Page 43 of Cruel Kiss

"And then? What happens to her if it all goes up in smoke?"

"There's enough for her. There's enough for you. And if there's not enough for me left over after all that… Well, that's okay." He shrugs. "I picked you. I'll always pick you. Even when you don't want me to. Especially then."

Goddamn him.

It's not fair that he can do this.

I had him pinned in a certain arrangement. I had all the receipts that proved what he was. Criminal. Liar. Thief.

Now, here's a data point that won't fit.

It doesn't erase anything. He's not suddenly some saint. Every piece of evidence I uncovered still convicts him, every last one.

But this is a receipt, too.

What am I going to do with it?

I get my answer on the drive home.

We're maybe ten minutes out when a car pulls up close behind us on the highway. It's a plain gray sedan, nothing special about it. But it flashes red and blue lights from behind the grille, and suddenly, it doesn't look so innocent anymore.

"Ronan," I say.

"I see it."

He pulls to the curb, calm as anything. He puts the car in park and rests both hands on the wheel where they can be seen. He's done this before, I can tell. He knows the routine.

"Stay in the car," he says. "Let me talk."

But I look in the side mirror and I recognize the person getting out of the gray sedan.

Dark hair, pulled back tight. Gray blazer.

"That's not a cop," I say. "Or, well. Maybe she is. But she's more than that, too."

Ronan's jaw tightens. "Who?"

"Agent Mercer."

I watch her walk up alongside the car, unhurried, one hand tucked in her blazer pocket. She stops at my window and taps the glass with one knuckle.

Ronan doesn't say anything. But his hands come off the wheel, slow.

And he reaches for something below his seat.

12

CALI

His hand is fishing under the seat.

And there's only one thing he could be grabbing.

"Ronan. No!" I grab his wrist to stop him.

He doesn't stop moving right away. His arm is tense under my fingers, all coiled muscle, and for one horrible second, I think he's going to do it anyway.

"You are not," I hiss, "going to shoot a federal agent on the side of the highway. Are you out of your mind?"