Page 4 of The Bachelor Spy
Not executing him. Not a man she’d once trusted.
Perhaps even cared for?
Her gaze shifted from her brother to Blake, the tiniest divot forming in her forehead, a hint of her true struggle. It was one of her few tells, but it spoke volumes. She wasn’t certain of Blake’s guilt.
“Check the corridor, Evan.” Her gaze never left Blake’s face.
Montgomery’s attention darted to Blake, but he nodded, moving to the door. “I’ll see our way is clear.”
Blake’s throat went dry. He’d faced death before—bullets whizzing past in no-man’s-land, knives in dark alleys, poison in wineglasses, one memorably awkward incident involving a Portuguese countess and a trained leopard that he preferred not to discuss. But this? Watching Evie Montgomery weigh his life against her brother’s lies?
This might be the worst way to go.
The door clicked shut behind Montgomery, leaving them alone with Stein’s body and an inevitable choice.
Blake could rush her.Shouldrush her. Training screamed at him to disarm, tosurvive.But something stronger—hope, perhaps—held him still. Hope that the woman who’d laughed at his terrible jokes and matched him wit for wit still existed behind that mask.
Maybe just faith that she was better than her brother.
He managed a half smile. If he was going to die, it would be terribly disappointing to go begging. At least looking somewhat composed might preserve his dignity for posterity. “I don’t suppose I’ll ever get that kiss you promised after our last mission, then?”
The faintest tic flickered on one corner of her lips. “I make a rule to kiss traitors only as part of an assignment.”
“Then I’m dashed out of luck,” he murmured, lowering his weapon and breaking every rule he’d ever learned. He took a step forward, holding her gaze. “Because I amnotraitor.”
Her thumb pushed back the hammer, halting his approach.
“Think, Evie,” Blake pressed. “You must have seen something. A change. Meetings that didn’t fit. His transformation from British Intelligence to informer couldn’t have happened overnight.”
Something flickered in her eyes, but she didn’t lower the weapon.
“Evie.” He kept his voice low. “Youknowme.”
“I thought I did.” Her words were barely audible, but the gun remained level.
“You’re cleverer than this. Don’t make me wrong about you,” Blake said softly. “Please.”
Her lips twitched upward in that way he’d seen so often when she’d teased him, except this time there was a sadness to the depths of those eyes. “I’m sorry, Stephen,” she whispered.
He braced himself.
The shot cracked through the small cabin.
Pain exploded through his shoulder, spiraling him backward. He clutched the wound as warm blood seeped between his fingers, staining his favorite blue oxford—another casualty of espionage.
Really, the job was murder on one’s wardrobe. He groaned. Perhapsmurderwasn’t the best choice of words at the moment.
He met Evie’s gaze one last time before she turned and dashed out the door.
He’d been shot before.
Several times, in fact.
He’d imagined his heart might bleed for her one day—just not quite so literally.
What a disappointing way to die.
Blake looked down at his palm-soaked hand and paused. She’d hit him in the shoulder. Not his chest. Not his heart. His shoulder—precisely placed to miss anything vital.
