised. His own were rather swollen, so they proved a matching pair.
An idea he liked. Except with fewer bruises for the both of them.
But then the soft look dissolved into one of concern. “Stephen, if Rivers knew my true name and identity, there’s a good chance others do too.”
Stephen.He sighed like a lovesick schoolboy. Few in his life had ever called him Stephen. He liked that she did. “But Rivers hadn’t sent that information out yet,” he said gently. “Smith was the only other one who knew, along with Weber. But one is dead and the other is incapacitated and awaiting custody.”
Evie looked away, her lips pinched tight. “I need to disappear. To keep …” Her gaze moved back to him. “To keep the people I care about safe.”
And he was one of those people. His grin took on idiotic proportions.
