Page 44 of Cruel Kiss

He's still resisting, though.

"There are cameras! There are witnesses. My kids need at least one parent who isn't in prison, and Todd's already halfway to a body bag, so that leavesme,which means you keep your hand where I can see it. Understand?"

A long beat.

A moment of terrible indecision.

Then his hand comes out from under the seat. Empty.

He puts it back on the wheel. "You're right," he exhales, though it's clear he doesn't like it.

"I'm always right."

"You'reoftenright."

"Don't push me right now."

Mercer taps the glass again. I take a breath and roll my window down.

She's got sunglasses on, which she pulls off and tucks into the collar of her blazer. Up close, in daylight, she looks exactly like she did on my front steps. Tired around the eyes. Sharp as hell everywhere else.

"Ms. Meadows," she says. "Fancy meeting you here."

"You followed us, huh?" I reply jauntily. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm starting to think you like me."

"I wouldn't get too flattered if I were you. It's kind of my job." She leans down a little, so she can see past me into the car. Her eyes land on Ronan.

And then they flick to my hand.

Which is still on his wrist.

I let go like it's a hot stove. Or a hard dick in a dark hallway. Same reaction, really.

Too late. Mercer's mouth flattens, but if it's a frown, it's the happiest one I've ever seen. She couldn't be more excited to see proof of him and me being—what did she call it?—chummy.

She looks at me, then at Ronan, then back at me. "Should I give you two a minute?"

"No," I say, way too fast.

"Mm."

"There's nothing to give a minute to."

"Sure, sure." She nods. "Whatever you say."

I could die. I could genuinely, actually die right here in this car, and it would be a mercy.

Mercer straightens up and reaches into her blazer. I wonder if it's handcuffs she's about to withdraw, but then she just takes out a folded stack of papers. She holds them across me, past my face, to Ronan.

"Mr. Akov," she says. "Been wanting to do this for a while."

Ronan takes them. He doesn't unfold them or pay them a second of attention. He just holds them and looks at her. Must've left his reading glasses at home, I guess.

"A subpoena," Mercer offers helpfully. "Billing records. Client files. Wire logs. You know the drill. You've seen enough of these from the other side. Well, from both sides, I'm guessing."

"Are you accusing me of something, Agent?" asks Ronan. On the surface, he's calm, polite, even silky. But I know him well enough to sense the menace underneath.

"Wouldn't dream of it, sir."